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 him nor even motion him to a small corner of the hard bread that was broken off and fell from the platter to the floor.

“The tale that I am about to tell,” began Dabasir, pausing to bite a goodly chunk from the goat leg, “relates to my early life and how I came to be a camel trader. Didst anyone know that I was once a slave in Syria?”

A murmermurmur [sic] of surprise ran through the audience, to which Dabasir listened with satisfaction.

“When I was a young man,” continued Dabasir after another vicious onslaught on the goat leg, “I learned the trade of my father, the making of saddles. I worked with him in his shop and took to myself a wife. Being young and not greatly skilled, I could earn but little, just enough to support my excellent wife in a modest way. I craved good things, which I could not afford. Soon I found that the shop keepers would trust me to pay later even though I could not pay at the time. So I indulged my desires and wore fine raiment and bought many things for my wife and my home beyond the reach of my earnings. I paid as I could and for a while all went well. But in time I discovered I could not use my earnings both to live upon and to pay my debts. Creditors began to pursue me to pay for my extravagant purchases and my life became miserable. I borrowed from my friends, but could not repay them either. Things went from bad to worse. My wife returned to her father and I decided to leave Babylon and seek another city where as I thought a young man might have a chance to succeed.

For two years I led a restless and unsuccessful life working for caravan traders. From this I fell in with a set of likeable robbers who scoured the desert for