“Come, O friends,” insisted Gazzar-al-Din, seeing that one or two were interested, “for a score of anna I begin. Of Yemen it is, this very Yemen, and Baghdad, once a greater city than any to-day—”
“Begin then,” said Azad Bakht, the barber. “Here is an anna for thee,” and he tossed a coin in the tambour.
“And here is another for thee,” observed Haifa, fishing in his purse. “I do not mind risking it.”
“And here is another,” called Soudi condescendingly. “Begin.”
“And here is yet another,” added Parfi grandiosely. “Now, then, thy tale, and look thee that it is as thou sayst, marvelous.” And they squatted about him on the ground.
But Gazzar, determined not to begin until he had at least ten anna, the price of a bowl of curds and a cup of kishr, waited until he had accumulated so many, as well as various “Dogs!” and “Pigs!” and “Wilt thou begin, miser, or wilt thou fill thy tambour?” into the bargain. He then crouched upon his rags, lifted his hand for silence, and began:
“Know then, O excellent citizens of Hodeidah, that once, many years since, there lived in this very Yemen where now is Taif, then a much more resplendent city, a sultan by the name of Kar-Shem, who had great cities and palaces and an army, and was beloved of all over whom he ruled. When he—wilt thou be seated, O friend? And silence!—when he was but newly married and ruling happily a son was born to him, Hussein, an infant of so great charm and beauty that he decided he should be carefully reared and wisely trained and so made into a fit ruler for so great a country. But, as it chanced, there was a rival or claimant to this same throne by another line, a branch long since deposed by the ancestors of this same king, and he it was, Bab-el-Bar by name, who was determined that the young Prince Hussein should be stolen and disposed of in some way so that he should never return and claim the throne. One day, when the prince was only four years of age, the summer palace was attacked and the princeling captured. From thence he was carried over great wastes of sand to Baghdad, where he was duly sold as a slave to a man who was looking for such, for he was a great and successful thief, one who trained thieves from their infancy up so that they should never know what virtue was.”
“Ay-ee, there are such,” interrupted Ahmed, the carpet-weaver, loudly, for his place had only recently been robbed. “I know of the vileness of thieves.”
“Peace! Peace!” insisted Waidi and Haifa sourly.
Gazzar-al-Din paused until quiet should be restored, then resumed: