Presently, however, with a tremendous
clatter, the Sultan's advance-guard came galloping down the street. I
got them, turned the film, and was ready for the next--the carriages
of the state officials. I aimed well, and got them, but I was growing
nervous. The boys writhed closer. I shoved them a little when their
mother was not looking.
"Don't try to take so many," said our Turk. "Here comes the Sultan.
Aim low, and don't fire until you see the whites of his eyes."
Again he looked up directly at us, and I snapped the shutter promptly.
It was done. I had succeeded in photographing the Sultan! To be sure,
it was an offense against the state, punishable by fine and
imprisonment, but nobody had caught me. The little boy next to me, who
had walked on my dress and ground his elbows into me, craned his neck
and stared at the Sultan with round eyes. He had been in my way ever
since we arrived, but in an exuberance of tenderness I patted his
head.
But when we had those negatives developed I discovered to my disgust
that instead of the Sultan I had taken an excellent photograph of that
wretched little boy's ear.
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