“Come, now, Abdul,” I said, “be good!”

He paused a moment in his crying—­

“Why do you call me Abdul?” he asked.  “That isn’t my name.”

“Isn’t it?” I said.  “I thought all you Sultans were called Abdul.  Isn’t the Sultan’s name always Abdul?”

“Mine isn’t,” he whimpered, “but it doesn’t matter,” and his face began to crinkle up with renewed weeping.  “Call me anything you like.  It doesn’t matter.  Anyway I’d rather be called Abdul than be called a W-W-War Lord and a G-G-General when they won’t let me have any say at all—­”

And with that the little Sultan burst into unrestrained crying.

“Abdul,” I said firmly, “if you don’t stop crying, I’ll go and fetch one of the Bashi-Bazouks to take you away.”

The little Sultan found his voice again.

“There aren’t any Bub-Bub-Bashi-Bazouks left,” he sobbed.

“None left?” I exclaimed.  “Where are they gone?”

“They’ve t-t-taken them all aw-w-way—­”

“Who have?”

“The G-G-G-Germans,” sobbed Abdul.  “And they’ve sent them all to P-P-P-Poland.”

“Come, come, Abdul,” I said, straightening him up a little as he sat.  “Brace up!  Be a Turk!  Be a Mohammedan!  Don’t act like a Christian.”

This seemed to touch his pride.  He made a great effort to be calm.  I could hear him muttering to himself, “Allah, Illallah, Mohammed rasoul Allah!” He said this over a good many times, while I took advantage of the pause to get his fez a little straighter and wipe his face.

“How many times have I said it?” he asked presently.

“Twenty.”

“Twenty?  That ought to be enough, shouldn’t it?” said the Sultan, regaining himself a little.  “Isn’t prayer helpful, eh?  Give me a smoke?”

I filled his narghileh for him, and he began to suck blue smoke out of it with a certain contentment, while the rose water bubbled in the bowl below.

“Now, Abdul,” I said, as I straightened up his cushions and made him a little more comfortable, “what is it?  What is the matter?”

“Why,” he answered, “they’ve all g-g-gone—­”

“Now, don’t cry!  Tell me properly.”

“They’ve all gone b-b-back on me!  Boo-hoo!”

“Who have?  Who’ve gone back on you?”

“Why, everybody.  The English and the French and everybody—­”

“What do you mean?” I asked with increasing interest.  “Tell me exactly what you mean.  Whatever you say I will hold sacred, of course.”

I saw my part already to a volume of interesting disclosures.