“But if a promise is not binding, what is?” I asked. “A guarantee,” Talaat answered quickly. This fine Turkish distinction had a certain metaphysical interest, but I had more practical matters to discuss at that time. So I began to talk about the Armenians at Konia. I had hardly started when Talaat’s attitude became even more belligerent. His eyes lighted up, he brought his jaws together, leaned over toward me, and snapped out: “Are _they_ Americans?” The implications of this question were hardly diplomatic; it was merely a way of telling me that the matter was none of my business. In a moment Talaat said this in so many words. “The Armenians are not to be trusted,” he said, “besides, what we do with them does not concern the United States.” I replied that I regarded myself as the friend of the Armenians and was shocked at the way that they were being treated. But he shook his head and refused to discuss the matter. I saw that nothing could be gained by forcing the issue at that time. I spoke in behalf of another British subject who was not being treated properly. “He’s English, isn’t he?” answered Talaat. “Then I shall do as I like with him!” “Eat him, if you wish!” I replied. “No,” said Talaat, “he would go against my digestion.” He was altogether in a reckless mood. “_Gott strafe England!_” he shouted--using one of the few German phrases that he knew. “As to your Armenians, we don’t give a rap for the future! We live only in the present! As to the English, I wish you would telegraph Washington that we shall not do a thing for them until they let out Ayoub Sabri and Zinnoun!” Then leaning over, he struck a pose, pressed his hand to his heart, and said, in English--I think this must have been almost all the English he knew: “Ayoub Sabri--he--my--brudder!” Despite this I made another plea for Dr. McNaughton. “He’s not American,” said Talaat, “he’s a Canadian.” “It’s almost the same thing,” I said. “Well,” replied Talaat, “if I let him go, will you promise that the United States will annex Canada?” “I promise,” said I, and we both laughed at this little joke. “Every time you come here,” Talaat finally said, “you always steal something from me. All right, you can have your McNaughton!” Certainly this interview was not an encouraging beginning, so far as the Armenians were concerned. But Talaat was not always in an “Ayoub Sabri mood.” He went from one emotion to another as lightly as a child; I would find him fierce and unyielding one day, and uproariously good-natured and accommodating the next. Prudence indicated, therefore, that I should await one of his more congenial moments before approaching him on the subject that aroused all the barbarity in his nature. Such an opportunity was soon presented. One day, soon after the interview chronicled above, I called on Talaat again. The first thing he did was to open his desk and pull out a handful of yellow cablegrams. “Why don’t you give this money to us?” he said, with a grin.