It may be that at Assuan, near the first cataract, I really got into some little danger.  I never knew why, but in the bazaars there I developed an awful, insatiable desire to make a complete collection of Abyssinian weapons of warfare.  For this purpose, one day, I got on my donkey and took with me only a little Scotchman, who had presented me with countless bead necklaces and so many baskets all the way up the Nile that at night I was obliged to put them overboard in order to get into my stateroom, and who wore, besides his goggles, a green veil over his face.  We made our way across the sand, into which our donkeys’ feet sank above their fetlocks, to the bazaars of Assuan.

These bazaars deserve more than a passing mention, as they are unlike any that I ever saw.  They are all under one roof on both sides of tiny streets or broad aisles, just as you choose to call them, and through these aisles your donkey is privileged to go, while you sit calmly on his back, bargaining with the cross-legged merchants, who scream at you as you pass, thrusting their wares into your face, and, even if you attempt to pass on, they stop your donkey by pulling his tail.  On this particular day I left my donkey at the door and made my way on foot, as I was eager to make my purchases.

Perhaps I was careless and ought to have taken better care of my Scotchman, because he was so little and so far from home, but I regret to say that I lost him soon after I went into the bazaar, and I didn’t see him again for three hours.  Never shall I forget those three hours.

In Smyrna, Turkey, and Egypt the bargaining language is about the same.

“What you give, lady?”

“I won’t give anything!  I don’t want it!  What!  Do you think I would carry that back home?”

“But you take hold of him; you feel him silk; I think you want to buy.  Ver’ cheap, only four pound!”

“Four pounds!” I say in French.  “Oh, you don’t want to sell.  You want to keep it.  And at such a price you will keep it.”

“Keep it!” in a shrill scream.  “Not want to sell?  Me?  I here to sell!  I sell you everything you see!  I sell you the shop!” and then more wheedlingly, “You give me forty francs?”

“No,” in English again.  “I’ll give you two dollars.”

“America!  Liberty!” he cries, having cunningly established my nationality, and flattering my country with Oriental guile.

“Exactly,” I say, “liberty for such as you if you go there.  None for me.  Liberty in America is only free to the lower classes.  The others are obliged to buy theirs.”

He shakes his head uncomprehendingly.  “How much you give for him?  Last price now!  Six dollars!”

We haggle over “last prices” for a quarter of an hour more, and after two cups of coffee, amiably taken together, and some general conversation, I buy the thing for three dollars.