"
"We have a great Imaum," I continued, "in England; he is called the
Archbishop of Canterbury and gives answers to people who are in any
kind of doubt or difficulty. I knew one gentleman who asked his
advice upon the very question that you have done me the honour of
propounding to myself."
"Ah! and what was his answer?"
"He told him," said I, "that it was cheaper to buy the milk than to
keep a cow."
"Ah! ah! that is a most true word."
Here I closed the conversation, and we began packing up to make a
start. When we were about to mount, I said to him, hat in hand:
"Sir, it occurs to me with great sadness that, though you will, no
doubt, often revisit this lovely spot, yet it is most certain that I
shall never do so. Promise me that when you come here you will
sometimes think of the stupid old Englishman who has had the pleasure
of lunching with you to-day, and I promise that I will often think of
you when I am at home again in London."
He was much touched, and we started. After we had gone about a mile,
I suddenly missed my knife. I knew I should want it badly many a
time before we got to the Dardanelles, and I knew perfectly well
where I should find it: so I stopped the cavalcade and said I must
ride back for it. I did so, found it immediately and returned. Then
I said to Ismail:
"Sir, I understand now why I was led to leave my knife behind me.
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