"I can ride as well as the best of the horsemen of the grand-vizier. On a bare horse I can fly over the plains with the speed of a bird. I know how to handle the sword and the spear, and in the fastest gallop I can sever the head of a horse from his body. These are arts that are useful over there, and in them I am a master. You may look at me in astonishment if you will! I am not as tall and stout as you are, but I can tell you I have the strength of a giant, and, in spite of my fourteen years, I am a man. I expect to make my fortune in Egypt." "And where have you been until now? From what place do you come?" "I have been a slave from my youth; I was well brought up and had an education; I know how to wait on fine gentlemen. I served a nobleman as first valet for three years, but couldn't stand the dull, effeminate life. I longed to be out in the world, and committed all sorts of freaks in order that my master might drive me off. To be sure, I received the bastinado daily, but I stood it like a man. I determined to continue to annoy my gracious master until he should sell me. Look at my feet!" He took off his shoes and showed Mohammed the scarred soles of his feet. "These are the scars with which I have purchased my future. Yes; but why do you look at me in such astonishment? By Allah! I should not like to live on this rock here, like you! I must out into the world; must go to Egypt, and make something great of myself." "But how will you begin it?" asked Mohammed. "I should like to do so, too." "I don't know yet," replied the boy, carelessly; "it will depend upon how I succeed in recommending myself to a bey with my horsemanship and sword. One thing I can tell you, if I once become a Mameluke, I shall rise. In case you should hear of me some day, in case my celebrity should reach even this desolate rock, I will tell you my name. My name is Osman, and in mockery, because I served a nobleman, they added bey to it. But I tell you, I will make of the name given me in derision a real title! If you hear of me some day, I shall be called Osman Bey in earnest." "I will tell you my name, too," said Mohammed, proudly, "and if you ever hear of me, you shall know that you once met me here upon the beach. My name is Mohammed Ali, and I am Ibrahim Aga's son. I am a freeman, you must know, and have never bowed my head beneath the yoke of another! Remember my name, little Osman, and, if Allah wills it, you shall hear of me someday. My name is Mohammed Ali." He nodded to the boy contemptuously, and walked off. Osman laughed, and cried after him: "You will probably hear of me first, you bold boy, you beggar- prince! I shall probably never hear of the beggar-prince, Mohammed Ali, son of Ibrahim Aga, but of me you shall hear, you silly lad! Don't forget my name: I am called Osman Bey."