Judge — August 30, 1913 — page 6: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

. ROMANCE handsome, powerfully built man, lounging over a copy of the Sphinx, watching the Turk across the top of his paper, which he was not reading. Possibly one of the Pinkertons, she thought? But, no—this man looked like a Syrian Arab. He was almost too well groomed and dressed, with a cruel gleam of power in his big, amber eyes as he watched the placid Turk. . She stepped lightly to a gold-laced major- domo at the entrance to the lounge and made a polite inquiry. The watching man was a son of the desert, Mahoumat Bey, just in from a house-boating trip on the Nile—fab- ulously rich and a citizen of the: world, known in Newport as well as Nice in their seasons. Miss Treacy, failing in her manners, continued to observe the Egyptian’s eyes glued on the figure of the Turkish mer- chant, who, with what seemed a touch of vanity, put aside his smoke and took from an inner pocket a flat, leather case. Opening it and adjusting a glass, he casually examined the contents, Miss Treacy felt that she was reeling as she saw the Egyp- tian’s face grow ashen to the lips, while his eyes flamed with greed. In this case, then, was contained the reason for the close scrutiny of the watching man. The Moslem snapped it shut, rose and walked into the hotel. That night, with her party, she went to view the Sphinx by moonlight. And, as she stood entranced and awed in the spell of the scene, a caravan wound its way into view. Nearer and nearer itcame. A camel, led by a tall courier, lurched along under a heavily tented palanquin. Donkeys, bearing servants and luggage, followed lazily. It was the Turkish gem dealer on his way across the desert. And, gazing at them, Miss Treacy wondered if he carried his precious wares with him through the Egyptian night. She thought again of the silent watcher on the terrace. And something struck at her brain like a bell, and, lookin close, she knew that the tall man who led the'camel was none other than Mahoumat Bey—in the dress of a camel boy. She shivered in the silver light. What did the night hold? Later, at the hotel, she dreamed heavily. And this is what she saw, A halted caravan—guides, Servants, donkeys, all stopped for rest at a little spring. The tall Egyptian, who seemed. in authority, was dis- pensing fruits, wine, food, sleeping robes. The Turk, as he drank, en- tered into good-fellowship with his courier. They spoke in French, One by one the serving men fell into an apparently drunken sleep, The Turk and the Egyptian, observ- ing them, discussed this disgusted. ly. By degrees the Turk began to nod, falling over on his side awk- wardly. The Egyptian bent across his body and took from his bosom the leather case, pressing it to his lips delightedly. Hastily he untethered and mounted one of the donkeys and started back over the path he had traveled through the desert. A shaft of dawn lit his face with haggard joy. He opened the case and gloatingly held it up to the first keen ray from the east. Then Miss Treacy saw what it contained. It was a box of American cigarettes! Tobacco Nebulous fancies of this goddess borN Inconstant as the drowsy clouds of incensE Curling serene in curious ring and cusP Open to man the gates of paradisE The clouds of earth, like smoke-clouds empyreaN Inspired of thee, all swiftly take to flighT Nerve-calming nymph! What marvel you enravisH Earth's weary sons! Lo! with one touch you soothE —Geo. B. Morewood. “Tam not fussy as to brand.” said J. Augustus Stoke: “ But give me one without a band. I like aquiet smoke."* comicbooks.com