“I could not pray on my left leg,” said the Khoja; “it has not performed the appointed ablutions.”

Tale 45.—­“Figs Would Be More Acceptable.”

Nasr-ed-Deen Effendi had some plums, of which he resolved to make a present to the Bey.  He therefore took three of them, and putting them on a fine tray, he carried them into the royal presence, and duly offered them for the Bey’s acceptance.

Being in a good humour, the Bey took the present in good part, and gave the Khoja several pence in return.

After some days the Khoja thought he would take something else to the Bey, and having some fine large beetroots, he set off as before.

On his way to the palace he met a man, who saluted him.

“What are you doing with all those beetroots?” said he.

“I am about to present them to the Bey,” replied the Khoja.

“Figs would be more acceptable, I should think,” said the man.

The Khoja pursued his journey, but as he went the man’s words troubled him—­“Figs would be more acceptable.”

At last he perceived a fig-tree by the roadside, so, throwing away all the beetroots, he put two or three figs in their place, and having arrived at the palace, he presented them to the Bey.

But this time the Bey was not in a good humour.

“What madman is this,” he cried, “who mocks me by the gift of a few worthless figs?  Throw them at his head and drive him away!”

So they pelted the Khoja with his figs, and drove him out.  But as he ran, instead of cursing his ill luck, the Khoja gave thanks for his good fortune.

“This is indeed madness,” cried the servants of the Bey; “for what, O Khoja, do you return thanks, after this ignominious treatment?”

“O ignorant time-servers,” replied the Khoja, “I have good reason to give thanks.  For I was bringing beetroots to the Bey—­large beetroots, and many of them—­and I met a man who persuaded me, saying, “Figs would be more acceptable,” so I brought figs; and you have cast them at my head.  But there were few of them, and they are soft, and I am none the worse.  If, however, I had not by good luck thrown away the beetroots, which are hard, my skull would certainly have been cracked.”

Tale 46.—­Timur and the One-legged Geese.

One day the Khoja caused a goose to be cooked.  He was about to present it to the King.

When it was nicely done he set off with it, but on the road he became very hungry.  If the smell of it were to be trusted it was a most delicious bird!  At last the Khoja could resist no longer, and he tore off a leg and ate it with much relish.

On arriving in the royal presence he placed the goose before Timur the King, who, when he had examined the Khoja’s gift, was exceedingly annoyed.

“This Khoja is deriding me!” said he.  And then in a voice of thunder he demanded, “Where is the other leg?”