"You sit down here, Geo'ge; drink an' say not'ing, but wait for me." With this admonition Peter the Great whispered a few words to the man who owned the establishment, and hurriedly left the place. The middy naturally felt a little disconcerted at being thus left alone among strangers, but, knowing that in the circumstances he was absolutely helpless, he wisely and literally obeyed orders. Sitting down on a bench opposite the fire, from which point of observation he could see the entrance-door and all that went on around him, he waited and said nothing until the chief of the establishment presented him with a white cup of coffee, so very small that he felt almost equal to the swallowing of cup and coffee at one gulp. With a gracious bow and "Thank you," he accepted the attention, and began to sip. The dignified Arab who gave it to him did not condescend upon any reply, but turned to attend upon his other customers. Foster's first impulse was to spit out the sip he had taken, for to his surprise the coffee was thick with grounds. He swallowed it, however, and wondered. Then, on taking another sip and considering it, he perceived that the grounds were not as grounds to which he had been accustomed, but were reduced--no doubt by severe pounding--to a pasty condition, which made the beverage resemble chocolate. "Coffee-soup! with sugar--but no milk!" he muttered, as he tried another sip. This third one convinced him that the ideas of Arabs regarding coffee did not coincide with those of Englishmen, so he finished the cup at the fourth sip, much as he would have taken a dose of physic, and thereafter amused himself with contemplating the other coffee-sippers. At the time when our hero first arrived at Ben-Ahmed's home, he had been despoiled of his own garments while he was in bed--the slave costume having been left in their place. On application to his friend Peter, however, his pocket-knife, pencil, letters, and a few other things had been returned to him. Thus, while waiting, he was able to turn his time to account by making a sketch of the interior of the coffee-house, to the great surprise and gratification of the negroes there--perhaps, also, of the Moors--but these latter were too reticent and dignified to express any interest by word or look, whatever they might have felt. He was thus engaged when Peter returned. "Hallo, Geo'ge!" exclaimed the negro, "what you bin up to--makin' picturs?" "Only a little sketch," said Foster, holding it up. "A skitch!" repeated Peter, grasping the letter, and holding it out at arm's length with the air of a connoisseur, while he compared it with the original. "You call dis a skitch? Well! I neber see de like ob dis--no, neber. It's lubly. Dere's de kittles an' de pots an' de jars, an'--ha, ha! dere's de man wid de--de--wart on 'is nose! Oh! das fust-rate. Massa's awrful fond ob skitchin'. He wouldn't sell you now for ten t'ousand dollars."