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decorated house, seated him in a guest-chamber fit for a king, whilst he gave an order to his slaves, who opened a chest and brought out to him a dress such as might be worn by a merchant worth a thousand purses. He clad him therein and Marouf, being a well-favoured man, became as he were provost of the merchants.
Then his host called for food and they set before them a tray of all manner rich meats. They ate and drank and the merchant said to Marouf, ‘O my brother, what is thy name?’ ‘My name is Marouf,’ answered he, ‘and I am a cobbler by trade and mend old shoes.’ ‘What countryman art thou?’ asked the merchant, and the cobbler said, ‘I am from Cairo.’ ‘What quarter?’ asked the other. Quoth Marouf, ‘Dost thou know Cairo?’ And the merchant replied, ‘I am of its children.’[1] So Marouf said, ‘I come from the Red Street.’ ‘And whom dost thou know in the Red Street?’ asked his host. ‘I know such an one and such an one,’ answered Marouf and named several people to him. Quoth the other, ‘Knowest thou Gaffer Ahmed the druggist?’ ‘He was my next neighbour, wall for wall,’ replied the cobbler. ‘Is he well?’ asked the merchant and Marouf said, ‘Yes.’ ‘How many sons hath he?’ asked the merchant. ‘Three,’ replied Marouf, ‘Mustafa, Mohammed and Ali.’ Quoth the other, ‘And what hath God done with them?’ ‘As for Mustafa,’ answered Marouf, ‘he is well and he is a learned man, a professor.[2] Mohammed is a druggist and opened him a shop beside that of his father, after he had married, and his wife hath borne him a son named Hassan.’ ‘God gladden thee with good news!’[3] said the merchant.
‘As for Ali,’ continued Marouf, ‘he was my friend, when we were boys, and I still played with him. We
