Читать книгу Dick Merriwell's Pranks: or, Lively Times in the Orient - Standish Burt L. - Страница 2

When they reached the pier they found themselves confronted by several Turkish officers, who immediately began questioning them. Their passports were scrutinized doubtfully; and it began to appear that there would be a long delay, during which all their luggage would be overhauled and examined piece by piece.

Then Mustapha, the dragoman, whispered a word in Dick’s ear, and directly the boy slipped some money into the hand of one of the officers, whose manner toward them underwent a most surprising change, for he politely assured them that their baggage would not be opened and that there need not be the slightest delay. They were at liberty to leave the custom house at once and take their belongings with them.

Barely had they passed from the custom house when they suddenly found themselves surrounded, as it seemed, by people from all the tribes of the earth. This throng was made up of street venders who were peddling all sorts of goods, sugared figs, sandals, grapes, bread, clothes, and all of them shouting in a babel of tongues that was deafening and bewildering.

“Whoop!” cried Brad. “Talk about an Indian pow-wow! This beats it a mile! You hear me gurgle!”

When these peddlers would have charged on the Americans Mustapha warned them off and held them at bay, shooting violent remarks at them in a dozen different languages. With his aid they succeeded in passing through the thick of the throng without suffering physical violence.

“Well, I certain thought I was due to lose my scalp that go!” laughed the Texan. “Pard, you sure did a right good thing when you engaged this gent to pilot us. He knows his biz a plenty.”

“Richard,” said the professor, “I must compliment you on your acumen and discernment. It has aroused within my innermost depths unspeakable emotions of profound admiration which I am incompetent to adequately express – ”

“Hold on, professor!” cried Dick. “Leave that kind of gas to the lady from Boston, and talk in your usual sensible manner. Up to the present occasion you have been running things, but your encounter with Major Fitts left you in such a condition that I saw something had to be done, and so I tried my hand.”

“With flattering success, my boy – with flattering success. Why, young as you are, I believe you could get along anywhere – in any country or clime.”

“Thanks, professor. We’ll let it go at that.”

“What is that chap with the can and wooden mugs selling?” questioned Brad.

“That is a water seller,” exclaimed Zenas.

“Water? Wow! Is water so dear on this range that they can peddle it?”

“Water is the beverage of the Turk. He never touches intoxicants. Unspeakable he may be, but he has that virtue.”

“That may be true,” said Dick; “but he doesn’t keep his streets clean.”

In truth they had emerged into a labyrinth of dark, narrow, and filthy streets, all the charm of the place having disappeared as soon as they were fairly on land. The mosques and towers had vanished, and their surroundings were decidedly repellent. Everywhere was mud, and garbage, and dogs. Of the latter there seemed to be hundreds upon hundreds of every breed and description.

“They are the street cleaners,” explained the professor. “Here no one harms a dog, for if it were not for them the city would become too filthy for human beings to inhabit.”

“Well, I certain am not as much stuck on Constantinople as I was,” growled Brad.

“I must remind you,” said Zenas, “that there is really no such place as Constantinople. The European quarters of the city is called Pera, while the Moslem quarter is Stamboul.”

“Perhaps Brad isn’t stuck on it,” said Dick; “but I am. If this mud gets worse I shall be stuck on it to such an extent that I can’t perambulate. Look here, Mustapha, have we got to foot it all the way to our hotel?”

“No, effendi; we tak’ tram car, we tak’ horse – you choose.”

Even as he spoke they came to a street corner where several saddled horses were waiting, after the manner of cabs in an American city.

“Me to the broncho!” cried Brad.

“There is the tram car,” said Dick, with a motion.

The car was seen a short distance away, and the professor favored choosing that method of conveyance. Mustapha, however, for all that he had invited them make their choice, argued against it, explaining that half the car was reserved for ladies and that the other half was always crowded to suffocation.

Therefore they decided on the horses. Soon they were mounted and on their way up the long hill to Pera.

Although much of its beauty had vanished, the strange sights and sounds of the city keenly interested the American lads. They beheld people of many nationalities, yellow-coated Jews, with corkscrew curls, Bohemians, Nubians, Chinamen, Englishmen – all hastening on their various ways.

Pera proved to be a city quite modern in appearance, made up mostly of monotonous four-storied houses, new hotels, and shops filled with machine-made Oriental goods. The houses were flat-roofed and nearly all of them had balconies with cast-iron railings.

At last they arrived at their hotel, where they settled with Mustapha, who settled in turn with the owner of the horses.

“When I come next?” asked Mustapha. “You need interpriter dat spik lanquages well. I tak’ you all ofer efrywheres. You haf much troubles you try go ’thout good dragoman.”

By this time the professor had fully recovered, and he made arrangements with the dragoman, who then took his departure.

In the hotel they were turned over to a huge tattooed Nubian, his midnight blackness made more pronounced by the snow-white garments he wore. The Nubian conducted them to their rooms in the upper story, where their luggage was presently brought. Finding the rooms fairly satisfactory, with windows overlooking Pera, the Golden Horn, and giving them a view of the Turkish city beyond, they prepared to settle down and be satisfied.

First Dick took a long survey of the scene that could be beheld from the most advantageous window. From that point he could look away onto Galata and Stamboul, and again he was enchanted by the spectacle. The sun was shining on the palaces, mosques, and tall minarets, it was lighting the ripples of the Golden Horn, and over all was the superbly blue sky which defies the skill of the greatest artist.

Dick heaved a deep sigh.

“Strange that it all should seem so beautiful from a distance and that the beauty should so quickly vanish on close inspection,” he said. “In this case it is indeed true that ‘familiarity breeds contempt.’”

“That sure is right,” agreed Buckhart. “All the same, we’ll proceed to get familiar with it, I reckon.”

They next indulged in the luxury of a bath, taking turns, and all felt decidedly refreshed.

A call brought the Nubian, and they were informed that they could be served with anything they wished in their rooms, if they were willing to pay the extra charge.

After considerable discussion, they ordered a meal. There was sufficient delay to whet their appetites, and then the Nubian and an assistant reappeared, a table was spread, and they sat down to eat.

“A fried boot leg would taste good to me now,” declared the Texan. “That being the case, I reckon I’ll manage to get along on the fodder they supply here.”

But everything proved more than satisfactory. There was enough, and it was good.

During the meal the giant black man stood ready to wait on them. When not serving them, he folded his tattooed arms across his massive chest and regarded them steadily with his eyes. When they had finished the assistant reappeared, and the table and dishes were removed.

“I sure would hate to have that gent place his paws on me in violence,” observed Buckhart. “I opine he’s some powerful.”

“He looks like a Hercules,” said Dick.

“He made me extremely nervous,” confessed the professor. “I think I’ll inform the proprietor that we would much prefer having some one else attend us while we are here.”

“Don’t!” exclaimed Merriwell. “I rather fancy the Nubian.”

They lounged about for a time after eating, but finally the professor made an excuse to leave the boys, saying he would return soon.

“Pard,” chuckled Buckhart, when Zenas was gone, “the old boy did get a plenty smashed on the woman from Boston.”

“I’m glad we got him away from her – and from Major Fitts.”

“And I’m glad we won’t be bothered any more by that sneaking Turk, Aziz Achmet, who seemed spying on us. Wonder what Aziz took us for. I believe he was some sort of Turkish confidence man. He was a heap eager to act as Major Fitts’ second in a duel.”

“Think of Zenas Gunn in a duel!” exclaimed Dick, and they laughed heartily.

After a while Merriwell became worried over the professor’s protracted absence. Going to the door, he stepped outside.

He stepped into full view of two men, who were whispering in the shadows of a draped alcove.

One was the giant Nubian.

The other was Aziz Achmet, the mysterious Turk!