"Mr. Jones, I believe," he said, as he bowed to me. Jones is a good
travelling name, and, if the reader will allow me, I will call
myself Jones on the present occasion.
"Yes," I said, pausing with the brandy-bottle in one hand, and the
flask in the other. "That's my name; I'm Jones. Can I do anything
for you, sir?"
"Why, yes, you can," said he. "My name is Smith,--John Smith."
"Pray sit down, Mr. Smith," I said, pointing to a chair. "Will you
do anything in this way?" and I proposed to hand the bottle to him.
"As far as I can judge from a short stay, you won't find much like
that in Jerusalem."
He declined the Cognac, however, and immediately began his story.
"I hear, Mr. Jones," said he, "that you are going to Moab to-
morrow."
"Well," I replied, "I don't know whether I shall cross the water.
It's not very easy, I take it, at all times; but I shall certainly
get as far as Jordan. Can I do anything for you in those parts?"
And then he explained to me what was the object of his visit. He
was quite alone in Jerusalem, as I was myself; and was staying at H-
's hotel. He had heard that I was starting for the Dead Sea, and
had called to ask if I objected to his joining me.
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