Here upon a high bench sat the Mudir Effendi, a fat little man duly decked with tin stars and strapped trousers, an insignificant Turk of Sivas, who spoke no language but his own, if a few words of French be excepted. A younger man was seated near him in a chair, playing with his sword, and he was introduced to me as the “Ekinji Mu’allim,” or second in command of the school. His linguistic accomplishments included a slight knowledge of Persian and Arabic, and a good knowledge of Kurdish, for he was a native of the Kirkuk district. The mudir received me very graciously, not being able to refrain, however, from the Turkish habit of showing an overwhelming inquisitiveness as to my nationality, reason for coming to Sulaimania, what I was doing, and anything else he could think of to afford a question. Mustafa Beg, however, made capital of his queries, and made them the occasion of an eulogy of my accomplishments, adding as a final and convincing proof, that I had lived several years in London, and had seen Bombay, Constantinople, and Teheran. These qualifications immediately gave me a position, and having readily answered some schoolmaster questions as to the population of London and Paris, and the strength of the British Army, I was admitted to terms of the greatest friendship. The little man had never been nearer to Constantinople than Smyrna, and like all Turks in the uncongenial climate of Kurdistan, lamented his presence there. He was good enough to compliment me upon my knowledge of Kurdish, a tongue he confessed he could never acquire, and besought me to teach him Persian and French. Being a military man, his thought ran upon matters martial, and his questions soon came round to the subject. He could not comprehend how a State like England could possibly hang together without compulsory service, and expressed the greatest surprise that I could have escaped it. What upset him more than anything else was the obvious fact that without military service no man in Turkey could carry his “tezkere,” a document all must have, and without which the subject is liable to suspicion and annoyance, and he failed to see why a British subject, not being liable to service, could possess one. In fact, he lamented the system which only gave a passport to the subject when he travelled in certain foreign lands, and considered such a lack of control over the individual to be a lively cause of anarchy and rebellion. After partaking of tea, and some Regie cigarettes which he produced specially for my benefit, we made our excuses and asked permission “to be excused.” As I was about to leave, a note arrived from Hama, who was at Halabja, and its contents caused me to go down to search for Matti, whom I found in the bazaar. [Sidenote: COMMERCIAL TRANSACTIONS]