hemselves on the divan which lined part of the hall.

"Ha!" said the Professor, as he rose from his cushion, cracking audibly,
"so we're to have our coffee and what not over there, hey?... Well, my
boy, I shan't be sorry, I confess, to have something to lean my back
against--and a cigar, a mild cigar, will--ah--aid digestion. You _do_
smoke here?"

"Smoke?" said Horace, "Why, of course! All over the place. Here," he
said, clapping his hands, which brought an obsequious slave instantly to
his side; "just bring coffee and cigars, will you?"

The slave rolled his brandy-ball eyes in obvious perplexity.

"Coffee," said Horace; "you must know what coffee is. And cigarettes.
Well, _chibouks_, then--'hubble-bubbles'--if that's what you call them."

But the slave clearly did not understand, and it suddenly struck Horace
that, since 'tobacco and coffee were not introduced, even in the East,
till long after the Jinnee's time, he, as the founder of the feast,
would naturally be unaware how indispensable they had become at the
present day.

"I'm really awfully sorry," he said; "but they don't seem to have
provided any. I shall speak to the manager about it. And, unfortunately,
I don't know where my own cigars are."

"It's of no consequence," said the Professor, with the sort of stoicism
that minds very much. "I am a moderate smoker at best, and Turkish
coffee, though delicious, is apt to keep me awake. But if you could let
me have a look at that brass bottle you got at poor Collingham's sale, I
should be obliged to you."

Horace had no idea where it was then, nor could he, until the Professor
came to the rescue with a few words of Arabic, manage to make the slaves
comprehend what he wished them to find.

At length, however, two of them appeared, bearing the brass bottle with
every sign of awe, and depositing it at Ventimore's feet.

Professor Futvoye, after wiping and adjusting his glasses, proceeded to
examine the vessel. "It certainly is a most unusual type of brassware,"
he said, "as unique in its way as the silver ewer and basin; and, as you
thought, there does seem to be something resembling an inscription on
the cap, though in this dim light it is almost impossible to be sure."

While he was poring over it, Horace seated himself on the divan by
Sylvia's side, hoping for one of the whispered conversations permitted
to affianced lovers; he had pulled through the banquet somehow, and on
the whole he felt thankful thi