On my second morning in Alexandria, I repaired to the railway station, only to find that I had delayed my departure a bit too long. The third-class fare to the capital was low, but, unfortunately, just three piastres more than I possessed4. Should I take train as far as possible and finish the journey on foot and penniless, or should I save the money on hand for food en route and tramp the entire distance?
Pondering the question, I dropped into a bench on the Place Mohammed Ali, and fell to whittling6 a stick. A countryman, strolling by, paused to stare, and sitting down on the far end of the bench, watched me intently. Now a Frank is no more of a novelty in Alexandria than in Kansas City, even though in ragged8 garb9; for, given a great port anywhere on the earth’s surface, you will find Jack10 Tar7, at least, rambling11 penniless and forlorn through her streets. Either the native was astonished to see a man work, even with his hands, when he was not paid to do so, or the knife had attracted his attention. Inch by inch, he slid along the bench.
“Very good knife, kwice cateer,” he murmured.
Two months in the Arab world had given me vocabulary enough for simple conversations. “Aywa,” I answered, tossing away the stick and closing the knife.
The fellah gave a gasp12 of delight.
“But it shuts up, like a door,” he cried.
I opened and closed it several times for his edification; then slid down in my seat, my thoughts elsewhere.
189“You sell it?” grinned the Arab.
“Eh!” I gasped13, straightening up in astonishment14, “you—”
“I’ll give you five piastres,” wheedled15 the peasant, “gkamsa tarifa.”
“Take it!” I cried, and, grasping the coin he held out to me, I dashed away to the station.
A half-hour later I was speeding southward across the fertile delta16 of the Nile. What a contrast was this land to that I had so lately left behind! Every few miles the train halted at a bustling17 city; between them mound-like fellaheen villages and well-cultivated fields raced northward18. Inside the car—of American pattern—prosperous, well-groomed natives perused19 the latest newspapers and smoked world-famous cigarettes with the blasé air of Parisian commuters. Even the half-blind victims of ophthalmia leaned back in their seats in the perfect contentment of well-fed creatures. An eyeless pre-adamite in one corner roared with laughter at the sallies of his companions. Far more at ease was he, for all his affliction, than I, with neither friend nor acquaintance in the length and breadth of the continent.
The Oriental panorama20 grew dim. One could with difficulty distinguish in this ultra-flat country, where every object stood out sharply against the horizon, between a distant village and a reclining water-buffalo, nearer at hand. The western sky turned ruddy a moment, dulled to a brown, and the darkness that falls so quickly in tropical countries left me to stare at my own face beyond the window. An impressive reflection indeed! A figure to inspire prospective21 employers with confidence! The lights that were springing up across the plain were of no village where inhabitants welcomed strangers with open arms. Every click of the wheels brought me nearer the metropolis22 of Africa, a great city, of which I knew little more than the name, and where I should soon be set adrift in the darkness with the ludicrous sum of ten cents in my pocket! Perhaps in all Cairo there was not another penniless adventurer of my race? Even if there were, and a “vagabond’s retreat” somewhere among these long rows of streets that flashed by as those of London in approaching St. Pancras, small chance had I of finding it. For, were my Arabic as fluent as my English, no policeman could direct me to so unconventional a quarter.
The train halted in a vast, domed23 station. A mighty24 press of humanity swept me through the waiting-rooms and out upon a brightly-lighted square. There the screaming throng25 of hackmen, porters, donkey boys, and hotel runners drove me to take refuge behind a station 190pillar. I swung my knapsack over my shoulder and gazed, utterly26 undecided, across the human sea.
Suddenly a voice sounded above the roar:—“Heh! Landsmann, wohin?” I stared eagerly about me, for this simple greeting, properly accented, is the password of the German tramp wherever he wanders. Under a neighboring arc-light stood a young man of ruddy, sunburned countenance27, in a stout28, if somewhat ragged, suit and a cloth cap. At my sign of recognition, he dived into the crowd and fought his way to my side.
“Ah!” he shouted, in German, “I knew only one of the boys would blow in with a knapsack and a corduroy suit! Where are you turning up from? Just got in from Zagazig myself. Been down there grubbing up some cash. How long have you been away? Business any good down at the coast? Don’t believe it is. Cairo’s the place for easy winnings. Bet you blew in without a piastre? Give ’em the stony30 face on the train? I did, though a fellow down in Zagazig ticketed me. Gave me the cash, the wise one, and of course I planted it and stared them off.”
Had I not already served an apprenticeship31 in German slang, I should have come off with a very indistinct notion of the recent activities of my new acquaintance. I broke in as soon as possible to assure him that I had never dared to hope that civilization was so up-to-date in Egypt that one could “beat his way” on the railroads, and to protest that I could doubly deny his charge of having “eingeblasen” without a piastre.
“It’s my first trip to Cairo,” I concluded. “I bought my own ticket—”
“What!” roared the German, “Ticketed yourself! Lieber Gott, aber du bist roh! Tick—But then,” he continued, in a hushed voice, “now I think of it, so did I! Schafskopf, ja! I paid good money to come to Cairo the first time! H?llespein, what a greenhorn I was!”
As he talked, we had left behind the howling throng. No need to ask where he was leading me.
“There’s an Asile in Cairo,” he put in, “but you’re too late to-night. You’ll meet all die Kamaraden where we’re going, for they’re most of them ausgespielt with the churchman and can’t talk the Asile tickets out of him.”
We crossed a rectangular square where street cars clanged their way through a multitude, and turned down a street flanked by brightly-lighted shops.
A winged dahabiyeh of the Nile
Sais or carriage runners of Cairo, clearing the streets for their master
191“It’s the Moosky,” said the German. “Good old lane. Many a piastre I’ve picked up in her.”
He dodged33 into a side alley34, jogged over a street, and entered the headquarters of “die Kameraden.” It was a wine shop with connecting kitchen, on the lower floor of a four-story building; just such a rendezvous35 as one finds in Germany. A shuffling36 Jew was drawing beer and wine for several groups of noisy faranchees at the tables, to the accompaniment of a continual jabber37 in Yiddish to which the tipplers replied, now and then, in German. A long-unwashed female wandered in from the back room with a steaming plate of meat and potatoes.
“Der Jude has lodgings,” said my companion, pointing at the ceiling. “Three small piastres. You can still eat a small piastre worth.”
Great impression two and a half cents would have made on an all-day appetite! Almost before I realized it, I had called for a supper that took my last copper39.
By the time I finished eating, the “comrades” were demanding the biography of “der Ank?mmling.” As all the party spoke40 German, I gave an abbreviated41 account of myself in that language.
“And what countryman are you?” asked a youth at a neighboring table.
“Ich bin29 Amerikaner.”
The entire party, the Jew included, burst into uproarious laughter so suddenly that two black urchins42, peering in upon us, took to their heels.
“Amerikaner! Ja! Ja!” shrieked44 the merrymakers, “Freilich! We are all Americans. But what are you when you tell the truth to your good comrades? Amerikaner! Ha! Ha!—”
The cane46 of the first speaker beat a tattoo47 on the table and the mirth subsided48. Plainly, he was a man of authority in the gathering49.
“Now, then,” he cried, as though I were entitled by the rules of “the union” to enter two answers, “what country are you from?”
I repeated my first assertion.
“So you are an American, rheally?” he demanded, suddenly, in clear English, though with a marked accent.
A long reply in my own tongue upset his conviction that I should not be able to understand him. The others, however, grinned skeptically and fell to chattering50 again, glancing up from time to time to mutter, “Amerikaner! Ja, gewiss.” I scraped up a half-pipe of tobacco from the corners of a pocket, and fell asleep over the fumes51.
A whining52 voice sounded in my ear:—“H’raus, Hop32! Will mich 192einschliessen!” I opened my eyes to find the Jew bending over me. The room was nearly empty. Of the few “comrades” who remained one was the youth who had addressed me in English. I caught up my bundle and turned towards the door.
“Du bist, aber, ganz kaput?” demanded the young man, “have you no money?”
“No.”
He rose and followed after me.
“If you are ein richtiger Amerikaner,” he said, “I can show you where to pick up the price of a lodging38.”
I nodded. The youth called to the Hebrew to leave his door unlocked, and led the way down the Moosky, across the square, and along a street that flanked a wooded park.
“Esbekieh Gardens, those,” he said. “I’m taking you to the American Mission Hospital. There are eight American preachers there, but your best chance now is Reverend ——. He lives in the third story, first door to the right of the stairway. You will find him studying. He studies until two in the morning. Knock on the door once. He won’t answer; but push it open and begin a hard-luck story right away. Now don’t tell him that you’ve just come to Egypt, nor that you’re a sailor; and, if he asks you if you speak German, say no. Tell him you are a civil engineer, or a plate-layer, or a mason, and that you’ve just walked down from Central Africa—your clothes fit that—and that you could get no work there, or—or that you got sick; yes, that’s better, for he’s an old wise one and knows there’s plenty of work up the river. Tell him you speak only English and that you are an American—that is if you are—and he will give you ten piastres. If you’re not sure you can talk English without a foreign accent—I can’t tell whether you do or not—well, I wouldn’t disturb the old man. He doesn’t like Germans.”
The youth pointed53 out a door of the Mission and slipped into the blacker night of one of her pillars. I stepped inside, and, mounting to the first landing, sat down to think matters over. The night air of January was too cold to sleep out of doors even should I succeed in hiding where the patrol could not rout5 me out. But to come at midnight to disturb an aged54 missionary55 with a stereotyped56 tale of woe57! Yet I knew the bitter hopelessness of looking for work after a night in the streets, and “a deep breath for breakfast.” Work? Why, of course! Just the point! I must find work before I left Cairo; why could I not ask for a small loan and pay it back?
193I continued up the stairs and knocked on the door that had been indicated. There was no response, but a tiny thread of light showed on the threshold. I stepped inside. In the far corner of a small room, a white-haired man closed, over a finger, the book he was reading, and turned the light of a student lamp full upon me. I began my story—not the one the German had plotted—and stated my case briefly58. To my dismay, the word “borrow” fell flat.
“I rarely,” said the old man, in a voice that would have chorded well with the last key of a piano, “I rarely give money to a man who has just come to the country. What business has he here without sufficient funds to establish himself? I have never given money to sailors. I know their ways too well. But after long months of daily visits from ‘Americans’ who speak English as if they had learned it in the slums of Berlin, I am glad to see a real American again; though sorry to find that he is without money, and still more so that he is a sailor. Here is a half-dollar”—handing me a ten-piastre piece—“I hope you will not drink quite all of it up. What state are you from?”
“Michigan. You understand I am only borrowing this until I can find work—”
“Young man,” said the missionary, rising to his feet, “you already have the money—the amount I give, if I give at all. No additions to your tale will cause me to offer more. Why, then, attempt to raise false hopes within my breast? So you are from Michigan? I am from Pittsburg. Good night,” and without giving me time for reply, he sat down and lost himself in the pages of his book.
“You were gone a long time,” said the German, as I emerged from the doorway60. “You couldn’t show him you were an American?”
I held out the coin in my hand.
“Ei! Gott!” cried my companion, “you got it? You are an American, then, a genuine American! It’s the test I always apply. He can tell an American at his first three words.”
“But why didn’t the crowd believe me?” I demanded.
“Ach!” burst out the youth, “Here in Cairo all the boys are Americans. We have Germans, Austrians, Hungarians, Poles, Norwegians, all sorts in the union, and everyone is an ‘American’—except among the comrades. And not three of them ever saw the United States! It is because, of all the foreigners in Egypt, the Americans are the easiest and the most generous. Then you know what a bad reputation Germans have as beggars—all turning out on their Wanderjahre? 194The Germans here will help us. Yes! But how? By giving us a loaf of bread, or an old pair of shoes, or two piastres. Bah! But the Americans! They give pounds and whole suits, and they don’t ask to hear the whole story of your past life. Americans? Why, there are dozens of American missionaries61, judges, merchants, engineers, and ei! Gott! the tourists! There’s your rich harvest, mein Freund! Why, a year I’ve been in Cairo learning English and picking the roosters. I’ve been up to see that greybeard four times! I dressed differently every time and practised every story for weeks until I got the accent right. Three times I got ten piastres, but the fourth he asked me questions, and, as I hadn’t practised the answers, I talked wild English and tangled62 myself up. Then I tried to get out of it by saying I was a Pennsylvania Dutchman. The old man started in on geography, and when I told him Pennsylvania was on the Gulf63 of Mexico he took his cane and chased me out. I’ve studied maps of the United States since then, though. He couldn’t catch me again. I know every city.”
“Yes,” he went on, as we turned into the now deserted64 Moosky, “all die Kunde try to be Americans. Aber Gott! The fools! They are too pig-headed ever to learn to talk English with an American accent. But you! Du glücklicher Kerl! You can live in Cairo until you grow a beard!”
I paid my lodging and followed the German up a narrow, winding65 stairway at the back of the shop. On the third story he pushed open a door much like the drop of a home-made rabbit trap, which gave admittance to a small room where four of six beds were already occupied. It needed only one long-drawn66 breath to prove that the “bedclothes” had not seen the washtub during several generations of “the boys,” and that a can of insect powder could be used to great advantage. But he who is both penniless and hypercritical should remain at home. I took the bed beside that of the German and was soon asleep.
I awoke next morning to find my guide of the night before sitting on his bed at a dry-goods box before the single window, sipping67 black coffee from a tin can and eating a boiled egg and a slab68 of bread with one hand, and slowly penning a letter with the other. Having seen enough of him already to be convinced that he was a man of considerable education, I was surprised to find that he wielded69 a pen with such apparent difficulty.
“It’s this English script that troubles me,” he remarked, as if in 195answer to my unexpressed question. “When you have written all your life in German script, it is hard to change.”
“Then you’re writing English?” I cried.
He motioned to the letter before him as he swallowed the last of the coffee:—“Of course! A man can’t eat if he doesn’t work. There’s a New York millionaire just come to town. His name is Leigh Hunt, and I’m writing to ask him for employment. He won’t have any, of course, but he may send me a pound or two. I found it too hard to learn to speak English without a foreign accent, so I write instead.”
He reached inside the box that served as table and tossed a dozen unstamped letters on my bed. All were addressed to Englishmen or Americans, among them people of international reputation.
“Read them according to the dates,” said the youth, “and see if my English hasn’t improved. I copied them all and sent out the copies. All but two sent me money. One wrote me to come and see him to-day. The other I haven’t heard from. You don’t spell ‘poverty’ with a capital, do you?”
As he had spoken but one sentence in English since our meeting, I was surprised to note the fluent use of that language in his letters. None of them contained actual errors; and only a peculiar70 turning of a phrase, here and there, which a reader off his guard might easily have overlooked, betrayed the nationality of the writer. The stories they told were proof of an inventive imagination. A dozen “hard-luck tales,” no one of which resembled the others, were all signed by different Americanized names, over different addresses. Here a youth from Baltimore, who had come to Egypt to open a store, had been robbed of all he possessed. There a civil engineer from New York had been forced to leave his work on the Berber-Suakim line and hasten down to Cairo to attend a sick wife and four small children. An aged stone mason, who had been injured while working on the barrage71 at Assuan, prayed for assistance to get back to his home in Cincinnati. A California prospector72, just returned from an unsuccessful expedition into the Uganda protectorate, was lying ill and penniless in a miserable73 lodging-house.
Nor did the resourceful German confine himself to his own sex. The last letter was an appeal to a well-known American lady from a young girl who had come from Boston to act as stenographer74 to a tourist firm that had not materialized, and who sought assistance before starvation should drive her to ruin.
196“How about this Boston story?” I asked.
“Best of the lot,” replied the youth. “Sent me two pounds and a letter full of wise advice—for females.”
“But didn’t she ask to see you?”
“Bah! Most of them are too busy enjoying themselves. They prefer to send a bank note and forget the matter. Once in a while, one of them sends for me and, if I think he is not too clever—most millionaires aren’t, you know—I go to see him, and generally get something on the Pennsylvania Dutch story.”
“Where do you get the names?”
“Mostly from this,” said the youth, reaching into the box once more and pulling out a Paris edition of the New York Herald75. “If a millionaire starts for Egypt, or lands here, or catches cold, or bruises76 his toe, the Herald knows it—and never forgets the address. Then there is a society paper published here in Cairo—”
“Do you write German letters, too?”
“Not many. I used to, when I first came to Africa, but it’s a poor game. I began to study English when I came to Cairo, a year ago. My first letters must have been bad, for I got no answers. But they make me a living now, and an occasional spree.”
“How much time does your letter writing take?”
“Four hours. I used to write at all times. Then I read of an author who wrote, rain or shine, from nine till one, and I find it a good idea. But to-day I’m going to break the rule and show you where you can talk the pounds out of some rich Americans. Why,” he cried, enthusiastically, “there hasn’t been a real American working the crowd since I’ve been here. We’ll go into partnership77. I know all the ropes and you can do the writing and interviewing; and, when we get Cairo pumped out, we’ll go up the Nile! I know every white man from here to Cape78 Town. I’ve covered Africa from one end to the other—with an American partner, too. But he was a real Pennsylvania Dutchman and had a little accent. You’ll do much better. Africa’s all good; though Cairo’s the best, for there’s no vagrancy79 law here. We’ll make an easy living together or my name isn’t Otto Pia.”
“Ever think of going to America?”
An Arab gardener on the estate of the American consul80 of Cairo, for whom I worked two weeks
Otto Pia, the German beggar-letter writer of Cairo
“Never,” he cried, “unless I was drunk. Never again a white man’s country for me! Here, a white wanderer is an isolated81 case of misfortune, far from his native shore. At home, he is only a common tramp, one among thousands, and the man who would give him pounds 197here would give him to the police there. That’s why few of die Kunde who come here—if they have brains enough to weave M?rchen—ever go back. Do you know the secret of getting the sympathy of the rich? It’s to make them think we’re much worse off here than at home and to keep before them the idea that we cannot find work. For that reason I am a plate-layer in Cairo; for plate-layers are only needed far up the Nile. If I’m up the Nile, I’m a stenographer, or a waiter, or anything else that there is sure to be no work for. No, mein Freund, never your United States for me! And you’ll not go back either, when I’ve showed you how easy it is to pick the roosters here. A tramp, you know, is like a prophet—’er gilt82 nichts in seinem Vaterlande.’”
“While you’re dressing83 and thinking up a few good M?rchen,” he went on, turning to his writing, “I’ll copy this letter. Then I’ll show you a few of the easiest marks.”
I protested, however, that I had come to Cairo to work rather than to weave “fairy tales.”
“Work?” he shouted, throwing aside his pen and springing to his feet, “A fellow who can write and talk English—and German, too, wants to work in Cairo? Why, mein lieber Kerl, you—you—” but the words stuck in his astonished throat.
I descended84 to the street and set out to visit such European contractors86 as I could locate. Long after dark, foot-sore and half-famished, covered with the dust of Cairo, I returned to the rendezvous and sat down at one of the tables. It was quite evident that die Kunde were neither foot-sore nor hungry, and their garments were as immaculate as second-hand87 garments can be made. The “wise ones” had loafed in the cafés and gardens, had written a letter or told a hard-luck story somewhere, and turned up at night with money enough to make merry through the whole evening. I, having tramped all day, from one address to another, turned up with—an appetite.
Otto Pia watched me, with a half-smile on his countenance, for some time after I had entered. Then he raised his cane and rapped on the table for silence.
“Ei! Gute Kamaraden!” he cried, “I have something to show you! Guk’ mal! Here is a comrade who is an American—do you hear—a real American, not a patched-up one; and this real American—in Cairo—wants to work!”
“Work?” roared the chorus, “Work in Cairo—and a real American—Lieber Gott—Ist’s denn ein Esel?—”
198I ate a meager88 supper and crawled away to bed. On the following day, I tramped even greater distances, and returned to the wine shop with only the price of a lodging left from the missionary’s donation. Pia rose and took a seat beside me.
“Lot of work you found, eh?” he began. “Didn’t any of them offer you money?”
“Most of them,” I answered.
“And you didn’t take it?” cried the German, “Why, you—you—you’re a disgrace to the union.
“I know how you feel though,” he went on, “I was the same once. When I ran away from Germany—to escape the army—I wouldn’t take a cent I hadn’t earned; and I starved a month in Pietermaritzburg, looking for work as you are here, before I got over my silly notions. Ach! I was an ass3! I tell you it’s no use. You won’t find work—especially in those rags. If you will work, let me take you where you can get some clothes first.”
It was all too evident that he was right. Weather-beaten garments might pass muster89 in the wilderness90 of Palestine, but they were wholly out of place in the Paris of Africa. Twice that day, those who had refused me employment had offered to fit me out in their cast-off clothing. I concluded to profit by the experience of Pia.
The German abandoned the composition of pathetic short stories for an hour next morning to conduct me to the Secretary of the “Cairo Aid Society,” a minister of the Church of England. Having pointed out the rectory, he left me without a sign of recognition, and marched unfalteringly down the street until he vanished behind the next row of houses. I mounted the broad steps and pressed the electric button. A jet-black Arab opened the door.
“I want to see the Reverend ——,” I began.
“Very sorry, but Reverend —— not in,” replied the servant, with a flash of ivory teeth in a very friendly smile.
“When will he be in?”
“Ah! Reverend —— gone to Iskanderia. No can tell. Come back maybe three day, maybe week,” and the black face grew so sorrowful with pity that I hastened to leave, lest tears should begin to flow.
The German was awaiting me about four steps from the spot where he had disappeared at a brisk walk.
“You’re back soon,” he said, “what luck?”
199“He is not in.”
“Not in? H?llespein! Certainly he’s in! He never goes out before noon. Do you think I’m a bungler91 at my profession? I know the hours of every padre in Cairo, exactly, always! Who told you he was not in?”
“His servant.”
“Was! Ein verdammter Schwartze? Herr Gott, aber du bist roh! Two days looking for work, and you don’t know yet that every nigger servant will tell you his master is out? Not in!”—and he burst forth92 in his peculiarly silent, yet uproarious laughter.
A new light had broken in upon me. This, then, was the reason that of some forty white men whom I had called on for employment, a bare dozen had been at home? I left my companion to conquer his risibility93 alone, and, hastening back to the rectory, brought the servant to the door with a vicious ring.
“I’ve heard the Reverend —— is in. I want to see him.”
There was no smile on the ebony face now. Even through the mask of black skin one could see anger welling up, the blind rage of the Mussulman against the hated unbeliever.
“I say Reverend —— not in!” snarled94 the servant, in hoarse95 sotto voce, “Go away.”
With a string of English oaths that spoke better of his linguistic96 abilities than the influence of his master, he shut the door, quickly, yet noiselessly.
I pressed a finger against the electric button and kept it there. A quick muffled97 patter of footsteps sounded inside, a whispered imprecation came through the keyhole. My finger was growing numb98. I relieved it with a thumb without breaking the circuit.
“Go away,” growled99 the servant, fiercely, half opening the door, “go way, damn you, I cut your neck”—and his speech did not end there. I relieved my thumb with another finger. The murderous gleam in the Arab’s eyes blazed forth more fiercely, then by a stern command of the will changed to an appeal.
“My God, stop!” he begged.
“Is your master in Iskanderia?”
A cry of rage trembled on his lips and was forced back.
“No,” he snapped, throwing open the door.
I stepped inside and followed him along the hall. At the entrance to a well-stocked library he turned to me with a hoarse whisper:—“Damn 200you! Why for you ring bell? I make you full of holes—”
A light step sounded in the passage and a grey-haired English lady stepped towards us.
“Yes, sir,” continued the Arab, without a pause, “master see you right away, sir. Step inside, please, sir.”
“Maghmoód,” said the lady, “who was ringing the door bell so long?”
“Think button get stuck, lady, when gentleman push,” replied the Arab, beaming upon me, “Shall I bring chocolate, lady?”
I sat down in the library and was joined almost at once by a sturdy, well-groomed old gentleman—a Briton by every token.
“Have trouble in getting in?” he demanded abruptly100, before I had spoken.
“Why—er—the servant thought at first you were not in,” I admitted.
“That rascal101!” cried the minister, “I have dismissed ten servants since I became secretary of the Society, for no other fault. Maghmoód knows that it is my duty to keep open house during the morning; yet for some reason I cannot fathom102, an Arab domestic cannot bear the thought of seeing his master give assistance of any kind to Europeans in unfortunate circumstances. It is a servant problem that has often been discussed among English residents; yet even the plumber103 and the carpenter continue to be shut out from houses where they have been sent for, unless they are well acquainted with native tricks.
“Now as to your case”—he needed no enlightenment as to my errand, evidently—“you need clothes, of course. Ordinarily, I have several suits on hand, sent by Englishmen in the city; but there has been such a run of German tramps that I have nothing left. I shall have something before long, surely. Meanwhile, I will give you a four-day ticket to the Asile Rudolph, our Society building. What is your trade?”
“I have worked as carpenter, mason, blacksmith, stevedore—”
“Good! Good!” said the rector. “You should find work easily. If you don’t, come back when your ticket runs out. I shall call Maghmoód up on the carpet. Good-day, my man.”
I hastened to join the German.
“That’s good as a beginning,” he said, as I displayed the ticket, “It shows you are on the trail, and you can work him for tickets for two or three weeks. But I must get back to my desk. Follow this avenue to the parade grounds; where you saw the Khedive’s guard drilling, you know. The Asile is close by.”
An Arab café in Old Cairo
201In a side street in which sprawled104 and squalled native infants uncountable, I tugged105 at a bell rope protruding106 from a stern brick wall, and was admitted by a bare-legged Arab to the courtyard of the Asile Rudolph. The superintendent107, seated before the “office,” called for my ticket. He was a sprightly108 Englishman, in the autumn of life, long a captain in the Black Sea service, and still known to all as “Cap Stevenson.” Around two sides of the court were the kitchen and sleeping-rooms of the male inmates109. Opposite the entrance towered the Women’s Asile, a blank wall except for one window opening, through which the English matron thrust her head at frequent intervals110 to berate111 the captain, in a caustic112 falsetto, for the hilarity113 of his charges.
Among my new companions, some two score of ragged, care-free fellows who had already gathered around the tables in the open air dining-room, the German vagabond predominated. The French, Italian, and Greek tongues were frequently heard, there were two or three castaways from the British Isles114; but as long as I remained at the Asile I was the sole representative of the western hemisphere.
An Arab servant bawled115 out from the depths of the kitchen, and, as we filed by the door, handed each of us a bowl of steaming soup and an ample slab of bread. There was no French parsimoniousness116 about the Asile Rudolph. Each bowl held a liberal quart—of something more than discolored dishwater, too—and down at the bottom were three cubes of meat. Never did a bowl appear during all the days that I wondered at the audacity117 of the society’s butcher without exactly three such cubes, of exactly the same size. To my companions they were the daintiest of morsels119. The best-dressed vagabond never dreamed of tasting his soup until he had fished out this basic flesh and laid it on the table before him to gloat over until he had finished his liquid refreshment120. Once gorged122 with soup, he sliced the cubes carefully, dipped the strips in rock salt, and slowly munched123 them, one by one, in his eyes the far-away look of keen enjoyment124. As for myself, when I attempted to cut up my first cube, it bounded away over my head and before I could turn around to follow its flight had disappeared into the pocket of some quicker-witted guest. I dismembered the second morsel118 with the assistance of a fellow-boarder, and inflicted125 upon my teeth a piece of convenient size. An hour later, I deposited the still undamaged delicacy126 outside a factory 202gate at the further end of the city. When I turned out to renew my search it was gone.
Thoughtful guests of the Society made provision during the noon-hour of plenty for the twenty-four hours to come; for morning and evening brought only coffee or tea, and bread. There was, however, something more than bed and board in store for the lucky possessor of one of the Reverend ——’s tickets—a shower bath! It was closed during the day, but I was by no means the last to finish the evening meal, and, once inside the wooden closet, it was only the protest that the stream could be used to even better advantage among my companions that saved me from a watery127 grave.
I began my fourth day’s search by applying at the office of the chief owners of modern Egypt—Thomas Cook and Son. There is hardly a walk in life, from the architect to the donkey-boy, that is not represented among the employees of that great tourist agency. Somewhere in those cosmopolitan128 ranks, I might find my place. I proffered129 my services to the company as a sailor on their Nile steamers, as an unskilled workman in any of their enterprises, as a man with a trade in the Bulak factory where their floating palaces are constructed. Nothing came of it. In desperation, I struck out in a struggle directly against the economic law of labor130, and, instead of dropping lower with each refusal, sought to climb higher.
It was true, admitted the manager, that the company was in need of clerks. It was still more in need of interpreters, and, to all appearance, I was qualified131 for either position. “But—but—I’m sorry, old chap,” and he looked sternly at my heelless slippers132 and ragged corduroys, “but really, you won’t do, don’t you know. I can give you a note to a well-known contractor85—”
I accepted it with pleasure; for the name of Cook and Son, embossed at the top of a letter of introduction, has great weight in Egypt. The contractor to whom the note was addressed gave me—another. The addressee of the second gave me a third. Two, three, four days, I spent in delivering notes to the European residents of Cairo and waging battle against her Islamite servant body. Night after night I returned to the Asile with one stereotyped answer in my head:—
“I really haven’t anything I can put you at now. I’ll give you a letter to ——. Are you on the rocks? Well, here, perhaps this dollar will help you out. You don’t want it? Well, I’ll keep you in mind.”
The employers were divided into two classes: those who offered money as the easiest means of getting rid of an unwelcome visitor, and 203those who had been “on the rocks” themselves and protested against my refusal to accept alms in the words of the water-works superintendent:—“Take it, man, there is no harder work than looking for work; why not be paid for it?” The strangest fact of all, one that impresses itself on the out-of-work the world over, was the conviction of each that I should easily find employment. “Why, to be sure,” exclaimed a superintendent of shops in Bulak, “we haven’t anything to offer just now; but a man with your list of trades will certainly find work in Cairo in a few hours, without the slightest trouble.” It would have been hard to convince him that I had heard that same statement in a half-dozen languages a score of times a day for a week past. Gradually the assertion of “the comrades,” that he who would work in the Egyptian capital was an ass, took on new force.
Rich or penniless, however, he who does not enjoy the winter season in Cairo must be either an invalid133, a prisoner, or an incurable134 pessimist135. Here one does not need to add to every projected plan, “weather permitting.” The sojourner136 in the land of Egypt knows, as he goes to his rest at night, that, whatever misfortune to-morrow may bring, it will be lightened by joyous137 sunshine. Nor need the sans-sous lack entertainment in this city of the Nile. One had but to stroll to the vicinity of the Esbekieh Gardens to hear a band concert, to see some quaint2 native performance, or to find some excitement afoot. At all hours of the day those fortunate beings whose names graced the pages of Pia’s society papers displayed their charms to the watching throng. At frequent intervals the Khedive and his bodyguard138 thundered by. Now and then the bellow139 of Cairo’s champion sa?s heralded140 the approach of the Khedive’s master, Lord Cromer. Nay141, entertainment there was never lacking—merely food.
When my ticket ran out on the morning of the fourth day, I did not apply at once for another. The evening before, the Greek proprietor142 of a famous cigarette factory had promised me a position, had even explained to me my probable duties as general porter in the establishment. But when I had inveigled143 my way into the inner sanctum for the second time, it was only to learn that a compatriot of the proprietor had applied144 earlier in the morning, and was already at work. Not to be outdone by his fellow-faranchees, the Greek offered me—a letter of introduction.
The hour of public audiences at the rectory was passed. The day, moreover, was Saturday, a half-holiday among contractors. In the hope of earning a night’s lodging by some errand, I joined the howling 204mob of guides, interpreters, street-hawkers, and fakirs, before Shepherd’s Hotel. I was the sole Frank in the gathering. Die Kameraden, whatever their nationality, would have been transfixed with horror had they seen one of their own patrician145 class competing with “niggers” for employment. As a last resort, had “the business” been utterly outrooted in Cairo, the members of “the union” might have consented to busy themselves with some genteel occupation; but had gaunt starvation squatted147 on his haunches in their path, they would never have stooped to the work of natives.
My presence was soon noised through all the screaming multitude, and I was cleverly “pocketed” by a dozen snake swallowers and sword jugglers, and gradually forced towards the outskirts148 of the crowd. When I resorted to force and beat my way to the front rank, I was little better off than before. For two hours I watched the natives about me selling, begging, running errands, or marching away to guide a tourist party through the city; without once seeing a beckoning149 finger in answer to my own offers of service. At frequent intervals, a lady appeared on the hotel piazza150, ran her eyes slowly over the front ranks, stared at me a moment, and, summoning some one-eyed rascal beside me, sent him across the city with a perfumed note. The ladies, certainly, were not to be blamed. It was so much more romantic; there was so much more local color in one’s doings, don’t you know, if one’s errands were run by a Cairene in flowing robes, rather than by a tramp such as one could see at home any day in St. Charles or Madison Square! What if one paid an exorbitant151 price for such services? It was to a picturesque152 figure, don’t you know, whose English was excruciatingly funny.
It is half disgusting, half pathetic, this ebb153 and flow of the population of Egypt at the crook154 of a tourist finger. From the door, on which every eye was fixed, emerged the blatant155 figure of a pompous156 pork-packer, or the half-baked offspring of a self-made ancestry157. With a wild howl the mob rose en masse and surged forward, threatening to break my ribs158 against the foot of the piazza. If the pork packer scowled159, the throng fell back like a receding160 tide. If the half-baked offspring raised an eyebrow161, the multitude swept on, tossing me far up the steps into the arms of “buttons,” on guard against the besiegers below.
He was a coarse-grained cockney, this “buttons,” and, in carrying out his orders to repel162 boarders, he was neither a respecter of persons nor of his mother tongue. A score of times I was pushed down the steps I had not chosen to ascend163, with a violence and profanity out of all keeping with racial brotherhood164.
An abandoned mosque165 outside the walls of Cairo, and a caravan166 off for Suez across the desert
205But every dog has his day. A sallow youth issued from the hotel and called for a man to carry a letter. “Buttons” was already raising a hand to point out a pock-marked Arab who had departed on four commissions since my arrival, when the tidal wave of humanity set me on the piazza. I shouted to the sallow youth just as “buttons” fell upon me. The youth nodded. It was a long-sought opportunity. I reversed r?les with the cockney and landed him in a picturesque spread-eagle on the heads of the backsheesh-seeking multitude. Had he not been wont167 to use his influence in favor of a very limited number of the throng, he would have been more immaculate in appearance, when he was dug out by his pock-marked confederate and restored to his coign of vantage. Meanwhile I had received the letter and a five piastre piece in payment, and had departed on my errand.
The coin paid my evening meal and a lodging for two nights in “the union,” and left me coppers168 enough for a native breakfast. Sunday was no time either to “forage,” or to visit rectors of the church of England. In company with Pia, who would under no circumstances use his inventive pen on the Sabbath, I visited those few corners of Cairo to which my search had not yet led me; the Mohammedan University of El Azkar, the citadel169, and the ruined mosques170 beyond the walls.
When all other resources fail him, the Anglo-Saxon wanderer has one unfailing friend in the East—Tommy Atkins. However penniless and forlorn he may be, the glimpse of a red jacket and a monkey cap on a lithe172, erect173 figure, hurrying through the foreign throng, is certain to give him new heart. Thomas has become a familiar sight in Cairo since the days of the Arabi rebellion. Down by the Kasr-el-Nil bridge, out in the shadows of the pencil-like minarets174 of Mohammed Ali’s mosque, in parade grounds scattered175 through the city, he may be found any afternoon perspiringly chasing a football or setting up his wickets in the screaming sunlight, to the astonishment and delight of a never-failing audience of apathetic176 natives. He doesn’t pose as a philanthropist—simple T. Atkins—nor as a man of iron-bound morality—rather prides himself, in fact, on his incorrigible177 wickedness. But the case has yet to be recorded in which he has not given up his last shilling more whole heartedly than the smug tourist would part with his cigar band.
Thomas, however, has no overwhelming love for “furriners—Dutchmen, 206dagoes, and such like.” It would be out of keeping with his profession. That was why Pia, after pointing out to me the least public entrance to the cavalry178 barracks, on this Sunday noon, strolled on down the street. The officers’ dinner was already steaming when I was welcomed by the six privates of that day’s mess squad179. By the time it had been served, I was lending the cooks able assistance in disposing of the plentiful180 remnants, amid the stories and laughter of a red-coats’ messroom. Even the bulging181 pockets with which I departed were less cheering than the last bellow from the barrack’s kitchen:—“drop in to mess any day, Yank, till you land something. No bloody182 need to let your belly183 cave in while there’s a khaki suit in Cairo.”
I was admitted to the library of the Reverend —— the following morning without so much as a hinted challenge from Maghmoód. The good rector was more distressed184 than surprised that I had not yet found work.
“The difficulty is right here,” he cried, as he made out a second Asile ticket. “No one will hire you in those rags, if you have a dozen trades. I must pick you up something that looks less disreputable. Come on Wednesday. I shall surely have something to offer.”
I fished out the note of the Greek cigarette maker45 and bore greetings from one European resident to another for two days more. On the third, I returned to the rectory and received a bundle of astonishing bulk.
“These things may not all fit you,” said the rector, “but it is all we have been able to collect.”
Red-eyed with hope, I hurried back to the Asile and opened the package. Just what I should have represented in the garments that came to view I have not yet concluded. On top was a pair of trousers, in excellent condition, but of that screaming pattern of unabashed checks in which our cartoonists are accustomed to garb bookmakers and Tammany politicians. In texture185, they were just the thing—for Arctic explorers, and they resigned in despair some four inches above my Nazarene slippers. Next came a white shirt, with a mighty expanse of board-like bosom186—and without a single button; then the low-cut vest of a dress suit, and, lastly, a minister’s long frock coat, with wide, silk-faced lapels.
The first shock over, I bore the treasure back to the rectory. But the good padre refused to unburden me. “Oh, I don’t want them around the house!” he protested, “If you can’t wear them, sell them.” Even the proprietor of “the union,” however, refused to come to my 207rescue. With much cajoling, I lured187 an unsophisticated newcomer at the Asile inside the vest and trousers, and intrusted the other garments to the safe-keeping of Cap Stevenson.
The endless stream of notes, having its source at the office of Cook and Son, flowed on unchecked. If my object had been merely to gain intimate acquaintance with the Cairenes of all classes, I could not have chosen a better method. No tourist, with his howling bodyguard of guides and dragomans, ever peeped into half the strange corners to which my wanderings led me. My command of Arabic, too, increased by leaps and bounds; for the necessity of giving expression of my innermost thoughts to the servant body of Cairo required an ever-increasing vocabulary.
The two-hundredth letter of introduction—if my count be not at fault—took me to that ultra-fashionable world across the Nile. The director of the Jockey Club read the latest epistle carefully, and, with sportsman-like fairness, gave me another. The delivery thereof required my presence in the great Gezireh Hotel. For once I was not even challenged by the army of servants; the very audacity of my entrance into those Elysian Fields left the astonished domestics standing188 in petrified189 rows behind me. The superintendent was most kind. He gave me, even without the asking, a letter of introduction! The curse of Cain on him who invented the written character! My entire Cairene experience had been bounded by this endless chain of notes through all the cycle of her cosmopolitan inhabitants.
The new missive carried me back to Shepherd’s Hotel, and for once I escaped employment by a hair’s breadth. The portly Swiss manager was inclined to overlook the shortcomings in my attire190. He needed a cellar boy, could use another porter, or “you may do as a bell-boy,” he mused191, with half-closed eyes, “if—”
What vision was this? Might I aspire192 even to displace mine ancient enemy, in all the splendor193 of two close rows of bright, brass194 buttons, and pace majestically195 back and forth with the sang-froid of a lion tamer, above the common horde59 I had so lately quitted? What folly196 to keep silent concerning those acquirements that especially fitted me to serve a cosmopolitan clientèle, while fickle197 fortune was holding forth this golden prize! I broke in upon the manager’s brown study with a deluge198 of German. He opened wide his eyes. I addressed him in French. He sputtered199 with astonishment. I continued in Italian. He waved his hands above his head like a swimmer about to go down for the third time. I added a savoring200 of Spanish 208and Arabic for good measure, and he clutched weakly at a hotel pillar.
Gradually, strength returned to his trembling limbs. He rubbed his astonished gorge121 with a ham-like hand and dislodged an imprisoned201 shriek43:—“Aber, mein lieber Kerl! Speaking all those langvages and out of a job—and in rhags! Why—you—you—you must haf been up to some crhooked business, yes?” He glanced fearfully about him at the silver ornaments202 of the office. “I—I—I am very sorry, we haf not now a single vacancy203. But—but you vill not haf the least trouble—mit so viel’ Sprachen—in getting a position, not the slightest! I gif you a note—to Cook and Son.”
I wandered sadly away across the city and stumbled upon the American legation. Long battle won me admittance to the office of the secretary. Beyond that I could not force my way. The secretary heard my case, and, eager to be off to some afternoon function, thrust an official sheet into his typewriter and set forth in a “to-whom-it-may-concern” the half-dozen trades I mentioned; and several others to which I had never aspired204. A second sheet he ruined with a score of addresses, and bade me be gone. If there was any corner of Cairo from Heliopolis to Masr el Attika which I had not already visited, these documents soon repaired the oversight205. Two days the new task required, and it brought no reward, save one. The head of the Egyptian railway system promised me a pass to the coast when I chose to leave the country. I did not choose at once, and, returning on the third day to the legation, fought my way into the sanctum of the consul-general himself.
“If you are looking for work of a specific character,” said that gentleman, “I can do no more than has already been done—give you more addresses. If you are merely looking for work, I can give you employment at once.”
I pleaded indifference206 to qualifying adjectives.
The consul chose a card from his case, turned it over, and wrote on the back:—“Tom;—Let Franck do it.”
“Take this,” he said, “to my residence; it is opposite that of Lord Cromer, near the Nile, and give it to my butler.”
“Tom,” the commander-in-chief of the servant body of a vast establishment, proved to be a young American of the pleasantest type. I came upon him dancing blindly around the ballroom207 of Mr. Morgan’s residence, and shouting himself hoarse with the Arabic variation of “Get a move on!” The consul, it transpired208, was to give a dinner, 209with dancing, to the lights of society wintering in the city. In the two days that remained before the eventful evening the ballroom floor must be properly waxed. Twelve native workmen, lured thither209 by the extraordinary wage of twenty-five cents a day, had been holding down the aforementioned floor since early morning. About them was spread powdered wax. In their hands were long bottles. Above them towered the dancing butler.
“Put some strength into it,” he bellowed210, by way of variation, as I stepped across the room towards him. For the three succeeding strokes, the dozen bottles, moving in unison211, to the chant of a thirteenth “workman” who had been hired to squat146 in a far corner and furnish vocal212 inspiration, nearly crushed the powdered wax under them. But this unseemly display of energy was of short duration.
I delivered the cabalistic message. The Arabs bounded half across the room at sound of the shriek emitted by its addressee:—“I’ll fire ’em!” bellowed Tom. “I’ll fire ’em now. An American? I’m delighted, old man! Get on the job while I kick these niggers down the stairs. Had any experience at this game?”
I recalled a far-off college gymnasium, and nodded.
“Take you’re own gait, only so you get it done,” cried the butler, charging the fleeing Arabs.
I discarded the bottle process and rigged up an apparatus213 after the fashion of a handled holly-stone. By evening, the polishing was half completed. When I turned my attention to the dust-streaked windows, late the next afternoon, the ballroom floor was in a condition that boded214 ill for any but sure-footed dancers. The outbreak of festivities found me general assistant to the culinary department, separated only by a Japanese screen from the contrasting class of society; represented by such guests as Lord Cromer and his youthful Lady, the ex-Empress Eugenie, the Crown Prince of Sweden, and the brother of the Khedive. Deeply did I regret the lack of inventiveness that forced me to report to the sleepless215 inmates of the Asile to which Cap Stevenson admitted me long after closing hours, that the conversation of so distinguished216 a gathering had been commonplace, the dancing unanimated, and the flirting217 unseemly.
By arrangement with Tom, I continued to “do it” long after the day of the ball. The fare at the servants’ table was beyond criticism, but I declined a blanket and a straw-strewn stall in the consul’s stable, and retained my cot at the Asile at a daily cost of two piastres. As my earnings218 grew, I repaired, one night, to the American 210Mission Hospital, mounted to the third story, knocked on the first door to the right, pushed it open, and astonished an aged missionary from Pittsburg out of a night’s labor. One idle hour, too, I examined again the garments I had left with Cap Stevenson and found them less useless than I had once imagined. The shirt, being tied together, front and back, with string, awoke the envy of all the “comrades.” For the bosom was of many layers, and, as each one became soiled, I had but to strip it off, and behold219!—a clean shirt. When I had laid the bundle away again, it contained only the minister’s frock coat.
Cap Stevenson had made a scientific study of the genus vagabundus that enabled him to gauge220 with surprising precision the demands that would be made on the Asile from day to day. There fell into my hands, one evening, a Cairo newspaper, containing the following item:—
Suez, February 2d, 1905.
The French troop-ship ——, outward bound to Madagascar with five hundred recruits, reports that while midway between Port Sa?d and Isma?lia, in her passage of the canal, five recruits who had been standing at the rail suddenly sprang overboard and swam for the shore. One was carried under and crushed by the ship’s screw. The others landed and were last seen hurrying away into the desert. All concerned were Germans.
I entered the office to point out the item to the superintendent.
“Aye,” said Cap, “I’ve seen it. That’s common enough. They’ll be here for dinner day after to-morrow.”
They arrived exactly at the hour named, the four of them, weather-beaten and bedraggled from their swim and the tramp across the desert, but supplied with the Reverend ——’s tickets. Two of the quartet were very engaging fellows with whom I was soon on intimate terms. One of this pair had spent some months in Egypt years before, after using the same means to make the passage from Europe.
On the Friday after their arrival, this man of experience met me at the gate of the Asile as I returned from my day’s labor.
“Heh! Amerikaner,” he began, “do you get a half holiday to-morrow?”
“Sure,” I answered.
“I’m going to take Hans out for a moonlight view of the Pyramids. It’s full moon and all the tourist companies are sending out tally-ho parties. Want to go along?”
I did, of course. The next afternoon I left the Asile in company with the pair. At the door of the office, I halted to pay my night’s lodging.
Spinners in the sun outside the walls of Cairo
Guests of the Asile Rudolph, Cairo. Fran?ois, champion beggar, in the center, in the cape he wore as part of his “system”
211“Never mind that,” said Adolph, the man of experience, “we’ll sleep out there.”
“Eh?” cried Hans and I.
Adolph pushed open the outer gate, and we followed.
“Suppose you’ll pay our lodging at the Mena House?” grinned Hans, as we crossed the Kasr-el-Nil bridge.
“Don’t worry,” replied Adolph.
We pushed through the throng of donkey boys beyond the bridge and, ignoring the electric line that connects Cairo with the pyramids of Gizeh, covered the eight miles on foot. Darkness fell soon after our arrival, and with it rose an unveiled moon. The tourists were out in force. Adolph led the way in and out among the ancient monuments and pointed out the most charming views with the discernment of an antiquarian. The desert night soon turned cold. The tourist parties strolled away to the great hotel below the hill, and Hans fell to shivering.
“Where’s this fine lodging you’re telling about?” he chattered221.
“Komm’ mal her,” said Adolph.
He picked his way over the tumbled blocks towards the third pyramid, climbed a few feet up its northern face, and disappeared in a black hole. We followed, and, doubled up like balls, slid down, down, down a sharply inclined tunnel, some three feet square, into utter darkness. As our feet touched a stone floor, Adolph struck a match. The flame showed two small vaults222 and several huge stone sarcophagi.
“Beds waiting for us, you see?” said Adolph. “Probably you’ve chatted with the fellows who used to sleep here? They’re in the British Museum, in London.”
He dropped the match and climbed into one of the coffins223. I chose another and found it as comfortable as a stone bed can be, though a bit short. Our sleeping chamber224 was warm, somewhat too warm in fact, and Hans, given to snoring, awoke echoes that resounded225 through the vaults like the beating of forty drums. But the night passed quickly, and, when our sense of time told us that morning had come, we crawled upward on hands and knees through the tunnel and out into a sunlight that left us blinking painfully for several moments.
A throng of tourists and Arabian rascals226 was surging about the monuments. A quartet of khaki-clad Britishers kicked their heels on the forehead of the Sphinx, puffing227 at their pipes as they exchanged the latest garrison228 jokes. We fought our way through the clinging 212Arabs, climbed to the summit of the pyramid of Cheops, took in the regulation “sights,” and strolled back to Cairo.
Many a strange bit of human driftwood floated ashore229 in the Asile Rudolph, but their stories would take too long in the telling. Yet no account of that winter season in Cairo would be complete without mention of “Fran?ois.” Fran?ois was, of course, a Frenchman, a Parisian, in fact, and, contrary to the usual rule, it was he, and not a German, who won and still holds the mendicant230 championship of Egypt. To all who spoke French, he was known as the most loquacious231 and jolly lodger232 at the Asile. The Reverend —— had long since turned him away from the door of the rectory; but Fran?ois would not be driven from his accustomed bed, and paid his two piastres nightly.
As a young man the Frenchman had worked faithfully at his trade; he admitted it with shame. Three years in the army, however, had awakened233 within him an uncontrollable Wanderlust, and during the twenty-three years since his discharge, he had tramped through every country of Europe. He was a man of meager education and by no means the native ability of Pia and many of the German colony. But long years before his arrival in Egypt, he had evolved “un système” to which his fame as a mendicant was due. The first part of this system concerned his personal appearance. He was pale of complexion234, though in reality very robust235, and he had trained his shoulders into a droop236 that suggested the last stages of consumption. His garb, in general, was that of a French workman, but over this he wore a cloak with a long cape that gave him an aspect not unlike a monk171, and, combined with his drooping237 shoulders and sallow, long-drawn face, created a figure so forlorn as to attract attention in any clime. Nothing, Fran?ois asserted, had contributed so much to his success as this cloak. Rain or shine, from the Highlands of Scotland to the shores of the Black Sea, in the depth of winter or in midsummer, he had clung to this garb for twenty years, replacing in that time a dozen cloaks by others of identical design. Even in Egypt he refused to appear in public without this superfluous238 outer garment, and, though the African sun had turned the threadbare cape almost as yellow as the desert sands, he was not to be separated from it until he had picked up another in some charitable institution of the city.
The second part of Fran?ois’s system was extremely simple. The method which Pia so successfully manipulated was too complicated for 213a man of little schooling239; yet Fran?ois rarely made a verbal appeal for alms. On a score of cards, which he carried ever ready in a pocket of his cloak, was written in as many languages this petition:—
“I am ill and in misery240. Please help me.”
The French card was his own production. The others he had collected from time to time as he made friends in the various countries he had visited. For, with all his wanderings, Fran?ois knew hardly a word of any language but his own.
I set out with the French champion, one Sunday afternoon, to visit the mosque of Sultan Hassan. Not far from the Asile gate, he caught sight of a well-dressed man, whose appearance stamped him as a German. Fran?ois shuffled241 his cards with a hasty hand, chose the one in the corner of which was written, in tiny letters, the word “allemand,” and set off at a trot242. Arrived within a few paces of his intended victim, he fell into a measured tread, thrust out the card, and waited with sorrowful face and hanging head. The German returned the card with a five-piastre piece.
Cairo is nothing if not cosmopolitan, and it is doubtful if every one of the cards did not make its appearance at least once during the afternoon. American tourists, English officers, French entrepreneurs, Greek priests, Italian merchants, Turkish clerks, Indian travelers, even the Arab scribes sitting imperturbable243 beside their umbrella-shaded stands,—all had the misery of Fran?ois called to their attention. Whether it was out of gratitude244 for a sight of the familiar words of his native tongue, or out of pity for the abject245 creature who coughed so distressingly246 and pointed to his ears like a deaf mute whenever a question was put to him, rare was the man who did not give something. Fran?ois collected more than a hundred piastres during that single promenade247. Yet before we set out he had called me aside and drawn from an inner pocket a purse that contained twenty-six English sovereigns in gold!
But it was his method of dispensing248 his income that made the Frenchman an enigma249 to his confidants. Fran?ois neither drank nor smoked; he rarely, if ever, indulged even in the mildest dissipation. Not far from the Asile, he stopped at a café for his petit déjeuner of chocolate and rolls and his morning paper; and, had he met the Khedive himself out for a stroll, Fran?ois would not have appealed to him before that breakfast was over. He was strictly250 a union man, was Fran?ois, in his hours of labor.
But his daily expenditures251 were for bed and breakfast only. There 214were scores of French chefs in Cairo, ever ready to welcome whomever knew the kitchen door and the language of the cuisine252. If his shoes wore out, there were several French shops in the vicinity of the Esbekieh Gardens. If he were in need of nothing more costly253 than a bar of soap, Fran?ois begged one of the first druggist he came upon. The sovereigns which cosmopolitan Cairo thrust upon him were spent almost entirely254 for souvenirs for his relatives in Paris. The most costly albums of Cairene views, fine brass ware255, dainty ornaments of native manufacturer were packed in the bazaars256 and shipped away to those fortunate brothers, sisters, and cousins of Fran?ois in the French capital. Only once in twenty-three years had he visited them, but few were the towns and cities of all Europe the arts and manufactures of which were not represented in that Parisian household. As a supplement to his gifts, there came semi-annually a letter from Fran?ois, announcing some new success in his career as a traveling salesman.
An Arab market-day at the village of Gizeh
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1
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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4
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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rout
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| n.溃退，溃败；v.击溃，打垮 | |
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whittling
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| v.切，削（木头），使逐渐变小( whittle的现在分词 ) | |
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tar
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| n.柏油，焦油；vt.涂或浇柏油/焦油于 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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rambling
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| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
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gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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wheedled
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| v.骗取（某物），哄骗（某人干某事）( wheedle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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delta
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| n.（流的）角洲 | |
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bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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northward
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| adv.向北；n.北方的地区 | |
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perused
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| v.读（某篇文字）( peruse的过去式和过去分词 )；（尤指）细阅；审阅；匆匆读或心不在焉地浏览（某篇文字） | |
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panorama
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| n.全景，全景画，全景摄影，全景照片[装置] | |
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21
prospective
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| adj.预期的，未来的，前瞻性的 | |
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metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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domed
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| adj. 圆屋顶的, 半球形的, 拱曲的 动词dome的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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24
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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26
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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29
bin
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| n.箱柜；vt.放入箱内；[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
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30
stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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apprenticeship
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| n.学徒身份；学徒期 | |
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32
hop
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| n.单脚跳，跳跃；vi.单脚跳，跳跃；着手做某事；vt.跳跃，跃过 | |
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33
dodged
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| v.闪躲( dodge的过去式和过去分词 )；回避 | |
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34
alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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rendezvous
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| n.约会，约会地点，汇合点；vi.汇合，集合；vt.使汇合，使在汇合地点相遇 | |
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36
shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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37
jabber
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| v.快而不清楚地说；n.吱吱喳喳 | |
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38
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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39
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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40
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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41
abbreviated
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| adj. 简短的，省略的 动词abbreviate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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42
urchins
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| n.顽童( urchin的名词复数 )；淘气鬼；猬；海胆 | |
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43
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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44
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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45
maker
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| n.制造者，制造商 | |
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46
cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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47
tattoo
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| n.纹身，(皮肤上的)刺花纹；vt.刺花纹于 | |
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48
subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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49
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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50
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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51
fumes
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| n.(强烈而刺激的)气味，气体 | |
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52
whining
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| n. 抱怨，牢骚 v. 哭诉，发牢骚 | |
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53
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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54
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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55
missionary
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| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
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56
stereotyped
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| adj.(指形象、思想、人物等)模式化的 | |
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57
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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58
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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59
horde
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| n.群众，一大群 | |
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60
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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61
missionaries
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| n.传教士( missionary的名词复数 ) | |
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62
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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63
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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64
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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66
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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67
sipping
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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68
slab
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| n.平板，厚的切片；v.切成厚板，以平板盖上 | |
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69
wielded
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| 手持着使用（武器、工具等）( wield的过去式和过去分词 )； 具有； 运用（权力）； 施加（影响） | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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71
barrage
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| n.火力网，弹幕 | |
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72
prospector
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| n.探矿者 | |
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73
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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stenographer
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| n.速记员 | |
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75
herald
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| vt.预示...的来临，预告，宣布，欢迎 | |
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76
bruises
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| n.瘀伤，伤痕，擦伤( bruise的名词复数 ) | |
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77
partnership
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| n.合作关系，伙伴关系 | |
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78
cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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79
vagrancy
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| （说话的，思想的）游移不定； 漂泊； 流浪； 离题 | |
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80
consul
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| n.领事；执政官 | |
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81
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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82
gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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83
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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84
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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85
contractor
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| n.订约人，承包人，收缩肌 | |
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86
contractors
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| n.（建筑、监造中的）承包人( contractor的名词复数 ) | |
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87
second-hand
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| adj.用过的，旧的，二手的 | |
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88
meager
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| adj.缺乏的，不足的，瘦的 | |
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89
muster
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| v.集合，收集，鼓起，激起；n.集合，检阅，集合人员，点名册 | |
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90
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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91
Bungler
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| n.笨拙者，经验不够的人 | |
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92
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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93
risibility
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| n.爱笑，幽默感 | |
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94
snarled
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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95
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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96
linguistic
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| adj.语言的，语言学的 | |
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97
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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98
numb
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| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
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99
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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100
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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101
rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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102
fathom
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| v.领悟，彻底了解 | |
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103
plumber
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| n.(装修水管的)管子工 | |
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104
sprawled
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| v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的过去式和过去分词)；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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105
tugged
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| v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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106
protruding
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的现在分词 )；凸 | |
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107
superintendent
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| n.监督人，主管，总监；(英国)警务长 | |
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108
sprightly
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| adj.愉快的，活泼的 | |
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109
inmates
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| n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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110
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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111
berate
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| v.训斥，猛烈责骂 | |
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112
caustic
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| adj.刻薄的，腐蚀性的 | |
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113
hilarity
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| n.欢乐；热闹 | |
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114
isles
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| 岛( isle的名词复数 ) | |
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115
bawled
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| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的过去式和过去分词 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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116
parsimoniousness
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117
audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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118
morsel
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| n.一口，一点点 | |
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119
morsels
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| n.一口( morsel的名词复数 )；（尤指食物）小块，碎屑 | |
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120
refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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121
gorge
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| n.咽喉，胃，暴食，山峡；v.塞饱，狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
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122
gorged
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| v.（用食物把自己）塞饱，填饱( gorge的过去式和过去分词 )；作呕 | |
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123
munched
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| v.用力咀嚼（某物），大嚼( munch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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124
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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125
inflicted
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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126
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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127
watery
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| adj.有水的，水汪汪的；湿的，湿润的 | |
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128
cosmopolitan
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| adj.世界性的，全世界的，四海为家的，全球的 | |
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129
proffered
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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130
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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131
qualified
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| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
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132
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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133
invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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134
incurable
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| adj.不能医治的，不能矫正的，无救的；n.不治的病人，无救的人 | |
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135
pessimist
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| n.悲观者；悲观主义者；厌世 | |
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136
sojourner
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| n.旅居者，寄居者 | |
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137
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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138
bodyguard
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| n.护卫，保镖 | |
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139
bellow
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| v.吼叫，怒吼；大声发出，大声喝道 | |
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140
heralded
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| v.预示( herald的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布（好或重要） | |
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141
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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142
proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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143
inveigled
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| v.诱骗，引诱( inveigle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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144
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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145
patrician
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| adj.贵族的，显贵的；n.贵族；有教养的人；罗马帝国的地方官 | |
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146
squat
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| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
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147
squatted
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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148
outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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149
beckoning
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| adj.引诱人的，令人心动的v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
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150
piazza
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| n.广场；走廊 | |
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151
exorbitant
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| adj.过分的；过度的 | |
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152
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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153
ebb
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| vi.衰退，减退；n.处于低潮，处于衰退状态 | |
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154
crook
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| v.使弯曲；n.小偷，骗子，贼；弯曲(处) | |
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155
blatant
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| adj.厚颜无耻的；显眼的；炫耀的 | |
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156
pompous
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的；夸大的；豪华的 | |
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157
ancestry
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| n.祖先，家世 | |
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158
ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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159
scowled
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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160
receding
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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161
eyebrow
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| n.眉毛，眉 | |
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162
repel
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| v.击退，抵制，拒绝，排斥 | |
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163
ascend
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| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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164
brotherhood
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| n.兄弟般的关系，手中情谊 | |
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165
mosque
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| n.清真寺 | |
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166
caravan
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| n.大蓬车；活动房屋 | |
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167
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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168
coppers
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| 铜( copper的名词复数 )； 铜币 | |
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169
citadel
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| n.城堡；堡垒；避难所 | |
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170
mosques
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| 清真寺； 伊斯兰教寺院，清真寺； 清真寺，伊斯兰教寺院( mosque的名词复数 ) | |
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171
monk
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| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
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172
lithe
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| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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173
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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174
minarets
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| n.（清真寺旁由报告祈祷时刻的人使用的）光塔( minaret的名词复数 ) | |
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175
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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176
apathetic
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| adj.冷漠的，无动于衷的 | |
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177
incorrigible
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| adj.难以纠正的，屡教不改的 | |
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178
cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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179
squad
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| n.班，小队，小团体；vt.把…编成班或小组 | |
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180
plentiful
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| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
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181
bulging
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| 膨胀； 凸出（部）； 打气； 折皱 | |
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182
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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183
belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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184
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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185
texture
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| n.(织物)质地；(材料)构造；结构；肌理 | |
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186
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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187
lured
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| 吸引，引诱（lure的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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188
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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189
petrified
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| adj.惊呆的；目瞪口呆的v.使吓呆，使惊呆；变僵硬；使石化(petrify的过去式和过去分词) | |
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190
attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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191
mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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192
aspire
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| vi.(to，after)渴望，追求，有志于 | |
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193
splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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194
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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195
majestically
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| 雄伟地； 庄重地； 威严地； 崇高地 | |
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196
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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197
fickle
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| adj.(爱情或友谊上)易变的，不坚定的 | |
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198
deluge
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| n./vt.洪水，暴雨，使泛滥 | |
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199
sputtered
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| v.唾沫飞溅( sputter的过去式和过去分词 )；发劈啪声；喷出；飞溅出 | |
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200
savoring
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| v.意味，带有…的性质( savor的现在分词 )；给…加调味品；使有风味；品尝 | |
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201
imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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202
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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203
vacancy
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| n.（旅馆的）空位，空房，（职务的）空缺 | |
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204
aspired
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| v.渴望，追求( aspire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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205
oversight
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| n.勘漏，失察，疏忽 | |
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206
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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207
ballroom
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| n.舞厅 | |
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208
transpired
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| （事实，秘密等）被人知道( transpire的过去式和过去分词 )； 泄露； 显露； 发生 | |
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209
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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210
bellowed
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的过去式和过去分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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211
unison
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| n.步调一致，行动一致 | |
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212
vocal
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| adj.直言不讳的；嗓音的；n.[pl.]声乐节目 | |
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213
apparatus
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| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
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214
boded
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| v.预示，预告，预言( bode的过去式和过去分词 )；等待，停留( bide的过去分词 )；居住；（过去式用bided）等待 | |
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215
sleepless
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| adj.不睡眠的，睡不著的，不休息的 | |
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216
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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217
flirting
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| v.调情，打情骂俏( flirt的现在分词 ) | |
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218
earnings
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| n.工资收人；利润，利益，所得 | |
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219
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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220
gauge
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| v.精确计量；估计；n.标准度量；计量器 | |
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221
chattered
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| （人）喋喋不休( chatter的过去式 )； 唠叨； （牙齿）打战； （机器）震颤 | |
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222
vaults
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| n.拱顶( vault的名词复数 )；地下室；撑物跳高；墓穴 | |
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223
coffins
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| n.棺材( coffin的名词复数 )；使某人早亡[死，完蛋，垮台等]之物 | |
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224
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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225
resounded
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| v.（指声音等）回荡于某处( resound的过去式和过去分词 )；产生回响；（指某处）回荡着声音 | |
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226
rascals
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| 流氓( rascal的名词复数 )； 无赖； （开玩笑说法）淘气的人（尤指小孩）； 恶作剧的人 | |
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227
puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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228
garrison
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| n.卫戍部队；驻地，卫戍区；vt.派(兵)驻防 | |
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229
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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230
mendicant
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| n.乞丐；adj.行乞的 | |
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231
loquacious
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| adj.多嘴的，饶舌的 | |
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232
lodger
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| n.寄宿人，房客 | |
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233
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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234
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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235
robust
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| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
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236
droop
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| v.低垂，下垂；凋萎，萎靡 | |
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237
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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238
superfluous
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| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
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239
schooling
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| n.教育；正规学校教育 | |
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240
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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241
shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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242
trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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243
imperturbable
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| adj.镇静的 | |
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244
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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245
abject
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| adj.极可怜的，卑屈的 | |
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246
distressingly
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| adv. 令人苦恼地；悲惨地 | |
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247
promenade
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| n./v.散步 | |
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248
dispensing
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| v.分配( dispense的现在分词 )；施与；配（药） | |
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249
enigma
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| n.谜，谜一样的人或事 | |
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250
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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251
expenditures
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| n.花费( expenditure的名词复数 )；使用；（尤指金钱的）支出额；（精力、时间、材料等的）耗费 | |
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252
cuisine
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| n.烹调，烹饪法 | |
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253
costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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254
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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255
ware
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| n.(常用复数)商品，货物 | |
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256
bazaars
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| （东方国家的）市场( bazaar的名词复数 )； 义卖； 义卖市场； （出售花哨商品等的）小商品市场 | |
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