So the plunge is taken, the summer is spent in gathering together his materials and arranging to sell for others on commission; and the following season the erstwhile donkey boy, his pockets bulging with small tin boxes containing his wares, haunts the neighbourhood of the hotels where live the buyers of antiquities. Genuine antiquities are few and not to be had without considerable outlay, so in the boxes mixed with the real fragments lie the imitations. It was just such a boy as this who came to my notice some years ago, and one day I saw him arrested by the police and conveyed to the Caracol (police station). Upon making inquiries I was informed that he had been taken up for annoying people by pestering them to buy scarabs. Later in the day I saw him leaning disconsolately against a wall outside the Caracol. “Well, how much have you to pay?” I asked. “Fifteen piastres” (about three shillings), was his reply. “Or”—and he shrugged his shoulders—“or I stay three days in prison.” “Have you paid the money?” “No.” “Why not?” “I have none.” Now this was untrue, for, otherwise, how could he give change to purchasers?—and these boys will rarely risk losing a sale for the want of change. This I pointed out to him, and spoke of the shame, but he shook his head obstinately. Prison has no taint for these men, it is merely an incident in the day’s work. On the following morning, when he was to surrender, I saw him again, his pockets no longer bulging, his clothes clean washed, his cloak brushed, and wearing his new red slippers. He was going to prison. Calling him to me, I handed over the amount of the fine, saying, “Go and pay it at once and get to work again.” The boy looked sullenly at the three shillings; it was a lot of money to give to the prison authorities, and that was not the way to get rich. Then he saluted and walked away. After three days he returned and asked to see me. Solemnly he produced a piece of dirty rag, untied it, and handed me back the three shillings. “What is this?” I asked. The boy grinned. “Well you see, sir, when I got to the prison, the officer who takes the money had gone away. I waited there for one day, and then he came back. When I pay the money I give him two shillings, but he look at a paper and say ‘Three.’ I say ‘No; three shillings or three days in prison. You were away when I come. I stop here one day, and here are two shillings.’ He say, ‘No, three.’ Then I wrap up the money and stay two more days in prison; after that I come out, and here is your money.” Obviously there was only one thing to be done, and he departed with a broad smile and the conviction that he had done a good day’s work. One cannot help feeling that such a boy ought to succeed. On another occasion I saw the same youth strolling about his village when I knew that he should have been in prison for a contravention of the law. Calling him, I inquired how this came about.