at the

murdered　storyteller　hung　up　each　night　he　told　one　of　his　disgraceful　stories。

Prompted　by　Black’s　question；　I　pointed　out　the　picture　of　Death　I　had　drawn。

“The　same　pictures　are　in　my　Enishte’s　book；”　he　said。

“Both the storyteller and the proprietor of the coffeehouse realized the

wisdom of having the miniaturists render the illustrations each night。 The

storyteller would have one of us quickly dash off an illustration on one of

these　coarse　sheets；　ask　us　a　little　about　the　story　and　about　our　in　jokes　and

then；　adding　some　of　his　own　material；　he’d　start　the　evening’s　performance。”

396

“Why　did　you　make　the　same　picture　of　Death　for　him　that　you　made　for

my　Enishte’s　book？”

“Upon　the　request　of　the　storyteller；　it　was　a　lone　figure　on　the　page。　But　I

didn’t draw it with attention and effort the way I had for Enishte’s book； I

drey　hand　felt　like　drawing　it。　The　others　too；　perhaps

trying to be witty； drew for the storyteller in a cruder and simpler manner

what　they　had　made　for　that　secret　book。”

“Who　made　the　horse；”　he　asked；　“with　the　slit　nostrils？”

Lowering　the　lamp　we　watched　the　horse　in　wonder。　It　resembled　the　horse

made for Enishte’s book； but it ore careless and catered to a

simpler　taste；　as　if　somebody　had　not　only　paid　the　illustrator　less　m