Give him half a chance, and Haroun-al-Raschid won't be in it. Kaid
trusts him, depends on him, stands by him, but doesn't seem to know
how to help him when help would do most good. The Saadat does it
all himself; and if it wasn't that the poor devil of a fellah sees
what he's doing, and cottons to him, and the dervishes and Arabs
feel he's right, he might as well leave. But it's just there he
counts. There's something about him, something that's Quaker in
him, primitive, silent, and perceptive--if that's a real word--which
makes them feel that he's honest, and isn't after anything for
himself. Arabs don't talk much; they make each other understand
without many words. They think with all their might on one thing at
a time, and they think things into happening--and so does he. He's
a thousand years old, which is about as old-fashioned as I mean, and
as wise, and as plain to read as though you'd write the letters of
words as big as a date-palm. That's where he makes the running with
them, and they can read their title clear to mansions in the skies!
You should hear him talk with Ebn Ezra Bey--perhaps you don't know
of Ezra? He was a friend of his Uncle Benn, and brought the news of
his massacre to England, and came back with the Saadat.
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