Eftim was a black-eyed, bushy little man and the figure he presented, a Turkish kalpak resting on his uncut Orthodox hair and his long Orthodox beard flowing over the turned-up collar of a wolfskin coat, is one which may be commended to those who knew the old Ottoman Empire. The following dialogue ensued:
Self (to Papa Eftim): Are you a Turk?
Djelal Noury (smiling): He is of the Turkish race.
Self (to Papa Eftim): Are you of Turkish blood?
Djelal Noury (smiling cordially): The Turkish Orthodox Church was his own idea. He organized it himself.
Self (to Papa Eftim): Do you speak Turkish?
Djelal Noury (still smiling cordially): He wants to go to the League of Nations at Geneva. He asks do you think he ought to go?
Self (to Papa Eftim): Are you a Turk?
Djelal Noury (smiling still more cordially): He asks whether you may be a Protestant. He says if you are, you and he are the same for neither of you recognize the Pope.
This sort of thing seemed to be of no profit to any of us and the matter was accordingly allowed to drop, Djelal Noury leaving with Papa Eftim carefully in tow. We Westerners of course are quite superior to this device of the carefully staged interview, since our own politicians in the West are as indifferent to publicity as a cat is to catnip.
A half-hour later, a Turk happened to call and in the most casual fashion asked what opinion I had formed of Papa Eftim. I told him I had formed the
