and grew more animated with each session, until on my side it reached stormy heights—and my mother's nature abhorred storms; so I obtained the coveted permission of going alone to the city of Byzantium.
"Mind though, baby," she cautioned, "don't ever cross the Golden Horn in a boat. You must always go by the bridge."
It had not occurred to me to take the boat, but once the suggestion was made, it took possession of my brain, and tormented it to such an extent that on arriving at the Galata Bridge my feet turned straight to the quay where the Turkish boatmen were squatted, contemplatively "drinking" their narghiles.
"A boat!" I commanded, imitating as far as possible my mother's manner.
The first man of the row put aside his narghile and rose quietly. Unlike all the other nationalities in Turkey, the Turks alone never jostle each other for a fare. They have a system of their own which they scrupulously adhere to.
The caïque-tchi who approached at my summons was an old man. He was dressed in full baggy trousers, and wore a white turban on his head. He must have been already old when Sultan Medjid, thirty years previously, had substituted the fez for the turban, and he had not cared to adopt the new head-dress.
"What does the little hanoum wish?"
