As they gathered about him Gazzar-al-Din ventured to thrum louder and louder, exclaiming: “A marvelous tale, O Company of the Faithful! A marvelous tale! Hearken! A tale such as has never yet been told in all Hodeidah—no, not in all Yemen! ‘A Prince Who was a Thief.’ A Prince Who Was a Thief! For a score of anna—yea, the fourth part of a rupee—I begin. And ah, the sweetness of it! As jasmine, it is fragrant; as khat, soothing. A marvelous tale!”
“Ay-ee, but how is one to know that,” observed Ahmed, the carpet-weaver, to Chudi, the tailor, with whom he had drawn near. “There are many who promise excellent tales but how few who tell them.”
“It is even as thou sayst, O Ahmed. Often have I hearkened and given anna in plenty, yet few there are whose tales are worth the hearing.”
“Why not begin thy tale, O Kowasji?” inquired Soudi, the carrier. “Then if, as thou sayst, it is so excellent, will not anna enough be thine? There are tellers of tales, and tellers of tales—”
“Yea, and that I would,” replied the mendicant artfully, “were all as honest as thou lookest and as kind. Yet have I traveled far without food, and I know not where I may rest this night.... A tale of the great caliph and the Princess Yanee and the noble Yussuf, stolen and found again. And the great treasury sealed and guarded, yet entered and robbed by one who was not found. Anna—but a score of anna, and I begin! What? Are all in Hodeidah so poor that a tale of love and pleasure and danger and great palaces and great princes and caliphs and thieves can remain untold for the want of a few anna—for so many as ten dropped into my tambour? A marvelous tale! A marvelous tale!”
He paused and gazed speculatively about, holding out his tambour. His audience looked dubiously and curiously at him; who now was this latest teller of wonders, and from whence had he come? An anna was not much, to be sure, and a tale well told—well—yet there had been tellers of such whose tales were as dull as the yawn of a camel.
“An excellent tale, sayst thou?” queried Parfi cautiously. “Then, if it be so marvelous, why not begin? For a handful of anna one may promise anything.”
“A great promiser there was here once,” commented Ajeeb, the gossip, sententiously, “and he sat himself in this self-same door. I remember him well. He wore a green turban, but a greater liar there never was. He promised wonders and terrors enough, but it came to nothing—not a demon or Jinn in it.”
“Is it of demons and Jinns only that thou thinkest, donkey?” demanded Haifa. “Verily, there are wonders and mysteries everywhere, without having them in tales.”
“Yea, but a tale need not be for profit, either,” said Waidi, the water-seller. “It is for one’s leisure, at the end of a day. I like such as end happily, with evil punished and the good rewarded.”