"When I return to
Russia I will take forty pounds of them and sell them in the train at
twopence-halfpenny (ten _copecks_); that will pay for my ticket, I
think, in the fourth class."
I watched the Turks trafficking, jingling their ancient rusty
balances, manipulating their Turkish weights--the _oko_ is not
Russian--and giving what was probably the most marvellous short weight
in Europe. The three-pound _oko_ was often little more than a pound.
A native of Trebizond came and sat at our table. He wore carpet socks,
and over them slippers with long toes curled upperward like certain
specimens one may see in Bethnal Green Museum; on his head a
straw-plaited, rusty fez swathed with green silk of the colour of a
sun-beetle.
"The Italians have taken Tripoli," said the Russian, with a grin;
"fancy letting those little people thump you so!"
"And the Japanese?" said a Caucasian quickly.
The Turk looked sulky.
"Italia will fall," said he. "She will fall yet, dishonourable
country. They have stolen Tripoli. All you others look on and smile.
But it is an injustice. We shall cut the throats of all the Italians
in Turkey. Will you look on then and smile?"
A Greek sniggered. There were many Greeks at the fair--they all wear
blue as the Turks all wear red.
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