Soon after my arrival here, a little, weazen-faced, old seyud, in a
threadbare and badly-faded green gown, comes hobbling through the rain
and the mahogany-colored slush of the village yard to the gate. Everybody
rises respectfully as he comes in, and the old fellow, accustomed to
having this deference paid him by everybody about him, and wishing to
show courtesy to a Ferenghi, motions for me to keep seated. Seeing that I
had no intention of rising, this courtesy was somewhat superfluous, but
the incident serves to show how greatly these simple villagers are
impressed with the idea of a seyud's superiority, to say nothing of the
seyud's assumption of the same. They explain to me that the little,
unwashed, unkempt, and well-nigh unclad specimen of humanity examining
the bicycle is a seyud, with the manner of people pointing out a being of
unapproachable superiority. Still, looking at the poor old fellow's rags,
and remembering that it is new year and the time for a change of raiment,
one cannot help thinking, "Old fellow, you evidently come in for more
resect, after all, than material assistance, and would, no doubt,
willingly exchange a good deal of the former for a little of the latter."
Still, one must not be too confident of this; the bodily requirements of
a wrinkled old seyud would be very trifling, while his egotism would, on
the other hand, be insufferable.
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