“Why doesn’t the crowd believe me?” I asked of the youth who had spoken to me in English.
“Ah!” he burst out, “here in Cairo all the boys are Americans. We have Germans, Austrians, Poles, Hungarians, Norwegians—all sorts—in our union; and every one is an American—except when they are together. And not one of them ever saw the United States! It is because, of all the foreign travelers in Egypt, the Americans are most ready to give money—to their own countrymen, of course. The Germans will help us. Yes! but how? By giving us a loaf of bread or an old pair of shoes or two piasters. Bah! But the Americans—they give pounds and whole suits! The tourists are your rich harvest, mein Freund! If you are a real Amerikaner, you can live in Cairo until you grow a beard!”
So I had fallen among the beggars of Cairo! It was too late, however, to find another lodging-place. I leaned back, and finally fell asleep amid the fumes of tobacco that filled the room.
A whining voice sounded in my ear: “H’raus, hop!” (“Wake up!”) I opened my eyes to find the Jew bending over me. The room was almost empty, but the youth who had spoken to me in English still sat there. I paid my lodging, and followed him up a narrow winding stairway at the back of the shop. On the third floor he pushed open a door which was much like the drop of a home-made rabbit-trap. This let us into a small room containing six beds. Four of these were already occupied. It needed only one long-drawn breath to prove that the bed-clothes had not seen the wash-tub for months. But he who is both penniless and particular should stay at home. I took the bed beside that of the German, and soon fell asleep.
The next morning I arose early, hoping to find work before noon. But my new acquaintance of the evening before was awake. He asked me where I was going.
I told him I was going to look for work.
“Work!” he shouted, springing to his feet. “A fellow who can talk English—and German too—wants to work in Cairo? Why, you—you’re a disgrace to the union.”
I went down to the street and set out to look for a job. Long after dark, footsore and half starved, covered with the dust of Cairo, I returned to the lodging-place of the comrades, and sat down at one of the tables. It was easy to see that the comrades were not footsore. They had told a hard-luck story somewhere, and returned with enough money to enable them to sit around for the rest of the day. Apparently that was all they expected or cared to do for the rest of their lives.
The leader of the union watched me, with a half-smile on his face, for some time after I had entered. “Lot of work you found, eh?” he began. Then he raised his cane and rapped on the table for silence.
“Ei! Good comrades!” he cried. “I have something to show you! Look once! Here is a comrade who is an American—do you hear?—a real American, not a patched-up one. And this real American—in Cairo—wants to work!”