A Kurdish bully
" What papers have you to allow you to be here?" said he
truculently, without even the decency of a greeting.
I had half risen out of politeness, but hastily changed my
mind under this unusual attack. " My passport is in order/* I
said languidly. " My servant will find it."
The Refuge of Allah obediently got up to hunt among the
saddle-bags: the way a Persian flattens out before a bully in
authority is always the most depressing sight. The fat man,
disregarding my existence and evidently waiting for sensational
depths of imposture to disclose themselves in die passport, sat
as if every second of delay were adding guilt to a score already
almost beyond official patience. He had the sort of head whose
shape I dislike. I determined not to sit and be trampled upon
without an effort at some kind of an offensive.
" Happy has been your coming," I lied, with the litde half
inclination that accompanies the courtesy.
" Your amiability is excessive," he was bound to reply,
since one formula calls for another. " The pass	?"
" The condition of your health, how is it?" I continued,
refusing to be checked. And if he did not know the things one
says to a stranger, I did, and he was going to get them all.
" Thanks be to God/' he murmured, and finished the for-
mula with an indistinctness which did not sound as cordial as
it might. " The pass	" he began again.
But there are about fifteen polite things one can say at meet-
ing, each requiring a litde bow, each demanding their appro-
priate answer, with an answering bow from the person
addressed. I knew about half, and the Kurdish Agha had the
full benefit of them. By the time we reached the end of my
repertoire I had him tamed. He did not ask for the passport
when I stopped. After a decent interval to let the rules of
politeness sink in, I took it from The Refuge and handed
it to my adversary, who was now fortified by the presence
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