The ex-actor has reported matters in pretty much the way they occur. Samson plays his part in a manner that need never shame him, and perhaps secretly enjoys the situation. To a man engaged in his business, where he daily matches his wit and shrewdness against the diplomacy of others, the constant friction must of necessity polish these qualities. There is no danger of rust with a wide-awake operator on 'Change. This, then, really comes in line with his daily business, only now he deals with a tricky Turk instead of howling brokers, and the stake is not a fortune--it may be his life. It is characteristic of the man that he insists upon managing his own game and beating his old-time enemy in person. Most men, under similar conditions, would gladly turn the whole business over to the police, and put the Turk from the Golden Horn through a course of American law and justice that would prevent his reappearance in his old haunts until the holding of the next World’s Fair in Russia. Not so Samson Cereal. He has depended upon himself so many years, to reward his friends and punish his enemies, that it never occurs to him to shirk the responsibility. Hence, in accordance with his well-arranged plans he walks over to the narrow doorway at exactly ten minutes of nine and enters. The camels have been withdrawn from the scene, and make ready to fill their places in the delayed bridal procession which will soon take possession of the narrow street. Now the donkey boys have full swing, and how they do belabor the tough little beasts. Really it is astonishing that the officers of the S. P. C. A. do not interfere, unless it has been previously proven to their satisfaction that from the days of Balaam and his talking ass, the stubborn little animals are insensible to pain. Besides, this beating is all done with so much good nature, one can hardly find an excuse for interfering. “How long do we wait?” asks Wycherley, as he raises his hand to his neck, which significant action causes the Canadian to laugh softly and move away from him. “Oh, I’m perfectly harmless, I assure you, my dear boy. Not the least bit excited. Icicles are nothing in comparison. But you haven’t answered my question.” “It may be five, it may be ten minutes. He will be kept waiting in there. The prophetess must charm him, and hold him until the noise of the passing procession fills the whole street. Then Scutari’s blow will fall. We will leave here when the booming of guns below announces that the camels are coming.” “Ah, yes!” and Wycherley, of course, begins to whistle the old Scotch song that once upon a time, to a band of desperate Britons caged in beleaguered Lucknow in India, was heard when hope had almost left them, and, wafted over the hills, came to their ears as the sweetest sound on God’s earth. “No one else enters--see, a couple have just been turned away,” Aleck remarks.