I haven’t the stick now, for someone “annexed” it a few months afterwards. The next day one of the Hospital assistants got into trouble. He gave a patient too much strychnine: however, he was not punished. [Sidenote: The Amîr’s Comment on the Paragraph.] During a sitting shortly after this, His Highness told me of a report he had had from his Agent in Calcutta, concerning a paragraph in a newspaper there. It stated that I had given an opinion to the effect that His Highness was suffering from gout in the stomach, and could not live more than five years. As a matter of fact, I had given no such opinion. His Highness told me not to allow my mind to be distressed, as he considered either the report or the paragraph to be false. At another sitting an incident occurred which might have given rise to a serious mishap. It occurred in this way: I was working at the watch chain, but presently His Highness moved and the chain became disarranged. Without thinking where I was--for I was absorbed in the painting--and acting as if he were an English gentleman and not an Oriental Prince whose life had already been attempted, I walked suddenly up to the Amîr to re-arrange the chain. There was a dead silence, though I hardly noticed it at the time, but I saw that the Amîr looked very hard at me. Then with a bow I went back to my work. Nothing was said. When we reached home the Armenian told me that he and every one else in the Court were exceedingly startled by my walking suddenly up to His Highness. He was just as likely to have shot me as not. It was contrary to etiquette to approach near uninvited; and the suddenness was so very suggestive of evil designs. However, His Highness was not seriously annoyed. He saw at once that I meant no evil, nor any disrespect. When I went to the Prince’s one morning, I was informed that the Sultana wished me to paint her little son’s portrait. He was not to be painted as a baby four or five months old, but sitting upright with a tunic and busby on, like his father, the Amîr. The tunic and busby were then being made. This seemed likely to be a difficult task. I was accompanied back to my house by the Captain of the Prince’s guard, who had had a very severe toothache for some days, and he came to have the tooth out. He was a very large Afghan, much taller than I, but he was very nervous about the operation. I sat him in the chair, selected my forceps, put my arm firmly round his neck and pushed the forceps well home. He screamed, slid down in the chair, and kicked violently. It was no use, however: I had him firmly, and the tooth too. He thanked me very profusely when the operation was over. [Sidenote: The Shooting Expedition and its Dangers.]