Indeed, it is a conglomeration of sounds that would appall the bravest heart unaware of their particular origin. The hum of many voices marks the presence of a multitude; from over the buildings across the way come the many cries that day and night accompany the riding of the camels and donkeys in Cairo Street; here and there shout the bunco-steerers who officiate at the doors of various so-called Oriental theaters; fakirs howl their wares--from “bum-bum candy” to hot waffles and trinkets--while the ear-distracting tom-tom music, from behind the gate leading to the Javanese village, throbs like the pulsations of a heart. Above all this infernal din can be distinctly heard the steady “clack--clack” of the ponderous Ferris wheel as it slowly revolves in its course. Such a kaleidescopic scene had never before been witnessed on earth. Since the day when, at the Tower of Babel, the confusion of tongues came upon the multitude of workers, there has not been a time when the civilized and savage nations of the earth held such a congress as on the Midway Plaisance of Chicago. There is always a crowd here. Many come for the excitement; others because of the grand opportunity afforded them to study these queer people from all lands. The red fez abounds, but everyone wearing it is not necessarily a Turk or an Arab, or even an Algerian. It is the head gear of the Midway, and those who have business here don it as a matter of course. In his way, Aleck Craig is something of a philosopher. He has not been abroad, but takes an intense interest in the strange things of other lands, and perhaps it is the opportunity presented by this gathering of nations that causes him to haunt the Midway. His muttered words would indicate another motive also. As a relief from the turmoil that is so incessant, the Canadian turns into the Turkish bazaar near by. Here are booths after booths of embroideries, trinkets, rugs, and the various goods to be found in Constantinople, from jewelry to the quaint but expensive swords used by the Moslem people of the Orient. Some of these booths are presided over by boys and young men. They may be Jews, but the red fez gives them a Turkish appearance. So with the young women. They are hardly Orientals, for they speak clear English, and the customs of Turkey forbid the presence of a female on the streets unless the detestable _yashmak_ conceals her face. Here the noise is less intense. Aleck has many times retired to this place for rest. It is a gaudy scene when lighted up, and he would always remember it in days to come. Being socially inclined, he has made several acquaintances in the bazaar, with whom he stops from time to time and chats. One of these is a Turk of middle age, a man of stout figure and closely cropped beard in which the gray is sprinkled like pepper and salt. Aleck finds much to interest him in the conversation of Aroun Scutari, the dealer in precious stones of the Turkish bazaar.