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“Poor beasts,” he exclaimed, “have not they as much right to be on God’s earth as we? Who are we that we should dare to cut short their existence?”

Naturally I did what I could to express all the sympathy his words aroused; determining, nevertheless, in my own mind, that I would beg the Englishman or the Italian to accomplish this errand of mercy.

At the same time, the incident only further excited my deep interest in the strange mentality of a people who claim the full rights of existence even for maimed cats and dogs, and are yet held guilty by the whole world of massacring millions of Christians for mere sport.

Later that day I was for the moment extremely puzzled by the strange behaviour of all the inhabitants within sight, which certainly seemed most un-Turkish. “I have known your people for fifteen years,” I said (only intending a mild joke), “and this is the first time I have ever seen a Turk hurry! What is the matter?”

“They are going to blast the ruins,” was my companion’s calm reply.