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Arriving at a large, public inclosure, my guide sends in a letter, and shortly afterward delivers me over to some soldiers, who forthwith conduct me into the presence of not a doctor, but Ali Khan, the Governor of the city, an officer who hereabouts rejoices in the title of the "hoikim."
Finding me awake, he renews his plea for mercy and forgiveness, calling me "bur-raa-ther" and pleading earnestly "Hoikim no, hoikim no!" The sharp-eyed wearer of the big busby, the cavalry sword, and red jack-boots turns up early next morning.
The moonshi bashi's chief purpose in accompanying me hither has been to introduce me to the attention of the "hoikim"; although the pronunciation is a little different from hakim, I attribute this to local brogue, and have been surmising this personage to be some doctor, who, perhaps, having graduated at a Frangistan medical college, the moonshi bashi thinks will be able to converse with me.
Hoikim no, hoikim no!" he pleads, and the anguish-stricken khan accompanies these pleadings with a look of unutterable agony, and furthermore indulges in the pantomime of sawing off his ears and his hands with his forefinger.
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