There were quantities of books, and long rows of sofas.

What on earth could be more luxurious than a sofa, a book, and a cup of coffee?
An old waiter came up to him, with a couple of magazines and an evening paper.

Was ever anything so civil?
Would he have a cup of coffee, or would he prefer sherbet?
Sherbet! Was he absolutely in an Eastern divan, with the slight addition of all the London periodicals?
He had, however, an idea that sherbet should be drunk sitting cross-legged, and as he was not quite up to this, he ordered the coffee.
The coffee came, and was unexceptionable.

Why, this divan was a paradise! The civil old waiter suggested to him a game of chess: though a chess player he was not equal to this, so he declined, and, putting up his weary legs on the sofa, leisurely sipped his coffee, and turned over the pages of his Blackwood.

He might have been so engaged for about an hour, for the old waiter enticed him to a second cup of coffee, when a musical clock began to play.