"Rather!" acquiesced Jack. "We'll never leave you, old boy."
The remainder of the day was spent by Mole in the further study of Turkish.
These exertions were fatiguing, and Mr. Mole was tired when he retired, as he expressed it.
He was not long falling asleep, and dreams of glory, power, and magnificence filled his slumbers.
He was just dreaming he had been elected sultan when he was suddenly and rudely awakened by a terrible knocking at the door.
Mole started up, and was told that he must prepare in a great hurry, for the escort had already arrived.
The tutor, still half asleep, looked out of the window, and in the day dawn he discerned a small body of horsemen at the door of the hotel.
Mole felt that he could never get into those elaborate Turkish robes without assistance; luckily at this juncture young Jack put in an opportune appearance, and offered to help him.
"You'll have to make haste, pasha," said our hero; "strikes me you've rather overslept yourself. Where is your beard?"
"Here it is," returned Mole; "but why didn't some of you wake me before? I was so busy dreaming that I was sultan, and—that's right, my boy, help me on with the cork legs and boots, that's the worst difficulty, and then all these things, and lastly the turban and beard."