The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1918-07-26

while you stand on the pavement. You
Will, of course, be in the way of all pc
destrians, especially as there will be
sure to be one or two interested spec
tators of your deal; but then, to stop
the traffic, either on the kings high
way or on the sidewalk, is quite per-
missible in Saloniki.
Two friends meet In the street, they
stop, exchange salutatiOns, and an ami
mated conversation ensues. They take
up a great deal of room; but every
one respects the unwritten law of the
Orient and our two worthless continue
their discourse, needless of time and
place, as only your true Oriental can
be. This sort of thing would be entire
~ out of place in a western land.
Should we attempt it, our fellow men
would resent it, and we should become
exceedingly unpopular. All this may
seem rather a small matter to dwell
upon; but it is really one of those Pc
culiaIfties which make great impress
sion on the new arrival. In course Of
time we grow accustomed to it, and
usually find ourselves respecting the
law of the East.
AS we pass from the landing stage
on our road to the base camps 1t is
borne home to us that the inhabitants
are of many and varied races, and if
further proof were wanting the clamor
of many tongues would at once con-
firm it. Bearded, sun-tanned fishermen,
fine fellows, who would add luster to
any stage production Of "Sinbad,"
spruce, well-dressed clerks and mer-
chants and hosts of ragged, monde
script rascals mingle together on all
sides. Turkish women with yashmak
and quaint trOuserings, all complete,
move side by side with Greek ladies,
arrayed in the very latest vogue, and
needless of the passing throng strides
a tall Greek priest, umbrella in hand,
with his flowing black robes and his
ample locks crowned by the quaint
headdreSs Of his creed-nOt unlike an
inverted tall hat.
Crowds of soldiers of course are
there, khaki-clad English and Serbs,
Frenchmen, prominent in their new
blue uniforms, sage-coated Italians and
Russians in their tightly-belted blouse
tunics. Add to all this motley crowd
swarmS of partially clad children,
whose never ceasing cry is penny,
Johnny" and you have some idea of
what Saloniki crowd is like. Include
the noise, smell and indescribable dirt
and you have Saloniki complete.
Familiar Traffic Officer.
The roadway is packed with traffic,
too. Slow moving bullock carts hold
up the flying motor lorries and the
horse and mule transport of the allies
comes and goes in a never-ending
stream. Leaving the English quay, we
come to large open space, the juno
ton of four of the principal thorough
fares, and here the press is worse than
ever. This is Piccadilly circus, for
wherever the English soldier goes he
dearly loves to christen places after
familiar spots in the home country. It
may be a communication trench or it
may be road or street, it is all one to
him and a name it has. In the middle
of all this is tall khaki-clad military
policeman. With a wave Of his arm
he holds up the stream of traffic to al
low our column to pass. There is
something very familiar in that majes-
tic action, it is done so naturally, there
is no shadow of doubt in his express
sion as to the signal being instantly
obeyed. Our soldier policeman is in
his element, his present job is not new,
it is childs play for him, this handling
of few lorries and swarm of noisy
Orientals after the traffic in Piccadilly
over the sea-or it may have been
the Marble arch-for his name and
number will be found in the roll of
honor Of the London police force. He
has done bit of soldering since he
left England and now he is once again
the guardian of the public, a power to
be reckoned with.