Take but one case out of many. One day Kökényesdi, in his bunda, turned inside out as usual, with a round spiral hat on his head and a large knobby stick in his hands, appeared outside the entrenchment within which a closely-capped Kurd was guarding Haly Pasha's favourite charger, Shebdiz.
"What a nice charger!" said the horse-dealer to the Kurd.
"Nice indeed, but not for your dog's teeth."
"Yet I assure you I'll steal him this very night."
"I shall be there too, my lad," thought the Kurd to himself, and with that he leaped upon the horse and grasped fast his three and a half ells long spear; "if you want the horse come for it now!"
"I'm not going to fetch it at once, so don't put yourself out," Kökényesdi assured him. "You may do as you like with him till morning," and with that he sat down on the edge of the ditch, wrapped himself up in his bunda, and leaned his chin on his big stick.
The Kurd durst not take his eyes off him, he scarce ventured even to wink, lest the horse-dealer should practise magic in the meantime.
He never stirred from the spot, but drew his hat deep down and regarded the Kurd from beneath it with his foxy eyes.
Meanwhile it was drawing towards evening. The Kurd's eyes now regularly started out of his head in his endeavours to distinguish the form of Kökényesdi through the darkness. At last he grew weary of the whole business.
"Go away!" he said. "Do you hear me?"