“I am an old man,” he said, “and by many cities have I wandered, from Salonica to Basrah, and Trebizonde to Mecca, but never have I missed the opportunity of cultivating the acquaintance of a Persian or Shi’a. Let us not forget one another. We are both strangers, both of that land that is the fairest of all the earth, where mercy and charity overspread the land, where Muslim treats Muslim as a brother and not a foe--like these Turks. Let it not, therefore, be said that I, Haji Rasul, though I am but a poor Kurd, have violated the tradition of Islam, Persia, and the Kurds alike. Here I work by day, and in the verandah I sit at night, alone; help to relieve my loneliness by your constant company while you are here.” The old man was so evidently sincere, and expressed himself so fervently, that I felt forced to promise to come and see him that evening. There was a long bench in the verandah from which we could look down at the crowd below and the operations of the police, whose headquarters was just opposite. Here, too, every morning an auction was held, amid a crowd that sat upon high benches under a tree, drinking tea or coffee, discussing local politics, and hatching plots against their neighbours. The crowd that frequented these coffee-houses--there were four of them round the caravanserai door--were the idlest collection of creatures it is possible to imagine. Being near the mayoral office, police court, and one or two other public offices, the attendance of uniformed parasites was enormous, and these, appearing about the twelfth hour (then about 7 A.M.), sat till the second hour, then lounged away to their houses in the town, appearing again at an hour to sunset, and sitting there chattering and rattling the everlasting tasbih, the Muhammadan rosary, till late at night. The newcomer in Kirkuk, who would buy bread, experiences difficulty unless he can find the special bread-sellers, who hawk this necessary comestible about in shallow baskets. Desiring dates, I purchased some the first day I arrived, at a shop, and noticing next door a basket of bread, attempted to buy two flaps, but the owners would not sell it. Nor would they consider the question unless I bought something at their shop. This I refused to do, and launched out in some indignation into a tirade against such a habit, which annoyed and harassed the stranger, leaving him hungry in a strange land. This induced them to attempt to make a gift to me of two pieces, which pleased me less, and at last they consented, very unwillingly, to sell me what I wanted. The sale of bread alone, by shopkeepers, is rare all over Sunni Mesopotamian country, and among the Turkomans, and they will--as in this case--give it rather than sell it. This is probably owing to the habit in these patriarchial lands, of making bread in the house which is given freely to all who request it; the sale of such a necessary is looked upon as rather degrading. [Sidenote: A DARVISH AND HIS CAT]