Coffee was brought in tiny little enamelled metal cups, more cigarettes were handed round, and the Prodigal Son kept us busy answering questions about the latest news from Muscat; and, when he discovered that we were practically ignorant of anything that was happening there, asked questions about European politics, of which neither Popple Opstein nor I knew much more. It seemed really most extraordinary that though he was wounded and surrounded by the tribesmen from those two towns, thirsting to eat up him and his handful of soldiers, he should interest himself in events so far away. To show him that I was not altogether ignorant of Court "goings on", I told him of the two sums of money which the Sultan had already tried to send him overland. "The Sultan is a good father; he deserves a better son," he said with such engaging frankness that he raised himself tremendously in our estimation. To cap all, I told him that he had sent five thousand rupees with us, not daring to trust them by land again, and that if he thought they would be of any use in pacifying the two tribes, I would send them ashore directly we returned to the _Bunder Abbas_. "If not," I added with a great show of importance, "I have orders to take you back to Muscat." He smiled, such a jovial frank smile that I could not wonder why he was such a favourite with his father. "What would you do in my place?" he asked. "Here I’m given a fairly important job, to protect this well and keep peace between the two towns. I’ve done it so successfully that they are as thick as thieves, and are so hot-headed with the imagined strength of their combined forces that they dare to revolt. Would you give up the job until you were compelled, now that it has turned out a failure? A few more weeks, perhaps months, a little money paid out here and there—now that you have brought me some—and I shall be able to report that all is peace again, and commence to levy taxes, of which (he shrugged his shoulders) I have not sent to Muscat enough to buy a skinful of wine—not for the last five months." There was no necessity for us to tell him what we should do if we were in his place—he knew; but the interview was becoming rather prolonged, so I hinted to him that unless we showed ourselves outside the fort fairly soon that six-pounder on board the _Bunder Abbas_ might "go off". He smiled delightfully, apologized, and immediately led us out, down the stone staircase, across the courtyard, through the passage-way with its sleeping soldiers, and out into the glare of the open waste land. I could have sworn that I heard some women’s voices singing to the twang of musical instruments, and women’s merry laughter coming from an upper, lattice-hid window. What a place for women, and how brave they must be to be merry under these conditions! I could not help thinking of Jask and those two ladies there, and wondered whether they kept up their spirits as well as these did.