arose softly and approached the easy-chair and surveyed Sir Paul, who in
his then state looked less like a high financier and more like something
chipped off the roof of a cathedral than anything that Mr. Prohack had
ever seen.

But Paul did not waken. A bather plunged into the pool with a tremendous
splash, but Paul did not waken. And Mr. Prohack felt that it would be
contrary to the spirit of the ritual of the mosque to waken him. But he
decided that if he waited all night he would wait until old Paul
regained consciousness.

At that moment an attendant asked Mr. Prohack if he desired the
attentions of the barber, the chiropodist, or the manicurist. New vistas
opened out before Mr. Prohack. He said yes. After the barber, he padded
down the stairs from the barber's chapel (which was in the upper story
of the mosque), to observe if there was any change in old Paul's
condition. Paul still slept. Mr. Prohack did similarly after the
chiropodist. Paul still slept. Then again after the manicurist. Paul
still slept. Then a boyish attendant hurried forward and in a very
daring manner shook the monumental Paul by the shoulder.

"You told me to wake you at six, Sir Paul." And Paul woke.

"How simple," reflected Mr. Prohack, "are the problems of existence when
they are tackled with decision! Here have I been ineffectively trying to
waken the fellow for the past hour. But I forgot that he who wishes the
end must wish the means, and my regard for the ritual of the mosque was
absurd."

He retired into the alcove to dress, keeping a watchful eye upon old