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 Galderim Gedjesi, bought a loaf at the baker's, and with the bribe in my hand returned. The band was now lying down, but Giaour was still standing, his pantallettes shaking in a ruffled and disturbed fashion. In his heart, perhaps, he was not pleased with himself for having barked at me.

I approached him, the bread in my hand. After all, is not Turkey the land of bribes?

"Come, Giaour!" I went and sat down on a door-step. Slowly and with dignity he followed. "Here is some bread from the baker's for you, and please try to remember me! It is more than I can bear to have you bark at me, Giaour."

He sniffed at the piece of bread I offered him; then ate it, and then another piece, and another. When he had finished the entire loaf he placed both his paws on my lap and studied my face intently.

"Giaour, you know me now, don't you?" I begged. "I used to live here six years ago, though it seems like ages."

From across the way an Englishman came out of a house and approached me, where I sat with Giaour's paws in my lap. "I beg your pardon," he said shyly, lifting his hat, "but you are a stranger here, and those fellows are dangerous. Besides they are unhealthy."

This was the last straw: he took me for a foreigner.