“The individual whose sad taking-off I
have just narrated,” said the emir of
the tribe of Al-Yam, “affords an excellent
example of the power of
good clothes. Suppose he had secreted himself
under Miss Almira’s bed wearing a
jumper, overalls, and a mask. He would
have been arrested and lodged in the penitentiary.”
“But he is now dead,” said Mr. Middleton.
“He had better be dead, than continuing
his career of villainy and crime,” quoth the emir
sternly, and then passing his eyes over the person
of Mr. Middleton, he remarked the somewhat
threadbare and glossy garments of that
excellent young man. “If you would accept a
suit of raiment from me,” continued the emir
with a hesitation that betrayed the delicacy
which was one of the most marked of the many
estimable traits that made his character so
admirable, “I would be overjoyed and obliged.
The interests of you, my only friend in this
vast land, have become to me as my own.
Unfortunately I have no Frank clothes except
the one suit I wear daily. But of the costumes
of my native land, I have abundant store, and
as we are of the same stature, I beg you will
make me happy by accepting one.”
Speaking some words to Mesrour in the
language of Arabia, the blackamore brought in
and proceeded to invest Mr. Middleton with
an elegant silken habit consisting of a pair of
exceedingly baggy trousers of the hue of
emeralds, a round jacket whose crimson
rivalled the rubies of Farther Ind, and a vest
of snowy white. Double rows of small pearls
ornamented the edges of the jacket, which was
short and just met a copper-colored sash about
the waist. After inducting him into a pair of
white leggings and bronze shoes, Mesrour
clapped upon his head a large white turban
ornamented with a black aigret.
Mr. Middleton looked very well in his new
garments and while the emir was complimenting
him upon this fact and the grace of his
bearing and Mr. Middleton was uttering protestations
of gratitude, Mesrour busied himself,
and Mr. Middleton, turning with intent to
resume his wonted garb, was astonished to
find it in a network of heavy twine tied with a
multiplicity of knots.
“Mesrour will bring you your Frank clothes
in the morning. I am very tired, and so I will
bid you good night,” and the yawn which now
overspread the face of the accomplished
prince told more than his words that the audience
was ended.
Mr. Middleton looked at the bundle with its
array of knots. To untie it would require a
long time and the prince was repeating his
yawn and his good night. Even had he not
hesitated to offend the prince by demanding
opportunity to resume his customary vestments
and to weary him by making him wait for this
operation, which promised to be a long one,
he would have been without volition in the
matter; for in obedience to a gesture, Mesrour
grasped his arm and with great deference, but
inflexible and unalterable firmness, led him
through the shop and closed the street door
behind him.
Mr. Middleton was greatly disconcerted at
finding himself in the street arrayed in these
brilliant and barbarous habiliments, but reflecting
that the citizens traveling the streets at
this hour would perhaps take him for some
high official in one of the many fraternal
orders that entertain, instruct, and edify the
inhabitants of the city, he proceeded on his
way somewhat reassured. As he was changing
cars well toward his lodgings, at a corner
where a large public hall reared its façade, he
heard himself accosted, and turning, beheld a
portly person wearing a gilt paper crown, a
long robe of purple velvet bordered with rabbit’s
fur spotted with black, and bearing in his
hand a bung-starter, which, covered with gilt
paper, made a very creditable counterfeit of a
royal scepter.
“Come here once,” said this personage.
With great affableness expressing a willingness
to come twice, if it were desired, Mr.
Middleton accompanied the personage, as with
an air of brooding mystery, the latter led him
down the street twenty feet from where they
had first stood.
“Was you going to the masquerade?”
“Yes,” said Mr. Middleton, divining from
the presence of the personage and two other
masquers whom he now beheld entering the
hall, that a masquerade was in progress.
“What’ll you take to stay away?”
“Why?”
“You’ll take the prize.”
“What is the prize and why should the possibility
of winning it deter me?”
“The prize is five dollars. It’s this way. I
am a saloonkeeper. Gustaf Kleiner and I are
in love with the same girl. She is in love with
all both of us. She don’t know what to say.
She can’t marry all both, so she says she’ll
marry the one what gits the prize at the masquerade.
If you git the prize, don’t either of
us git the girl already. I’ll give you twenty
dollars to stay away.”
“But what of Gustaf Kleiner? Have you
paid him?”
“He is going to be a devil. I hired two
Irishmans for five dollars to meet him up the
street, cut off his tail, break his horns, and put
whitewash on his red suit. He is all right.
I’ll make it thirty dollars and a ticket of the
raffle for my watch to-morrow.”
“Done,” said Mr. Middleton, and he proceeded
to draw up a contract binding him to
stay away from the masquerade for a consideration
of thirty dollars.
It was not the least remarkable part of his
adventure that he did not meet Gustaf Kleiner
in his damaged suit and for a consideration of
fifty dollars, lend him the magnificent Oriental
costume. He did not see Gustaf Kleiner at
all, nor did he win the watch in the raffle and
the chronicler hopes that the setting down of
these facts will not cause the readers to doubt
his veracity, for he is aware that usually these
things are ordered differently.
Having kept the Oriental costume for several
days and seeing no prospect of ever wearing it,
and his small closet having become crowded
by the presence of a new twenty-dollar suit
which he purchased with part of his gains, he
presented it to the young lady in Englewood
previously mentioned, who reduced the ruby red
jacket to a beautiful bolero jacket, made a table
throw of the sash, and after much hesitation
seized the exceedingly baggy trousers—which
were made with but one seam—and ripping them
up, did, with a certain degree of confusion,
fashion them into two lovely shirt waists.
But she did not wear them in the presence of
Mr. Middleton and did not even mention them
to him. Nor did Mr. Middleton allude to any
of these transactions when on the appointed
day and hour he again sat in the presence of
the urbane prince of the tribe of Al-Yam.
Handing him a bowl of delicately flavored
sherbet, Achmed began to narrate The Adventure
of William Hicks.
