I had a curious instance of the honesty of the Mussulman in a dealer in bricabrac, embroideries, and stuffs with whom I used to deal at Candia.  Arapi Mehmet, as he was called, i.e.  Mahommed the Arabian, was a man in whom no religious fanaticism disturbed his relations with his fellow-men; no English agnostic could be more liberal, and we often had dealings in which his honesty was evident.  On one of the last visits I made to his shop I looked at two embroidered cushion covers which I wanted to purchase, but the price he put on them made it out of the question, and as he refused to take less I gave up the bargaining, and he called for the coffee.  While we were drinking it and conversing of other matters, I said to him, “Arapi, why do you ask such absurd prices?  You know that the cushions are not worth so much.”  “Oh,” he replied, “you are rich and can afford it.”  “What makes you think I am rich?” I asked.  “You travel about and see the world, and take your pleasure,” he said.  “But I am not rich,” I said; “I am a workingman; I do not travel for pleasure, but to earn my living.  I am a scribe, and am paid for what I write, and what I earn is all I have to live on.  I have no property.”  “Is that true?” he asked me, earnestly, looking me in the eyes.  “That is quite true; I have nothing but what I earn,” I replied; “I make the living of my family in this way.  If I do not write we have no bread.”  The cushions had meanwhile been sent back to his house, as he kept all his fine goods there; and, without another word to me, he shouted to his shop boy to go and get them, and, when brought, he threw them to me, saying, “Take them and give me what you like.”

I always found that the Mussulman merchants were more trustworthy in their dealings with me than the Christians, and, though there was, as a matter of course, at first an amount of bargaining and beating down the prices, which was expected, they never attempted to deceive me in the quality of the goods, and they often called my attention to articles of artistic or archaeological value, which were cheap, and when they came to know me well they gave me, at the outset, the lowest price they could take, while it never happened with a Christian shopman in Crete that I was treated with frankness or moderation.  The next time I went back to Candia, Arapi was dead.

Returning to Canea, my archaeological mission being abortive, I was told by the Christian secretary of the pasha that the difficulty had been that I had not offered to give to His Excellency the coins that might be found in the excavations, and that if I did this I might hope for a firman.  As it was not in my power to give what, by the agreement arrived at with the proprietor of the soil, had been definitely disposed of, half to him and the other half to the museums of the island, and as the troubles had begun, there was nothing more to be done, and I made a flying trip to some parts of the island which I had not seen.