‘It possesses, nevertheless, a number of highly talented and ingenious beggars,’ he said; ‘if I had not spoken so disparagingly of marvellous things that have really happened I would tell you the story of Ibrahim and the eleven camel-loads of blotting-paper. Also I have forgotten exactly how it ended.’

‘My own life-story is a curious one,’ said the stranger, apparently stifling all desire to hear the history of Ibrahim; ‘I was not always as you see me now.’

‘We are supposed to undergo complete change in the course of every seven years,’ said Crosby, as an explanation of the foregoing announcement.

‘I mean I was not always in such distressing circumstances as I am at present,’ pursued the stranger doggedly.

‘That sounds rather rude,’ said Crosby stiffly, ‘considering that you are at present talking to a man reputed to be one of the most gifted conversationalists of the Afghan border.’

‘I don’t mean in that way,’ said the greybeard hastily; ‘I’ve been very much interested in your conversation. I was alluding to my unfortunate financial situation. You mayn’t hardly believe it, but at the present moment I am absolutely without a farthing. Don’t see any prospect of getting any money, either, for the next few days. I don’t suppose you’ve ever found yourself in such a position,’ he added.

‘In the town of Yom,’ said Crosby, ‘which is in Southern Afghanistan, and which also happens to be my birthplace, there was a Chinese philosopher who used to say that one of the three chiefest human blessings was to be absolutely without money. I forget what the other two were.’

‘Ah, I dare say,’ said the stranger, in a tone that betrayed no enthusiasm for the philosopher’s memory; ‘and did he practise what he preached? That’s the test.’

‘He lived happily with very little money or resources,’ said Crosby.

‘Then I expect he had friends who would help him liberally whenever he was in difficulties, such as I am in at present.’

‘In Yom,’ said Crosby, ‘it is not necessary to have friends in order to obtain help. Any citizen of Yom would help a stranger as a matter of course.’

The greybeard was now genuinely interested. The conversation had at last taken a favourable turn.

‘If some one, like me, for instance, who was in undeserved difficulties, asked a citizen of that town you speak of for a small loan to tide over a few days’ impecuniosity—five shillings, or perhaps a rather larger sun—would it be given to him as a matter of course?’

‘There would be a certain preliminary,’ said Crosby; ‘one would take him to a wine-shop and treat him to a measure of wine, and then, after a little high-flown conversation, one would put the desired sum in his hand and wish him good-day. It is a roundabout way of performing a simple transaction, but in the East all ways are roundabout.’

The listener’s eyes were glittering.

‘Ah,’ he exclaimed, with a thin sneer ringing meaningly through his words, ‘I suppose you’ve given up all those generous customs since you left your town. Don’t practise them now, I expect.’

‘No one who has lived in Yom,’ said Crosby fervently, ‘and remembers its green hills covered with apricot and almond trees, and the cold water that rushes down like a caress from the upland snows and dashes under the little wooden bridges, no one who remembers these things and treasures the memory of them