“I will meet you at the desk in the small landing field depot,” said the Colonel.
“Set your bag in this corner,” her father told her when he joined her in the depot later. “Persian coffee is not bad, and their lemon ice is really good.”
“Hot coffee and lemon ice,” she laughed as she dropped into a low, rattan chair. “What a combination!”
“Try it. You’ll find it hits the spot,” he laughed.
“I have a friend in the city,” he told her. “A wealthy Persian merchant. He takes great pride in his garden. It is really very wonderful. I want you to see it. But first we’ll take a car up town and reserve rooms for the night.”
“Look!” Mary exclaimed, springing up. “That man is carrying off my bag! Quick! Stop him! That roll of papyrus!”
“Why, no,” her father stopped her. “There’s your bag, right where you left it.”
“Sure—there it is,” she stared in surprise. “But think of a man having an overnight bag just like mine, and in such a strange place.”
“American-made goods go everywhere. My merchant friend sells many articles from America. Most of the cotton used in his prints comes from America.”
For all that Mary breathed a sigh of relief as she picked up her bag.