in handling the bicycle.  After being pushed away several times, one of them even assumes a menacing attitude toward me the last time I thrust his meddlesome hand away.  Under such circumstances retributive justice, prompt and impressive, is the only politic course to pursue; so, leaving the bicycle to the zaptieh a moment, in the absence of a stick, I feel justified in favoring the culprit with, a brief, pointed lesson in the noble art of self-defence, the first boxing lesson ever given in Tuzgat.  In a Western mob this would have been anything but an act of discretion, probably, but with these people it has a salutary effect; the idea of attempting retaliation is the farthest of anything from their thoughts, and in all the obstreperous crowd there is, perhaps, not one but what is quite delighted at either seeing or hearing of me having thus chastised one of their number, and involuntarily thanks Allah that it didn’t happen to be himself.  It would be useless to attempt a description of how we finally managed, by the assistance of two more zaptiehs, to get back to Tifticjeeoghlou Effendi’s, both myself and the zaptieh simply unrecognizable from dust and perspiration.  The zaptieh, having first washed the streaks and tattooing off his face, now presents himself, with the broad, honest smile of one who knows he well deserves what he is asking for, and says, “Effendi, backsheesh.”

There is nothing more certain than that the honest fellow merits backsheesh from somebody; it is also equally certain that I am the only person from whom he stands the ghost of a chance of getting any; nevertheless, the idea of being appealed to for backsheesh, after what I have just undergone, merely as an act of accommodation, strikes me as just a trifle ridiculous, and the opportunity of engaging the grinning, good-humored zaptieh in a little banter concerning the abstract preposterousness of his expectations is too good to be lost.  So, assuming an air of astonishment, I reply:  “Backsheesh! where is my backsheesh.  I should think it’s me that deserves backsheesh if anybody does.”  This argument is entirely beyond the zaplieh’s child-like comprehension, however; he only understands by my manner that there is a “hitch” somewhere; and never was there a more broadly good-humored countenance, or a smile more expressive of meritoriousness, nor an utterance more coaxing in its modulations than his “E-f-fendi, backsheesh.” as he repeats the appeal; the smile and the modulation is well worth the backsheesh.

In the afternoon, an officer appears with a note saying that the Mutaserif and a number of gentlemen would like to see me ride inside the municipal konak grounds.  This I very naturally promise to do, only, under conditions that an adequate force of zaptiehs be provided.  This the Mutaserif readily agrees to, and once more I venture into the streets, trundling along under a strong escort of zaptiehs who form a hollow square around me.  The people accumulate rapidly, as