As the pine and the palm are associated in my mind, and having connected the Polar midnight sun with the Pyramids of the Pharaohs, I respond in Swedish, making it intense— “_Ja!_” adding a little affirmative in Roumanian, to give intensity to the remark, “_Gie_.” After a pause in the conversation he resumes. He believes that he has my nationality fixed. He surmises that I am from some Balkan province, and he asks— “Have you been in Roumelia, Bulgaria, Servia, Montenegro, and Herzegovina?” Knowing that I could not answer this truthfully, and not being able to answer it partially, I give him back in Roumanian an emphatic negative— “_Na canna, bucca._” “You have been quite a traveller!” This suggests the Chinese as the fitting language for the affirmative, and I say— “_She!_” Having no reference to Haggard’s novel, for it was not then out. To make the “_she_” expressive I add another affirmative, which I had carefully studied while boarding with the Chinese Legation in Washington. “_Ta Jin!_” “You like the Chinese, Monsieur?” Having succeeded so well with the Chinese, I answer promptly in the negative— “_Puh!_” This monosyllable disgusts him. His subordinates gather around the chair where I was being shaved, interested in this composite conversation. The artist then asks if I had visited Jerusalem. Here was my great breakdown. Notwithstanding I had represented a Hebrew community in New York, with more synagogues than Jerusalem had in the time of Solomon, I was at a loss for a Hebrew affirmative. Happy thought! I respond promptly in the Arabic tongue, with its guttural peculiarity— “_Na’am._” It sounded to me after I uttered it like profanity, and I fell back as gracefully as I could, waiting for the next attack, and equipped with a Japanese expletive. “You like Constantinople?” I respond in a sweet Japanese accent— “_Sama, san!_” “How long have you been in Constantinople?” I give it to him in English— “I arrived there in the year 1851—thirty-six years ago.” “_Mon Dieu!—mon Dieu!—mon Dieu!_” he exclaims, “Have you lived there ever since that time?” “_Beaucoup, Monsieur!_” He has not yet learned my nationality. I am afraid every moment that he will strike America. It comes— “Perhaps you have been in America?” “Wa’al, yaas, I guess!” He could not understand this, for he had not been educated at Robert College, nor had he abided in Vermont. I ask him in French which America he means. He says— “South America. I have a cousin of my wife’s there, and I would like to know how the country looks.” “_Le nom du cousin de votre femme?_” I ask. “Pierre Moulka Pari Michipopouli. He is like you, Monsieur—quite a traveller.” Then began a fusillade of questions and rattling replies. “You have lived in Paris, Monsieur?”