I asked for what I've got, and,
dear Lady Cousin, I put up some cash for it, too, as a man should.
No, I don't mind for myself, fond as I am of loafing, sort of
pottering round where the streets are in the hands of a pure police;
for I've seen more, done more, thought more, up here, than in all my
life before; and I've felt a country heaving under the touch of one
of God's men--it gives you minutes that lift you out of the dust and
away from the crawlers. And I'd do it all over a thousand times for
him, and for what I've got out of it. I've lived. But, to speak
right out plain, I don't know how long this machine will run.
There's been a plant of the worst kind. Tribes we left friendly
under a year ago are out against us; cities that were faithful have
gone under to rebels. Nahoum has sowed the land with the tale that
the Saadat means to abolish slavery, to take away the powers of the
great sheikhs, and to hand the country over to the Turk. Ebn Ezra
Bey has proofs of the whole thing, and now at last the Saadat knows
too late that his work has been spoiled by the only man who could
spoil it. The Saadat knows it, but does he rave and tear his hair?
He says nothing. He stands up like a rock before the riot of
treachery and bad luck and all the terrible burden he has to carry
here. If he wasn't a Quaker I'd say he had the pride of an
archangel.
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