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The Grand Cross Of The Crescent
by
“It’s like Tammany,” said Stetson; “there are sachems, district leaders, and lieutenants. Each of them is entitled to trade or give away a few of these decorations, just as each district leader gets his percentage of jobs in the street-cleaning department. This fellow will go to his patron, his patron will go to some undersecretary in the cabinet, he will put it up to a palace favorite, and they will divide your money.
“In time the minister of foreign affairs will sign your brevet and a hundred others, without knowing what he is signing; then you cable me, and the Star of the Crescent will burst upon the United States in a way that will make Halley’s comet look like a wax match.”
The next day Stetson and the tutor sailed for home and Peter was left alone to pursue, as he supposed, the Order of the Crescent. On the contrary, he found that the Order of the Crescent was pursuing him. He had not appreciated that, from underlings and backstair politicians, an itinerant showman like Stetson and the only son of an American Croesus would receive very different treatment.
Within twenty-four hours a fat man with a blue-black beard and diamond rings called with Osman to apologize for the latter. Osman, the fat man explained–had been about to make a fatal error. For Doctor Gilman he had asked the Order of the Crescent of the fifth class, the same class that had been given Stetson. The fifth class, the fat man explained, was all very well for tradesmen, dragomans, and eunuchs, but as an honor for a savant as distinguished as the friend of his. Hallowell, the fourth class would hardly be high enough. The fees, the fat man added, would Also be higher; but, he pointed out, it was worth the difference, because the fourth class entitled the wearer to a salute from all sentries.
“There are few sentries at Stillwater,” said Peter; “but I want the best and I want it quick. Get me the fourth class.”
The next morning he was surprised by an early visit from Stimson of the embassy. The secretary was considerably annoyed.
“My dear Hallowell,” he protested, “why the devil didn’t you tell me you wanted a decoration? Of course the State department expressly forbids us to ask for one for ourselves, or for any one else. But what’s the Constitution between friends? I’ll get it for you at once–but, on two conditions: that you don’t tell anybody I got it, and that you tell me why you want it, and what you ever did to deserve it.”
Instead, Peter explained fully and so sympathetically that the diplomat demanded that he, too, should be enrolled as one of the Gilman Defense Committee.
“Doctor Gilman’s history,” he said, “must be presented to the Sultan. You must have the five volumes rebound in red and green, the colors of Mohammed, and with as much gold tooling as they can carry. I hope,” he added, “they are not soiled.”
“Not by me,” Peter assured him.
“I will take them myself,” continued Stimson, “to Muley Pasha, the minister of foreign affairs, and ask him to present them to his Imperial Majesty. He will promise to do so, but he won’t; but he knows I know he won’t so that is all right. And in return he will present us with the Order of the Crescent of the third class.”
“Going up!” exclaimed Peter. “The third class. That will cost me my entire letter-of-credit.”
“Not at all,” said Stimson. “I’ve saved you from the grafters. It will cost you only what you pay to have the books rebound. And the THIRD class is a real honor of which any one might be proud. You wear it round your neck, and at your funeral it entitles you to an escort of a thousand soldiers.”
“I’d rather put up with fewer soldiers,” said Peter, “and wear it longer round my neck What’s the matter with our getting the second class or the first class?”