“Then hurry him up,” I urged.

“I can’t,” said Abdul.  “It is impossible in Turkey to do business like that.  He must have some coffee first and then he must pray and then there must be an interchange of presents.”

I groaned, for I was getting as impatient as Abdul himself.

“Do you not do public business like that in Canada?” the Sultan continued.

“We used to.  But we have got over it,” I said.

Meanwhile a slippered attendant had entered and placed a cushion for the secretary, and in front of it a little Persian stool on which he put a quaint cup filled with coffee black as ink.

A similar cup was placed before the Sultan.

“Drink!” said Abdul.

“Not first, until the lips of the Commander of the Faithful—­”

“He means ‘after you,’” I said.  “Hurry up, Abdul.”

Abdul took a sip.

“Allah is good,” he said.

“And all things are of Allah,” rejoined Toomuch.

Abdul unpinned a glittering jewel from his robe and threw it to the feet of Toomuch.

“Take this poor bauble,” he said.

Toomuch Koffi in return took from his wrist a solid bangle of beaten gold.

“Accept this mean gift from your humble servant,” he said.

“Right!” said Abdul, speaking in a changed voice as the ceremonies ended.  “Now, then, Toomuch, what is it?  Hurry up.  Be quick.  What is the matter?”

Toomuch rose to his feet, lifted his hands high in the air with the palms facing the Sultan.

“One is without,” he said.

“Without what?” I asked eagerly of the Sultan.

“Without—­outside.  Don’t you understand Turkish?  What you call in English—­a gentleman to see me.”

“And did he make all that fuss and delay over that?” I asked in disgust.  “Why with us in Canada, at one of the public departments of Ottawa, all that one would have to do would be simply to send in a card, get it certified, then simply wait in an anteroom, simply read a newspaper, send in another card, wait a little, then simply send in a third card, and then simply—­”

“Pshaw!” said Abdul.  “The cards might be poisoned.  Our system is best.  Speak on, Toomuch.  Who is without?  Is it perchance a messenger from Smith Pasha, Minister under Heaven of the United States?”

“Alas, no!” said Toomuch.  “It is HE.  It is THE LARGE ONE!”

As he spoke he rolled his eyes upward with a gesture of despair.

“HE!” cried Abdul, and a look of terror convulsed his face.  “The Large One!  Shut him out!  Call the Chief Eunuch and the Major Domo of the Harem!  Let him not in!”

“Alas,” said Toomuch, “he threw them out of the window.  Lo! he is here, he enters.”

As the secretary spoke, a double door at the end of the hall swung noisily open, at the blow of an imperious fist, and with a rattle of arms and accoutrements a man of gigantic stature, wearing full military uniform and a spiked helmet, strode into the room.