The Carpet from Bagdad

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MacGrath Harold. The Carpet from Bagdad

CHAPTER I. WHAT'S IN A NAME?

CHAPTER II. AN AFFABLE ROGUE

CHAPTER III. THE HOLY YHIORDES

CHAPTER IV. AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE

CHAPTER V. THE GIRL WHO WASN'T WANTED

CHAPTER VI. MOONLIGHT AND POETRY

CHAPTER VII. RYANNE TABLES HIS CARDS

CHAPTER VIII. THE PURLOINED CABLE

CHAPTER IX. THE BITTER FRUIT

CHAPTER X. MAHOMED LAUGHS

CHAPTER XI. EPISODIC

CHAPTER XII. THE CARAVAN IN THE DESERT

CHAPTER XIII. NOT A CHEERFUL OUTLOOK

CHAPTER XIV. MAHOMED OFFERS FREEDOM

CHAPTER XV. FORTUNE'S RIDDLE SOLVED

CHAPTER XVI. MAHOMED RIDES ALONE

CHAPTER XVII. MRS. CHEDSOYE HAS HER DOUBTS

CHAPTER XVIII. THE MAN WHO DIDN'T CARE

CHAPTER XIX. FORTUNE DECIDES

CHAPTER XX. MARCH HARES

CHAPTER XXI. A BOTTLE OF WINE

CHAPTER XXII. THE END OF THE PUZZLE

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The carriage containing the gentleman with the reversible cuffs drew up at the side entrance. Instantly the Arab guides surged and eddied round him; but their clamor broke against a composure as effective as granite. The roar was almost directly succeeded by a low gurgle, as of little waves receding. The proposed victim had not spoken a word; to the Arabs it was not necessary; in some manner, subtle and indescribable, they recognized a brother. He carried a long, cylindrical bundle wrapped in heavy paper variously secured by windings of thick twine. His regard for this bundle was one of tender solicitude, for he tucked it under his arm, cumbersome though it was, and waved aside the carriage-porter, who was, however, permitted to carry in the kit-bag.

The manager appeared. When comes he not upon the scene? His quick, calculating eye was not wholly assured. The stranger's homespun was travel-worn and time-worn, and of a cut popular to the season gone the year before. No fat letter of credit here, was the not unreasonable conclusion reached by the manager. Still, with that caution acquired by years of experience, which had culminated in what is known as Swiss diplomacy, he brought into being the accustomed salutatory smile and inquired if the gentleman had written ahead for reservation, otherwise it would not be possible to accommodate him.

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"Percival Algernon! O age of poets! I wonder, does he wear high collars and spats, or has she plumbed him accurately? She is generally right. But a man changes some in seven years. I'm an authority when it comes to that. Look what's happened to me in seven years! First, Horace, we shall dine, then we'll smoke our pipe in the billiard-room, then we'll softly approach Percival Algernon and introduce him to Sinbad. This independent excursion to Bagdad was a stroke on my part; it will work into the general plan as smoothly as if it had been grooved for the part. Sinbad. I might just as well have assumed that name: Horace Sinbad, sounds well and looks well." He mused in silence, his hand gently rubbing his chin; for he did possess the trick of talking aloud, in a low monotone, a habit acquired during periods of loneliness, when the sound of his own voice had succeeded in steadying his tottering mind.

What a woman, what a wife, she would have been to the right man! Odd thing, a man can do almost anything but direct his affections; they must be drawn. She was not for him; nay, not even on a desert isle. Doubtless he was a fool. In time she would have made him a rich man. Alack! It was always the one we pursued that we loved and never the one that pursued us.

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