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Updated: May 17, 2025
Joe was not only up, but was bowing with the regularity and precision of the arms of a windmill, his fingers, with every rise, fluttering between his shirt-stud and his eyebrows. On his second upsweep the young prince got a view of his face then his hand went out. "Why, it is Hornstog! We know each other. We met in Damascus. You could not, monsieur, find a better dragoman in all Constantinople."
"He come every morning to Galata Bridge for you me. He say, too, if any trouble while you paint I go him ah, effendi, it is only Joe Hornstog can do these things. The Pasha, he know me all good Turk-men know me. Where we paint now, subito? In the plaza, or in the patio of the Valedee, like last year?" "Neither. We go first to the Mosque of Suleiman.
Here Joe ordered coffee and laid a package of cigarettes on the table. "My! but that was like the razor at the throat not for all the hairs on my head would I had her look out the small hole in the door when Serim come along. Somebody must be take care of you, you Joe Hornstog, that you don't make damn big fool of yourselluf. Ha! but it make me creep like a spider crawl."
"After I left you that last night in the garden, was the boat where we hid it?" "Yes." "Who rowed you to the steamer?" "My old caique-ji." "And who got the tickets and passports?" "Hornstog." For centuries the painters of Venice have seized and made their own the objects they loved most in this wondrous City by the Sea.
If Yusuf come and catch us it make trouble for her make trouble for you make more trouble for me. Police Pasha don't know she come to this garden I think somebody must help her. You better stop now and go cafe. I find Yusuf. I no like this place." With this Hornstog rose to his feet and began packing the trap, still whispering, his eyes on the ground.
I will assume for the moment and Joe would be most thankful to have me do so that the learned Hornstog, the friend of kings and princes, is as fluent in English as he is in Turkish, Arabic, and Greek. It all began in a caique or rather in two caiques. One was on its way to a little white house that nestles among the firs at the foot of the bare brown hill overlooking the village of Beicos.
Joe Hornstog told me this story the first part of it; the last part of it came to me in a way which proves how small the world is. Joe belongs to that conglomerate mass of heterogeneous nationalities found around the Golden Horn, whose ancestry is as difficult to trace as a gypsy's. He says he is a "Jew gentleman from Germany," but he can't prove it, and he knows he can't.
Come, we go 'way we go now not stay here any more. If that officer see the lady with us the Pasha send me to black mosque for five year and you find yourself board ship on way to Tripoli. Here come Yusuf damn him! You tell him you no like view of mosque from here say you find another place to-morrow you do this quick. Hornstog never lie."
Hornstog raised his shoulders level with his ears, fanned out his fingers, crooked his elbows, and in his best conglomerate answered: "He say, effendi, that a guard of ein men, Yusuf, his name I know him he is in the Secret Service oh, we will have no trouble with him " Here Joe chafed his thumb and forefinger with the movement of a paying teller counting a roll.
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