religion of Mohammed. The Dounmé of Salonika are the descendants of
these renegades. Two centuries of waiting have not dimmed their faith in
the eventual coming of their Messiah. So there they wait, equally
distrusted by Jews and Moslems, though they form the wealthiest portion
of the city's population. But they live apart and so dread any mixing of
their blood with that of the infidel Turk or the unbelieving Jew that,
in order to avoid the risk of an unwelcome proposal, they make a
practise of betrothing their children before they are born. It strikes
me, however, that there must on occasion be a certain amount of
embarrasment connected with these early matches, as, for example, when
the prenatally engaged ones prove to be of the same sex.

I used to be of the opinion that Tiflis, in the Caucasus, was the most
cosmopolitan city that I had ever seen, but since the war I think that
the greatest variety of races could probably be found in Salonika. Sit
at a marble-topped table on the pavement in front of Floca's café at
the tea-hour and you can see representatives of half the races in the
world pass by--British officers in beautifully polished boots and
beautifully cut breeches, astride of beautifully groomed ponies;
Highlanders with their kilts covered by khaki aprons; raw-boned,
red-faced Australians in sun helmets and shorts; swaggering _chausseurs
d'Afrique_ in wonderful uniforms of sky-blue and scarlet which you will
find nowhere else outside a musical comedy; soldiers of the Foreign
Legion with the skirts of their long blue overcoats pinned back and with
mushroom-shaped helmets which are much too large for them; soldierly,
well set-up little Ghurkas in broad-brimmed hats and uniforms of olive
green, reminding one for all the world of fighting cocks; Sikhs in
yellow khaki (did you know, by the way, that _khaki_ is the Hindustani
word for dust?) with their long black beards neatly plaited and rolled
up under their chins; Epirotes wearing the starched and plaited skirts