A FOGY who lived in a cave near a great caravan1 route returned to

　　his home one day and saw, near by, a great concourse of men and

　　animals, and in their midst a tower, at the foot of which something

　　with wheels smoked and panted like an exhausted2 horse. He sought

　　the Sheik of the Outfit3.

　　"What sin art thou committing now, O son of a Christian4 dog?" said

　　the Fogy, with a truly Oriental politeness.

　　"Boring for water, you black-and-tan galoot!" replied the Sheik of

　　the Outfit, with that ready repartee5 which distinguishes the

　　Unbeliever.

　　"Knowest thou not, thou whelp of darkness and father of disordered

　　livers," cried the Fogy, "that water will cause grass to spring up

　　here, and trees, and possibly even flowers? Knowest thou not, that

　　thou art, in truth, producing an oasis6?"

　　"And don't you know," said the Sheik of the Outfit, "that caravans7

　　will then stop here for rest and refreshments8, giving you a chance

　　to steal the camels, the horses, and the goods?"

　　"May the wild hog9 defile10 my grave, but thou speakest wisdom!" the

　　Fogy replied, with the dignity of his race, extending his hand.

　　"Sheik."

　　They shook.