Much did the Sherif enquire about the “Chimin di fer”—how it was made, how fast it went and why, and if men sat upon it (as he had heard) and worked it with their legs. I told him all I knew (and more), and about bicycles and women’s rights; gave a brief digest of our common law and current theology, tried to explain our parliamentary system, the Stock Exchange, our commerce, glory, whisky, and the like; told him of London’s streets at night, our churches, chapels, underground railways, tramways, telephones, electric light, and other trifles of our pomp and state which might be interesting. His observations were few but pertinent, and certainly, upon occasions, hard to answer out of hand. The bicycle, the Persian kindly corroborated; the telephone, Lutaif explained; a railway underground was no more wonderful than one upon the surface of the earth; our parliament seemed foolish to him, and he could not understand how one man could represent another, still less ten thousand men; the Stock Exchange he summed up briefly as a fraud, remarking, “How can they sell that which they have not got?” but he reserved his chiefest comment for more simple things. “Whose are those wives,” he said, “who walk your streets? I thought you Christians were monogamists. Do you not keep the law you follow then, or are there not sufficient husbands for the women, or are your women bad by nature; and how is it your Cadis tolerate such things?” I told him, courteous reader, just what you would have said in my position; confessed our faith in strict monogamy, but said the flesh was weak; that even amongst ourselves the Oulad-el-Haram were a large tribe; that all worked towards perfection, and no doubt, some day, things would improve. He quite courteously rejoined, “Yes, yes, I see, you Christians are like us; that is, your faith is stronger than your deeds; well, even with us there are some men who read the Koran, and yet forget to follow all it says.”
I dropped the conversation and urged the old Persian on to talk about himself; to tell of Persia, Turkey, the Sahara, and the Oasis of Tindoof, which he described by smoothing his hand upon the sand to show the flatness of it, and then said “Tindoof walou,” that is, in Tindoof, nothing; though he confessed it is the mouth of Timbuctoo. In the same way Canada is said to have got its name from the two Spanish words “Aca” and “Nada,” as signifying “there is nothing here.” “Baris,” { 183} he said was beautiful, the houris as the houris in paradise, but more expensive; and he detailed with great astonishment that once on entering a “cabinet” (presumably inodore) he had to pay a franc on coming out. And still he dwelt upon our hardness towards our co-religionists, and said, “Amongst you, look how many starve; here they may kill us, or throw us into prison, mutilate us, put out our eyes (these things are all against the Koran, as your women on the streets are clean against the teachings of your Book), but who can say a poor Mohammedan was ever known to starve? Look at me here,” he said, “I came walking along the road carrying my broken fiddle, not cursing God, after the fashion of the Christians, for my bad luck, but praying at the Saint’s tomb, leading the prayer in wayside mosques, calling to prayers when asked, maintained by all, till I arrived at this place and was received by the great Kaid with favour, given food and clothes and twenty dollars, { 184} and fell into the disgrace in which you see me by my own act.”