Nobody in thim days knew
that th' king had a mole on his nose an' that wan iv his eyes was made
iv glass, excipt th' people that had jobs to lose.
"Up to th' time Abdul Hamid wint thrapezin' around Constantinople in a
hack an' havin' his pitcher took be amachoor phottygrafters his job was
secure. Up to that time whin wan Turk talked to another about him they
talked in whispers. 'What d'ye suppose he's like, Osman?' says wan. 'Oh
me, oh my,' says th' other, 'but he's th' tur-rble wan. They says his
voice is like thunder, an' lightnin' shoots fr'm his eyes that wud
shrivel th' likes iv ye an' me to a cinder.' But whin Abdul, be damid,
as th' potes call him, made th' mistake iv pokin' his head out iv th'
palace 'twas diff'rent. 'Well, who d'ye think I see to-day but th'
Sultan. I tell ye I did. What is he like? He ain't much to look at--a
skinny little man, Osman, that ye cud sthrangle between ye'er thumb an'
forefinger. He had a bad cold an' was sneezin'. He wore a hand-me-down
coat. He has a wen on th' back iv his neck an' he's crosseyed. Here's a
pitcher iv him.' 'What, that little runt? Ye don't mean to say that's
th' Sultan.--Why, he looks like th' fellow that stops me ivry day on th'
corner an' asks me have I anny old clothes betther thin what I have on.
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