It was Providence which did it, however,
and not the Constantinople fire department, with its little streams of
water the size of slate-pencils!
The dogs were one of the sights we were anxious to see; the Sultan was
the other. We found the bazaars more fascinating than either. But we
wanted to photograph the Sultan--chiefly, I think, because it was
forbidden. I have an ever-present unruly desire to do everything which
these foreign countries absolutely forbid. But everybody said we could
not. So we very meekly went to see him go to prayers, and left our
cameras with the kavass. We had, with our customary good fortune, a
window directly in front of the Sultan's gate, not twenty feet from
the door of the mosque.
"If I had that camera here I could get him, and _nobody_ would know!"
I declared.
"But there are so many spies," our Turkish friend said. "It would be
too dangerous."
We waited, and waited, and waited. Never have the hours seemed so
mortally long as they seemed to us as we watched the hands of the
clock crawl past luncheon-time, hours and hours later than the Sultan
was announced to pray, and still no Sultan.
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