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here was no French parsimoniousness about t●he Asile Rudolph.Each bowl ●held a liberal quart—of somethin●g more than discolored dishwater, to●o—and down at the bottom were three▓ cubes of meat.Ne


ver did a ●bowl appear during all the days that I wond▓ered at the audacity of the society 癔s butcher without exactly three s▓uch cubes, of exactly the same size.To my ●companions they were the dain●tiest of morsels.The best-dressed vag▓abond never dreamed of tasting hi●s soup until he had fished o▓ut this basic flesh and laid it on the tabl●e before him to gloat over until he● had finished his liquid refreshment.● Once gorged with soup, he sliced the ▓cubes carefully, dipped the strips in rock s●a

lt, and slowly munched them, one by one,● in his eyes the far-away look of keen enjoy●ment.As for myself, when I attempted▓ to cut up my first cube, it bounded away ove●r my head and before I could ●turn around to follow its flight had● disappeared into the pocket of some quic●ker-witted guest.I dismembered t▓he second morsel with the assistance ▓of a fellow-boarder, and inflicted u▓pon my teeth a piece of convenient size.A●n hour later, I deposited the still undama●ged delicacy outside a

facto▓ry 202gate at the further end of the

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city.Wh▓en I turned out to renew my search ▓it was gone. Thoughtful guests of th●e Society made provision during the noon-ho●ur of plenty for the twenty-●four hours to come; for morni▓ng and ev


ening brought only cof▓fee or tea, and bread.There was, ho▓wever, something more than bed and board in● store for the lucky possessor● of one of the Reverend ——●’s tickets—a shower bath! It was c●losed during the day, but I was by no means ●the last to finish the evening meal, and, once i▓nside the wooden closet, it w▓as only the protest that the stream could be us▓ed to even better advantage among my ●companions that saved me from a ▓watery grave. I began my fourt●h day’s search by applying at the off●ice of the chief owners of m●odern Egypt—Thomas Cook and Son▓.There is hardly a walk in li▓fe, from the architect to the donkey-boy, that

●is not represented among the employees of● that great tourist agency.Somewhere in t●hose cosmopolitan ranks, I mi●ght find my place.I proffered my service●s to the company as a sailor on their Nil▓e steamers, as an unskilled workman in a▓ny of their enterprises, as a man wit▓h a trade in the Bulak facto●ry where their floating palaces are co●nstructed.Nothing came of it.In desperat▓ion, I struck out in a struggle dire●ctly against the economic law of labor, a●nd, instead of dropping lowe

r with▓ each refusal, sought to cli●mb hig

her. It was true, admit▓ted the manager, that the compan●y was in need of clerks.It was still mor

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e▓ in need of interpreters, and, to all appearan●ce, I was qualified for either positio▓n.“But—but—I’m sorry, old▓ chap,” and he looked sternly at my heelless ●slippers and ragged corduroys, “but rea●lly, you won’t do, don’t yo▓u know.I can give you a note ●to a well-known contractor—” I accepted i●t with pleasure; for the name


of Cook and▓ Son, embossed at the top of a let▓ter of introduction,

has grea▓t weight in Egypt.The contractor to whom ●t

he note was addressed gave me—anot●her

.The addressee of the second g

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