Blenkiron said nothing, and presently we moved on and came to the harbour-side.
There were a number of small tugs moored alongside, and one or two bigger craft--fruit boats, I judged, which used to ply in the Aegean.
They looked pretty well moth-eaten from disuse.

We stopped at one of them and watched a fellow in a blue nightcap splicing ropes.

He raised his eyes once and looked at us, and then kept on with his business.
Blenkiron asked him where he came from, but he shook his head, not understanding the tongue.

A Turkish policeman came up and stared at us suspiciously, till Blenkiron opened his coat, as if by accident, and displayed a tiny square of ribbon, at which he saluted.
Failing to make conversation with the sailor, Blenkiron flung him three of his black cigars.
'I guess you can smoke, friend, if you can't talk,' he said.
The man turned and caught the three neatly in the air.

Then to my amazement he tossed one of them back.
The donor regarded it quizzically as it lay on the pavement.
'That boy's a connoisseur of tobacco,' he said.