c●ompanion, “and bloody good smugglers, ●dressed in them dirty skys’ls.” They liv●e in coal, these heavers of Port Sa●d.Their beds, their wives, their ch●ildren, the merchants with whom they come i▓n contact, even the little baked fis▓h which bleary-eye
d females sell● them outside the gates, are covere▓d with its dust. The Englis▓hman knew of but one “graf
t 癖 in Port Sad.Each day, at noon, the fria●rs of a Catholic monastery served din●ner to the penniless.A crow●d overwhelmingly Oriental lined up w●ith us under the trees of the convent g▓arden to await the serene pleasure of the ta▓wny Arab who dispensed the charity of t●he priests.Between a Tartar and a Nubian, I ●received, after long delay, a deep tin-plate●, a pewter spoon, and a miss▓hapen slice of bread.The entire party had los●t hope of obtaining anything more edible, wh▓en t
he monasterial 107servant ▓appeared once more, straining painfully● along with a huge caldron of soup, which h●e deposited on the flat grave-stone of a defunct▓ friar.As we filed by him, the Arab ●tossed at each of us a ladleful of the boi●ling concoction.Whether it landed ▓in our plates or distributed itself ▓generoushe ▓p
ly over our nether garme▓nts depended entirely on our own dexterity, f▓or the haughty server dumped the ▓ladle where, in his opinion, our ●dishe,” I
s ought to have been, utterly indif●ferent as to whether they were there or not●. The Englishman disappeared ▓next day, and I joinmused.
ed fortunes with t▓he seedy Austrian.With a da▓ily dinner and a lodging, even in a● cupboard, assured, I found Port Sad a more ag●reeable halting-pl“