"What are you doing with all those beetroots?" said he.
"I am about to present them to the Bey," replied the Khoja.
"Figs would be more acceptable, I should think," said the man.
The Khoja pursued his journey, but as he went the man's words troubled him—"Figs would be more acceptable."
At last he perceived a fig-tree by the roadside, so, throwing away all the beetroots, he put two or three figs in their place, and having arrived at the palace, he presented them to the Bey.
But this time the Bey was not in a good humour.
"What madman is this," he cried, "who mocks me by the gift of a few worthless figs? Throw them at his head and drive him away!"
So they pelted the Khoja with his figs, and drove him out. But as he ran, instead of cursing his ill luck, the Khoja gave thanks for his good fortune.
"This is indeed madness," cried the servants of the Bey; "for what, O Khoja, do you return thanks, after this ignominious treatment?"
"O ignorant time-servers," replied the Khoja, "I have good reason to give thanks. For I was bringing beetroots to the Bey—large beetroots, and many of them—and I met a man who persuaded me, saying, "Figs would be more acceptable," so I brought figs; and you have cast them at my head. But there were few of them, and they are soft, and I am none the worse. If, however, I had not by good luck thrown away the beetroots, which are hard, my skull would certainly have been cracked."