"Closhe, shignor, closhe," he cried in broken English. "Shtep in and take your choice."
Before the bewildered orphan knew where he was, he found himself in the interior of Ibrahim's emporium.
Here a profusion of garments were displayed before his eyes.
Having no preference for any particular colour, he took what the Jew pressed upon him.
In a short time his costume was complete, consisting of a pair of ample white trousers, and a blue shirt, surmounted by a crimson vest, secured at the waist by a purple sash, and on his feet a pair of yellow slippers of Morocco leather.
The turban alone was wanting.
"Be sure and let me have a good big turban," urged Mr. Figgins.
Ibrahim assured him that he should have one as big as he could carry, and he kept his word.
Unrolling a great many yards of stuff, he formed a turban of enormous dimensions of green and yellow stripe, which he placed upon the head of his customer.
"Shall I do? Do I look like a native Turk?" asked the latter, after he had put on his things.