We ended finally at an imposing corner hotel, where we dined by an open window just above the level of the street.  A dozen upturned faces besought us silently during the meal.  At a glance of even the mildest interest a dozen long brown arms thrust the spoils of the East upon our consideration.  With us sat a large benign Swedish professor whose erudition was encyclopaedic, but whose kindly humanity was greater.  Uttering deep, cavernous chuckles, the professor bargained.  A red coral necklace for the moment was the matter of interest.  The professor inspected it carefully, and handed it back.

“I doubt if id iss coral,” said he simply.

The present owner of the beads went frantic with rapid-fire proof and vociferation.  With the swiftness and precision of much repetition he fished out a match, struck it, applied the flame to the alleged coral, and blew out the match; cast the necklace on the pavement, produced mysteriously a small hammer, and with it proceeded frantically to pound the beads.  Evidently he was accustomed to being doubted, and carried his materials for proof around with him.  Then, in one motion, the hammer disappeared, the beads were snatched up, and again offered, unharmed, for inspection.

“Are those good tests for genuineness?” we asked the professor, aside.

“As to that,” he replied regretfully, “I do not know.  I know of coral only that is the hard calcareous skeleton of the marine coelenterate polyps; and that this red coral iss called of a sclerobasic group; and other facts of the kind; but I do not know if it iss supposed to resist impact and heat.  Possibly,” he ended shrewdly, “it is the common imitation which does not resist impact and heat.  At any rate they are pretty.  How much?” he demanded of the vendor, a bright-eyed Egyptian waiting patiently until our conference should cease.

“Twenty shillings,” he replied promptly.

The professor shook with one of his cavernous chuckles.

“Too much,” he observed, and handed the necklace back through the window.

The Egyptian would by no means receive it.

“Keep! keep!” he implored, thrusting the mass of red upon the professor with both hands.  “How much you give?”

“One shilling,” announced the professor firmly.

The coral necklace lay on the edge of the table throughout most of our leisurely meal.  The vendor argued, pleaded, gave it up, disappeared in the crowd, returned dramatically after an interval.  The professor ate calmly, chuckled much, and from time to time repeated firmly the words, “One shilling.”  Finally, at the cheese, he reached out, swept the coral into his pocket, and laid down two shillings.  The Egyptian deftly gathered the coin, smiled cheerfully, and produced a glittering veil, in which he tried in vain to enlist Billy’s interest.