After placing these arguments before him, I make a final appeal; “Johnson, don’t desert me. Nerve yourself and go in with me.” Seeing that he is wavering and hesitating, I say: “Johnson, screw your courage to the sticking point, and let’s go in.” He responds: “It won’t stick.” “Try it again!” He repeats, “_It won’t stick!_” By this time we are at the heavy, iron gate which is locked, and guarded by two strong and stalwart Arabs. I say to one of them: “Will you let me in?” “Yes,” was the reply. “Will you let me out?” After a long pause, he responds in a deep, husky voice, “Y-e-s.” I repeat the question, and receive the same significant frown and gutteral sound as an answer. I hardly know what is meant. I do not know but that the idea is to get me in, and then lock the gate and exact so much money before letting me out. I have not “so much money” to give. Turning to my guide, I say, “Abraham, Abraham, I charge you by the money I have paid you, by your sense of honor and manhood; I charge you by him whose name you bear, let not this gate close until I come out.” With an honest emphasis, he responds, “I will guard the gate.” Laying my hand upon my companion’s shoulder, I address him thus: “Johnson, I, to some extent, commit my life into your keeping. I charge you by the sacred memory of mother, home and Heaven, by the golden ties of friendship, I charge you, Johnson, let not this gate close until I come out.” With tears in his eyes, and his great heart welling without him, he replies: “Whittle, if necessary, I will block this gate open with my dead body until you come out.” My mind is now made up. I am determined to enter. You naturally ask, “Why go into such a place?” I can hardly tell you why, unless forsooth, I am something like Mamie. Mamie wanted to go into the garden and see the flowers. Her mother said, “Well, my child, you may go into the garden to see the flowers, but you must not eat any of those berries on the currant-bush.” “No, ma’am, I won’t.” Twenty minutes later Mamie emerges from the garden, licking out her tongue and smacking her lips, while her face is stained with the berries. “Did you eat any of those berries, Mamie?” “No, ma’am.” “Come, my child, don’t tell me a story.” Crying and trembling with fear, Mamie says, “Well, mamma, I did eat a few of ‘em.” “Why did you disobey mother?” “Because I couldn’t help it,” was Mamie’s response. “Why could you not help it?” said the mother. “‘Cause the devil tempted me.” Mother. “Why did you not say, ‘Get thee behind me, Satan’?” Mamie. “I did say, ‘Get thee behind me, Satan,’ and he got behind me and pushed me right into the bush.”