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[1] Long-sleeved outer cloak.
[2] President of the American College at Beirut. Died 1920, probably more respected throughout the Near East than any ten men of any other nationality.
[3] Headquarters: Occupied Enemy Territory Administration.
[4] This is no exaggeration. There are actually millions, and on more than one continent, whose dearest wish, could they have it, would be to see Jerusalem before they die.
[5] Hurry up.
[6] Anglice—canteen cigarette.
[7] Council
[8] Poor devil
[9] A Moslem priest who recites prayers.
[10] Unbelievers.
[11] All right.
[12] Run like the devil.
[13] Railway Traffic Officer.
[14] The religious head of the Moslem community.
[15] No brains!
[16] Mad!
[17] Head-dress that hangs down over the shoulders.
[18] Bazaar
[19] Coffe-pot
[20] How should I know?
[21] Coffee-shops
[22] I dont know.
[23] Holy war.
[24] Women
[25] All right.
[26] The smallest coin of the country.
The “Iblis” at Ludd
CHAPTER I
“Lead on, Jimgrim sahib. I have seen the day when stronger boars than that one bit the dust!”
As a general rule when Major Jim Grim strode into the administrator’s office in the former German hospice, now British headquarters in Jerusalem, it was to be greeted with that kind of confident familiarity that, from his official superior, warms the fiber of a man’s being. Jim’s standing in the administrator’s favor was the cause of a good deal of jealousy; more than one British officer resented the frequent private consultations between Sir Henry Kettle and the American, although they could not prevent them.
They might have felt less jealous if they had known of the wholesale disregard of personal feelings (Jim’s especially) whenever the administrator considered him at fault.
Jim walked into the administrator’s private office three mornings after having run to ground the Dome of the Rock conspirators, rather expecting the usual smile and exchange of unusual jokes before broaching the day’s business. But Sir Henry Kettle opened on him without formality, with blazing eyes and a voice like flint.
“Look here, Grim, what the—do you mean by this? I’ve received complaint of insolence and insubordination, made against you by Brigadier-General Jenkins. It came in the morning mail from Ludd. Were you insolent to him?”
“Maybe.”
“Insubordinate?”
“That’ud be a matter of opinion, sir.”
“Do you realize that if he presses these charges there’ll be a court martial, and you’ll be broke?”
“I didn’t tell him what I thought of him because he was acting like a gentleman,” Jim answered.
“That isn’t the point. Jenkins may be a lot of things without that excusing you in the least. What I demand to know is, how dare you risk my having to court martial you and lose your services?”
There was not any answer Jim could make to that, so he said nothing.
“Are you under the impression that because an exception was made in your case, and you were recognized as an American citizen when given a commission in the British Army, that therefore you’re at liberty to ignore all precedent and be insolent to whom you please? If so, I’ll disillusion you!”
Jim knew his man. He wanted none of that kind of disillusionment. He continued to hold his tongue, standing bolt upright in front of the administrator’s desk.
“Apply your own standards if you like. How long would insolence from major to brigadier be tolerated in the United States Army?”
That was another of those questions that are best left alone, like dud shells and sleeping TNT.
“Jenkins writes that you gave him the lie direct. Is that true?”
“No.
