I went in, followed by Suleyman, who swelled and strutted like a pouter pigeon in his flowing robes.
The Caimmacam was a nice-looking Turk of middle-age, extremely neat in his apparel and methodical in his surroundings.

He might have been an Englishman but for the crimson fez upon his brow and a chaplet of red beads, with which he toyed perpetually.

He gazed into my eyes with kind inquiry.

I told him that I came with tidings of a grave disturbance in his district, and then left Suleyman to tell the story of Sheykh Yusuf and his neighbours and the battle we had witnessed in the olive grove before his house.
Suleyman exhausted all his powers of language and of wit, making a veritable poem of the episode.

The Governor did not appear profoundly interested.
'Sheykh Yusuf! Who is he ?' he asked at the conclusion of the tale.
I explained that the Sheykh Yusuf was a landowner, whose acquaintance we had made through my desire to buy some property.
'Your Honour thinks of settling here among us ?' cried his Excellency, with sudden zest, appearing quite enraptured with the notion.