ommunicated by a most expressive pantomime of drinking, and a few
solitary words of German Dalton possessed, the room assumed a look of
sociality, to which Dalton's presence very mainly contributed.

In the confidence such a moment of secrecy suggested, Foglass produced
an ear-trumpet, a mark of the most unbounded good faith on his part, and
which, had Dalton known him better, he would have construed into a proof
of implicit reliance on his honor.

"I've been many years at Constantinople," said he, adjusting the
instrument, "and the confounded muezzin has made me a little deaf. It's
an everlasting calling to prayers, day and night, there."

"How they ever expect to get to heaven by tormentin', and teasin', is
more than I know," said Dalton.

"They 're Mahomedans!" said Foglass, with the air of a man uttering a
profound sentiment.

"Ay, to be sure," observed Dalton; "it's not like Christians. Now, is it
true, they tell me they never eat salt meat!"

"Never!"

"Think of that! Not a bit of corned beef, nor as much as a leg of pork--"

"Would n't hear of it," interrupted Foglass. "Wine, too, is forbidden."

"And punch?"

"Of course, punch also. A pipe, a cup of coffee, the bath, and a little
opium are the luxuries of Turkish existence."

"To the devil I fling them all four," cried Dalton, impatiently. "How a
man is to be social beside a coffeepot, or up to his neck in hot water,
beats me entirely. Faix! I don't envy the Turks!" And he sipped his
glass as he spoke, like one who had fallen upon a happier destiny.

"If you 'll mix me a very small glass of that punch, I'd like to propose
a toast," said Foglass.

"There, now, that's spoke like a sensible man; pleasant company and
social enjoyment are the greatest enemies to the gout. Make your mind
easy, and keep your heart light, and the devil a fear but your knees
will get limber, and the swellin' will leave your ankles; but weak punch
and tiresome people would undermine the best constitution in the world.
Taste that."

To judge from Mr. Foglass's face, Dalton had at least provided one
element of health for his companion.

"It is very strong very strong, indeed!" said he, puckering up his eyes.

"It's the fault of the water hereabouts," said Dalton. "It doesn't mix
right with the spirits; so that one half the first, generally of your
liquor tastes stiff, but the bottom is mild as milk."

[Illustration: 384]

The explanation gave such encouragement to Fog