A FOGY who lived in a cave near a great caravan1 route returned to
his home one day and saw, near by, a great concourse of men and
animals, and in their midst a tower, at the foot of which something
with wheels smoked and panted like an exhausted2 horse. He sought
the Sheik of the Outfit3.
"What sin art thou committing now, O son of a Christian4 dog?" said
the Fogy, with a truly Oriental politeness.
"Boring for water, you black-and-tan galoot!" replied the Sheik of
the Outfit, with that ready repartee5 which distinguishes the
Unbeliever.
"Knowest thou not, thou whelp of darkness and father of disordered
livers," cried the Fogy, "that water will cause grass to spring up
here, and trees, and possibly even flowers? Knowest thou not, that
thou art, in truth, producing an oasis6?"
"And don't you know," said the Sheik of the Outfit, "that caravans7
will then stop here for rest and refreshments8, giving you a chance
to steal the camels, the horses, and the goods?"
"May the wild hog9 defile10 my grave, but thou speakest wisdom!" the
Fogy replied, with the dignity of his race, extending his hand.
"Sheik."
They shook.
