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The hungrier one becomes the clearer one's mind works.

Also, the more sensitive one becomes to the odors of food.

Tarkad, the son of a juror, certainly thought so.

For two whole days he had tasted no food except two small figs per loin from over the wall of a garden.

Not another could he grab before the angry woman rushed forth and chased him down the street.

Her shrill cries were still ringing in his ears as he walked through the marketplace.

They helped him to restrain his restless fingers from snatching the tempting fruits from the baskets of the market women.

Never before had he realized how much food was brought to the markets of Babylon and how good it smelled.

Leaving the market, he walked across to the inn and paced back and forth in front of the eating house.

Perhaps here he might meet someone he knew, someone from whom he could borrow a copper that would gain him a smile from the unfriendly keeper of the inn and with it a liberal helping.

Without the copper, he knew all too well how unwelcome he would be.

In his abstraction, he unexpectedly found himself face to face with the one man he wished most to avoid,

the tall, bony figure of Dabaseer, the camel trader.

Of all the friends and others from whom he had borrowed small sums, Dabaseer made him feel the most uncomfortable because of his failure to keep his promises to repay promptly.

Dabaseer's face lighted up at the sight of him.

...