Here is a bit of fun.
This is a pretty strange story but I’m given to understand that all 66 books of the bible are in it. I have never been able to find all 66 but if you are into puzzles you may enjoy this one.
HIDDEN BOOKS OF THE BIBLE
Speaking soberly, the numbers were up in the Middle East. There was old Chief Mejud gesticulating wildly. The facts were plain – in truth, he had a narrow escape! His fez, raiment and marked face showed it. Never did you see so dismal a chief. Queer at any time, to see him now minus hose and shoes, and wearing as comic a hat as could be made, it was quite a job to suppress a laugh.
It All happened near ancient Ai. What to them made this a holy place? One thing was a mysterious letter J on a high cliff. There was little else there except a small market and a stall selling coffee, but the brew smelt vile. A fakir sat there too he pumps alms from all comers. The stall-holder, Samu elegant in a striped robe, promptly drew attention to the curious carving. “See that J? Oh, nothing in the world is more wonderful! “We asked..”What is wonderful about the J?” “O eleven centuries old it is. Sir”‘just then a toothless hag gained my ear. She, a most pitiful figure, paused to reston the parapet ere saying leeringly, “You have money?” I fluked a reply, “Not I. moth, you know, and rust corrupt earthly store.”
In Such A Jam
Being in such a jam, escape was obviously necessary, so I said to Mejud. “Excuse me, can I annex, O dusty chief, your car?” He consented, and to gain the sedan, I elbowed my way out, a man from Ghana humming a tune at side. “I am at the work: of tracing a tobacco theft”, he told me several times. It was his subject of constant complaint. “That tobacco loss”, I answered, “is of little account. It would have gone up in smoke anyway”. This man, though claiming good education had adopted the role of a tramp (rover).B.Sc. stood after his name, gained at Oxford. Two others in his family were still home in West Africa – a brother named Eugene, sister called (strangely enough) Adelphi. Lemon-growing occupied their time. He said “At home they mockingly ask, ‘Where is the prodigal at?’ ‘’ I answered that it used to be incorrect to us “at” in this manner. His general command of English was poor for an Oxford graduate. For instance, he would refer to the neuter gender as “dueter”! “O, no, my dear sir”, I frequently had to exclaim.
This is really too bad – I, a home-body, roaming the Near East with strange companions. Yet, from answers received from my superiors it will be home sweet home soon. I no longer revel at Ionian bouts as of old.
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