If Suliman and I were followed, whoever had that job had his work cut out, for we were swallowed up in a noisy stream of home-going villagers, whose baskets and other burdens made an effectual screen behind us as well as in front.
The hotel stands close by the Jaffa Gate, and there the crowd was densest, for the outgoing swarm was met by another tide, of city- folk returning.

In the mouth of the hotel arcade stood an officer whom I knew well enough by sight--Colonel Goodenough, commander of the Sikhs, a quiet, gray little man with a monocle, and that air of knowing his own mind that is the real key to control of Indian troops.

Up a side-street there were a dozen troop-horses standing, and a British subaltern was making himself as inconspicuous as he could in the doorway of a store.

It did not need much discernment to judge that those in authority were ready to deal swiftly with any kind of trouble.
But the only glimpse I had of any mob-spirit stirring was when three obvious Zionist Jews were rather roughly hustled by some Hebron men, who pride themselves on their willingness to brawl with any one.

Two Sikhs interfered at once, and Goodenough, who was watching, never batted an eyelash.
I was tired, wanted a whiskey and soda and a bath more than anything else I could imagine at the moment.