"An' there ye ar-re. There goes me dhream iv bein' sultan along with me
dhream iv bein' a gr-reat gin'ral till th' Spanish war. If that's th'
kind iv job a sultan has, I'll lave it f'r anny wan to take that wants
it. Why, be Hivens, whin th' Young Turks come to search th' palace, like
th' pathrites they ar-re, to find if he'd left anny money behind, divvle
th' thrace they found iv annything that I'd thrade f'r me back room. I
begun to feel sorry f'r th' poor old miscreent. Instead iv lollin' on a
sofy an' listenin' to th' song iv th' mockin' bur-rd in th' pommygranite
threes while ladies fr'm th' chorus iv 'Th' Black Crook' fanned him with
fans iv peacock feathers, th' mis'rable old haythen was locked up in a
garret with a revolver in his hand ready to shoot anny wan that come
next or near him. He suffered fr'm dyspepsia an' he cuddent sleep
nights. He cud ate nawthin' sthronger thin milk toast. He was foorced be
fashion's whim to have five hundhred wives whin wan was abundant. Take
it all in all, he led a dog's life, an' I bet ye he's happyer now where
he is, wathrin' th' geeranyums, mowin' th' lawn, an' sneakin' into
Constantinople iv a Saturday night an' seein' Circassyan girls dancin'
f'r th' first time in his life.
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