"He is a man who benefits his fellow men,
Not he who says ‘why?' and ‘wherefore?' and ‘how much?'"
upon which an imperious wave of the arm directed me to return to the
dragoman, who had the effrontery to ask me four pounds sterling for a
Persian passport. I offered one. He derided my offer, and I went away
perplexed. On my return to Cairo some months afterwards, he sent to say
that had he known me as an Englishman, I should have had the document
gratis,-a civility for which he was duly thanked.
At last my Shaykh Mohammed hit upon the plan. "Thou art," said he, "an
Afghan; I will fetch hither the principal of the Afghan college at the
Azhar, and he, if
[p.130]thou make it worth his while," (this in a whisper) "will be thy
friend." The case was looking desperate; my preceptor was urged to lose
no time.
Presently Shaykh Mohammed returned in company with the principal, a
little, thin, ragged-bearded, one-eyed, hare-lipped divine, dressed in
very dirty clothes, of nondescript cut. Born at Maskat of Afghan
parents, and brought up at Meccah, he was a kind of cosmopolite,
speaking five languages fluently, and full of reminiscences of toil and
travel. He refused pipes and coffee, professing to be ascetically
disposed: but he ate more than half my dinner, to reassure me, I
presume, should I have been fearful that abstinence might injure his
health.
