"You see I still hold
it in my hand."
"Thanks, master. I have no need of the money."
"You must take it, Mohammed," said Osman, gently. "As I told you
before, father has forgotten to add for what purpose he gives it.
You are to go and hear the new scha-er, the story-teller. Do you
know him already?"
"No, Osman, I do not. What of this scha-er?"
"I have heard him much spoken of," replied Osman, gently. "He is a
rival of the old scha-er; Mehsed. You know the old one always sits
in the middle of the market-place, on a stone, and tells the people
stories of the olden time, and of the magnificence of the Turkish
Empire. Now a new storyteller has come, from Constantinople it is
said, and people say his stories are very beautiful. But he does not
seat himself on a stone in the middle of the market, but in the wide
hall of a store. There he has hired a corner, and there he sits.
Around himself, as far as his voice reaches, he has fastened a rope
to stakes, and whoever wishes to enter the circle thus formed must
pay to hear his stories. I should like to do so, too, and have often
entreated my father to allow me, but they say it would excite me too
much, and that the air of the hall would be too close for me.
Therefore, Mohammed, I beg you to go there for me, listen to the
stories, and then come and repeat them to me. You see it was for
this purpose father gave you the money.
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