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Peter spent fully ten minutes getting to the cable office.

“Just learned,” he cabled his father, “Gilman dismissed because flunked me consider this outrageous please see he is reinstated.”

The answer, which arrived the next day, did not satisfy Peter. It read: “Informed Gilman acted through spite have no authority as you know to interfere any act of black.”

Since Peter had learned of the disaster that through his laziness had befallen the Gilmans, his indignation at the injustice had been hourly increasing. Nor had his banishment to Constantinople strengthened his filial piety. On the contrary, it had rendered him independent and but little inclined to kiss the paternal rod. In consequence his next cable was not conciliatory.

“Dismissing Gilman Looks more Like we acted through spite makes me appear contemptible Black is a toady will do as you direct please reinstate.”

To this somewhat peremptory message his father answered:

“If your position unpleasant yourself to blame not Black incident is closed.”

“Is it?” said the son of his father. He called Stetson to his aid and explained. Stetson reminded him of the famous cablegram of his distinguished contemporary: “Perdicaris alive and Raisuli dead!”

Peter’s paraphrase of this ran: “Gilman returns to Stillwater or I will not try for degree.”

The reply was equally emphatic:

“You earn your degree or you earn your own living.”

This alarmed Stetson, but caused Peter to deliver his ultimatum: “Choose to earn my own living am leaving Constantinople.”

Within a few days Stetson was also leaving Constantinople by steamer via Naples. Peter, who had come to like him very much, would have accompanied him had he not preferred to return home more leisurely by way of Paris and London.

“You’ll get there long before I do,” said Peter, “and as soon as you arrive I want you to go to Stillwater and give Doctor Gilman some souvenir of Turkey from me. Just to show him I’ve no hard feelings. He wouldn’t accept money, but he can’t refuse a present. I want it to be something characteristic of the country, Like a prayer rug, or a scimitar, or an illuminated Koran, or…”

Somewhat doubtfully, somewhat sheepishly, Stetson drew from his pocket a flat morocco case and opened it. “What’s the matter with one of these?” he asked.

In a velvet-lined jewel case was a star of green enamel and silver gilt. To it was attached a ribbon of red and green.

“That’s the Star of the Crescent,” said Peter. “Where did you buy it?”

“Buy it!” exclaimed Stetson. “You don’t buy them. The Sultan bestows them.”

“I’ll bet the Sultan didn’t bestow that one,” said Peter.

“I’ll bet,” returned Stetson, “I’ve got something in my pocket that says he did.”

He unfolded an imposing document covered with slanting lines of curving Arabic letters in gold. Peter was impressed but still skeptical.

“What does that say when it says it in English?” he asked.

“It says,” translated Stetson, “that his Imperial Majesty, the Sultan, bestows upon Henry Stetson, educator, author, lecturer, the Star of the Order of the Crescent, of the fifth class, for services rendered to Turkey.”

Peter interrupted him indignantly.

“Never try to fool the fakirs, my son,” he protested. “I’m a fakir myself. What services did you ever….”

“Services rendered,” continued Stetson undisturbed, “in spreading throughout the United States a greater knowledge of the customs, industries, and religion of the Ottoman Empire. That,” he explained, “refers to my–I should say our–moving-picture lecture. I thought it would look well if, when I lectured on Turkey, I wore a Turkish decoration, so I went after this one.”

Peter regarded his young friend with incredulous admiration.

“But did they believe you,” he demanded, “when you told them you were an author and educator?”

Stetson closed one eye and grinned. “They believed whatever I paid them to believe.”

“If you can get one of those,” cried Peter, “Old man Gilman ought to get a dozen. I’ll tell them he’s the author of the longest and dullest history of their flea-bitten empire that was ever written. And he’s a real professor and a real author, and I can prove it. I’ll show them the five volumes with his name in each. How much did that thing cost you?”