But our Scribe, though never remiss when Khalid is in a pickle, finds much amiss in Khalid’s thoughts and sentiments. And as a further illustration of the limpid shallows of the one and the often opaque depths of the other, we give space to the following:
“When Khalid was ordered to appear before the Boss,” writes Shakib, “such curiosity and anxiety as I felt at that time made me accompany him. For I was anxious about Khalid, and curious to see this great Leader of men.
We set out, therefore, together, I musing on an incident in Baalbek when we went out to meet the Pasha of the Lebanons and a droll old peasant, having seen him for the first time, cried out, ‘I thought the Pasha to be a Pasha, but he’s but a man.’ And I am sorry, after having seen the Boss, I can not say as much for him.”
Here follows a little philosophising, unbecoming of our Scribe, on men and names and how they act and react upon each other. Also, a page about his misgivings and the effort he made to persuade Khalid not to appear before the Boss.
But skipping over these, “we reach the Tammany Wigwam and are conducted by a thickset, heavy-jowled, heavy-booted citizen through the long corridor into a little square room occupied by a little square-faced clerk. Here we wait a half hour and more, during which the young gentleman, with his bell before him and his orders to minor clerks who come and go, poses as somebody of some importance. We are then asked to follow him from one room into another, until we reach the one adjoining the private office of the Boss. A knock or two are executed on the door of Greatness with a nauseous sense of awe, and ‘Come in,’ Greatness within huskily replies. The square-faced clerk enters, shuts the door after him, returns in a trice, and conducts us into the awful Presence.