Page:Alien Souls by Achmed Abdullah (1922).djvu/140

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occasionally a fist furtively clenched. But none challenged his insolent progress. For the man was lean and thin-mouthed and hook-nosed: a Kurd of Kurds; and a dozen years of American freedom cannot wipe out the livid fear of the centuries.

"Out of my way, sons of burnt fathers!" snarled Mohammed Yar, studying the sign-boards above the stores, Armenian all, Kabulian and Jamjotchian and Nasakian, and what-not, advertising all the world's shopworn goods at a shopworn discount; and then, taking a sallow, raven-haired youth by the neck and twirling him like a top: "Where does Krelekian live—Zado Krelekian?"

The evening before, the youth had learned in the Washington Street Night School about all men's being born free and equal, and so he mumbled some thing hectic and nervous as to this being a free country, and what did the other mean by—

"Answer me, dog!" came the Kurd's even, passionless voice. "Where is the house of Zado Krelekian?" He tightened his grip.

The Armenian looked up and down the street, but no policeman was in sight. He decided to fence for time, since he did not trust the stranger's intention.

"What do you want with Zado Krelekian?" he asked.

Mohammed Yar slowly closed one eye.

"I want words with him. Honeyed words, brother of inquisitiveness. Words smooth as silk, straight as a lance, soft as a virgin's kiss. Krelekian is a friend of mine, much beloved."

"A friend of yours? Ahi!" sighed the Armenian, in memory of past happenings in his native vilayet. "

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