Wycherley buttons up his coat and carefully conceals his array of weapons. No one looking at him now would dream he was such a walking arsenal. Appearances are deceptive, and many a person who goes about this Midway Plaisance wears a mask. Thus they leave their eyrie, and once more rub elbows with the jostling, good-natured crowd, that surges about the spot where the camels kneel to receive and deposit their squealing burdens. Sauntering down Cairo Street, they keep at a respectable distance behind the great operator and his two companions. The time for action is near at hand. No doubt the Turk fumes at seeing how Samson’s friends stick closer than brothers, and doubtless he is exercising his mind in the endeavor to invent some way of separating them. He need not worry. Samson himself will arrange all that. The two gentlemen appear to be ordinary business men, one stout and red-faced, the other tall and cadaverous. They survey the scene as though indelibly stamping it on their minds for production, and are interested in all the details. Finally they drew near the bend. Here on the left Cairo Street, more narrow than before, runs down to the stables of the donkeys and camels, beyond which rise the needles of Cleopatra, guarding the entrance of the Egyptian Temple of Luxor. On the right the main street continues a short distance, terminating in the theater where the dancing girls amaze and disgust most of those who go in to see their gyrations. At the point of division is the well remembered “cold drink” café, where Turkish and Egyptian flavors are given to weak American lemonade, or ice cream of a like character served in a glass. It is second habit for the pilgrims of Cairo Street to try every novelty, and so they purchase a _horchata_ as the people of Spain call these refrescos--expressed juice of the fruit, mingled with sugar and cold water. While they discuss the merits of the beverage the three friends talk of their plans, and presently the two who have come to take in all the sights, on business principles, leave Samson Cereal standing there, while they enter the door of the theater, through which the Turkish bridegroom runs, carrying his bride, at the termination of the ridiculous “bridal procession,” given several times each afternoon and evening, with all the pomp of gayly caparisoned camels, mounted swordsmen, flashy palanquin and the most excruciating music that ever assailed American ears. “At last--alone!” says Wycherley, and Aleck is compelled to smile at the reference, for only an hour or so previous, both of them have been admiring the picture of the young husband folding his bride in his arms after the wedding guests have gone.