The most persistent of professionals were the bootblacks. You _had_ to
have your boots cleaned whether you liked it or not! Stop for a moment
to talk to a friend and there was a nigger on each foot, industriously
brushing away as if his life depended on it. They would follow you on
to a tram-car, and whether you got a seat or not there would be
somebody working on your boots two seconds after boarding it. Another
nuisance were the sellers of swagger-sticks, and I have frequently
bought one just for the pleasure of laying it across the back of its
previous owner. They soon picked up our language and its choicest
words, but one word they never understood was "_No!_" The first
Egyptian word we learned was "_Imshi!_" literally, "Get!"--but it
generally required the backing of a military boot to make it effective.
The Australianese that the "Gyppos" picked up is not commonly used in
polite society; maybe _they_ thought it correct English, but it was
sometimes very embarrassing when walking down the street with a nurse.
And some polite merchants were sorely puzzled when the effect of their
well-chosen words and bow was an unintentional biting of the dust.

We must pass a vote of thanks, however, to the syndicate for providing
us with some ideal club-rooms. I guess the Y. M. C. A. never had such
quarters before or since, and must have had to do some squaring of
conscience in calling these "Army _Huts_." It was a hut, though, all
right, out at the camp, made of grass mats, held together with string,
but it was the usual boon and blessing to men, and I guess there were
few letters left camp that weren't on Red Triangle paper. I may as
well mention here, too, that the best meals I had since leaving home
were in the Y. M. C. A. building in the Esbekiah Gardens in Cairo, so
here's a thank-you to those ladies and the management.