The Barmecide seemed to be astonished at my brother's answer, and putting both his hands to his stomach, as if he would rend his clothes for grief, "Is it possible," cried he, "that I am at Bagdad, and that such a man as you is so poor as you say? this is what must never be." My brother, fancying that he was going to give him some singular mark of his bounty, blessed him a thousand times, and wished him all happiness. "It shall not be said," replied the Barmecide, "that I will abandon you, nor will I have you leave me." "Sir," replied my brother, "I swear to you I have not eaten one bit to-day." "Is it true," demanded the Barmecide, "that you are fasting till now? Alas, poor man! he is ready to die for hunger. Ho, boy," cried he, with a loud voice, "bring a basin and water presently, that we may wash our hands." Though no boy appeared, and my brother saw neither water nor basin, the Barmecide fell to rubbing his hands as if one had poured water upon them, and bade my brother come and wash with him. Schacabac judged by this, that the Barmecide lord loved to be merry, and he himself understanding raillery, and knowing that the poor must be complaisant to the rich, if they would have any thing from them, came forward and did as he was required.