Acres of Diamonds

ACRES OF DIAMONDS


When going down the Tigris and Euphrates rivers many years ago with a
party of English travelers I found myself under the direction of an old
Arab guide whom we hired up at Bagdad, and I have often thought how that
guide resembled our barbers in certain mental characteristics. He
thought that it was not only his duty to guide us down those rivers, and
do what he was paid for doing, but also to entertain us with stories
curious and weird, ancient and modern, strange and familiar. Many of
them I have forgotten, and I am glad I have, but there is one I shall
never forget.

The old guide was leading my camel by its halter along the banks of
those ancient rivers, and he told me story after story until I grew
weary of his story-telling and ceased to listen. I have never been
irritated with that guide when he lost his temper as I ceased
listening. But I remember that he took off his Turkish cap and swung
it in a circle to get my attention. I could see it through the
corner of my eye, but I determined not to look straight at him for
fear he would tell another story. But although I am not a woman, I
did finally look, and as soon as I did he went right into another
story.