On one of the last visits I made to his shop I looked at two embroidered cushion covers which I wanted to purchase, but the price he put on them made it out of the question, and as he refused to take less I gave up the bargaining, and he called for the coffee.

While we were drinking it and conversing of other matters, I said to him, "Arapi, why do you ask such absurd prices?
You know that the cushions are not worth so much." "Oh," he replied, "you are rich and can afford it." "What makes you think I am rich ?" I asked.

"You travel about and see the world, and take your pleasure," he said.

"But I am not rich," I said; "I am a workingman; I do not travel for pleasure, but to earn my living.

I am a scribe, and am paid for what I write, and what I earn is all I have to live on.