And our Scribe, in relating of this, loses his temper.—“An Official of the Government, a Bey with a third-class Medjidi decoration from the Sultan! As if Officialdom could not boast of a single scoundrel—as if any rogue in the Empire, with a few gold coins in his purse, were not eligible to the Hamidian decorations! And a third-class decoration! Why, I have it on good authority that these Medjidi Orders were given to a certain Patriarch in a bushel to distribute among his minions. …”
But to our subject. Abu-Najma does not look upon it in this light. A decorated and titled son-in-law were a great honour devoutly to be wished. And some days after the first conference, the Padre Farouche comes again, bringing along his Excellency the third-class Medjidi Bey; but Najma, as they enter and salaam, goes out on the terrace roof to weep. The third time the third-class Medjidi Dodo comes alone. And Najma, as soon as she catches a glimpse of him, takes up her earthen jar and hies her to the spring.
“O the hinny! I’ll rope noose her (hang her) tonight,” murmurs the father.
But here is his Excellency with his Sultan’s green button in his lapel. Abu-Najma bows low, rubs his hands well, offers a large cushion, brings a masnad (leaning pillow), and blubbers out many unnecessary apologies.
“This honour is great, your Excellency—overlook our shortcomings—our beit (one room house) can not contain our shame—it is not becoming your Excellency’s high rank—overlook—you have condescended to honour us, condescend too to be indulgent.—My daughter? yes, presently. She is gone to church, to mass, but she’ll return soon.”