We
did our business without trouble, and coming back the beggar praised us
once more till we had passed, then hurled even louder curses after us.
We came to a tiny cafe in which were faint tinkling, musical sounds.
Jan: "I wonder what that is?"
Jo: "It sounds queer: shall we explore?"
Jan: "I dunno, perhaps they wouldn't like us."
Jo: "Come along. Let's see anyhow."
And up we went. In a large room was a deep window seat, and in the
window the queerest little Turkish dwarf imaginable. The little dwarf
was sitting cross-legged, and was playing a plectrum instrument. His
head was huge, his back was like a bow, and his plectrum arm bent into
an S curve, which curled round his instrument as though it had been bent
to fit. He was a born artist, and rapped out little airs and trills
which made the heart dance. There were three soldiers at tables, and
presently one sprang out on to the floor and began to posture and move
his feet, a woman joined him; the little man's music grew wild and more
rapid; another man sprang in, another woman joined, and soon all four
were stamping and jigging till the floor rocked beneath them.
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