“Brother, brother,” he said, “wherefore this unseemly rage, this insult of the Turk? True, you are a stranger and apparently sick, to judge by your looks, but that is the way to start blood-feuds and rebellions. You have my sympathy, but I deprecate your haste. But you must come to my house and rest awhile, for you are feeble,”--and in truth I was, for I was stumbling at every step and fits of giddiness took and held me, rolling me up against walls and corners, where I had to lean till my head cleared. The old man lived in a little house by the mosque of Kirkuk, a mean mud and stone building, and had his wife spread a carpet on the shady side of the yard. Here we sat down, and he called for tea and proceeded to ask me those leading questions I was so used to hearing. I could see that he did not believe that I was English, and interpreted my statement to mean that I was a British subject. Hearing that I was going to Bagdad, he told me that there were no caravans going for a long time yet, and I should have to stay in Kirkuk for many days if I intended to go with the caravan. I had no intention of doing this, however, and told him so, when he proposed a very practical scheme, that I should go to Altun Keupri and thence by kalak, or raft, to Bagdad. This sounded excellent, and at least afforded an opportunity of getting away from Kirkuk, the climate of which is abominable. He, however, pressed me to stay with him for a few days till I should be stronger, but the idea of quitting the uncongenial air of Kirkuk was too good to be abandoned, even for a day or two more than necessary. [Sidenote: AN UNWELCOME ENCOUNTER] So I took my leave of him and went to a caravanserai near the western gate and river-bed, where the Altun Keupri and Keui Sanjaq muleteers gathered. Here I found one, Umar, willing to take me to Altun Keupri for two mejidies--a high rate, but one at which I was not disposed to cavil, for I wanted to go. He promised to leave in two days, and having paid him a mejidie in advance, I came back to my room feeling more pleased with life than I had done for several days. Salim I informed of my pending departure, and he begged me to dine with them that evening, calling in his neighbours to help his cause. So I consented, as these were probably the last two evenings in Kirkuk, though I made it a condition which was near to severing our friendship once for all, that I should not be pressed to drink. They at last agreed, though, and we parted on better terms than had existed since my arrival. Next morning I was going out of the serai to the bazaar, when to my astonishment and dismay I heard someone calling “Ghulam Husain” from right opposite the caravanserai door, and turning, saw sitting in a saddler’s shop Sayyid Nuri, the youth, son of Shaikh Ahmad, who had annoyed me so in Sulaimania.