On the way the merchant discoursed on the excellent qualities of the Ruler of the Faithful, Harun Al-Raschid. He told him of his love of justice and his shrewdness, and how he could unravel the deepest mysteries of the law in the most remarkable manner. “But he takes good care to keep himself informed as to what is taking place among his subjects,” said Kalum-Bek. “His chief Chamberlain Messour is my cousin, and he tells me that he never goes to bed as other folks do, but just contents himself with a few hours’ sleep in the morning, but every night he disguises himself as a merchant or sailor, or in some everyday costume, and wanders about Bagdad to see that everything is right and in order, as it should be. That is the reason that folks are so polite to everyone who speaks to them, for it may just as well be the Caliph as some dirty Arab, and there is sufficient timber around Bagdad to provide rods to whip the whole populace.” Listening to his stories Said could not help being glad that he was to visit Bagdad and probably see the celebrated Harun Al-Raschid in spite of the fact that he was so anxious to see his father. They reached Bagdad in ten days’ time and Said was astounded at the magnificence of the city, which was then at the height of its glory. The merchant invited him to come to his house and Said accepted willingly, for he had no money to pay for a lodging. The day after his arrival he dressed himself carefully in the splendid clothing bestowed on him by the robber chieftain and thought to himself that he need not be ashamed to go out into the streets and show himself. But at that moment the merchant entered and looked at him with a cunning smile. “It is all very well, young sir,” said he, “to have a fine appearance; but have you money in your pockets to suit your attire? What do you intend to do with yourself? It seems to me you are a bit of a dreamer, and do not consider the future at all.” “Dear Kalum-Bek,” said the youth, blushing, for he was much confused, “it is true I have no money, but perhaps you will be kind enough to advance me a little, so that I may journey home, and my father will not fail to refund it to you.” “Your father, fellow?” cried the merchant, laughing loudly, “I verily believe the sun has injured your brain. Do you suppose I believe a single word of the fairy tales you told me in the desert, about your father being a rich man in Balsora, you his only son, and about the robbers attacking you and so on? I know that all rich people in Balsora are merchants and I have had dealings with most of them. But I never heard of one named Benezar. Therefore, it is quite certain that either you never came from Balsora or else you are the son of a poor man, and to a young vagabond like you I will certainly advance no money.”