Feisal, quiet as ever, welcomed me with a smile until he could finish his dictation. After it he apologised for my disorderly reception, and waved the slaves back to give us privacy. As they retired with the onlookers, a wild camel leaped into the open space in front of us, plunging and trumpeting. Maulud dashed at its head to drag it away; but it dragged him instead; and, its load of grass ropes for camel fodder coming untied, there poured down over the taciturn Sharraf, the lamp, and myself, an avalanche of hay. “God be praised,” said Feisal gravely, “that it was neither butter nor bags of gold.” Then he explained to me what unexpected things had happened in the last twenty-four hours on the battle front.