He stopped in his walk, measured one hundred paces in the street, and intimated that this represented the width of the central courtyard.
Abi Fressah was overwhelmed with surprise, but he was growing momentarily hungrier, and it was with difficulty he could restrain his impatience.
"Yes, yes," he said, "I would fain gaze upon the outer door of thy dwelling."
"Such an outer door," said Ben Maslia, "hast thou never seen. Its width...." and again he began to measure the street to indicate its dimensions.
"And further," he added, calmly, either failing to notice, or deliberately overlooking Abi Fressah's growing distress, "its shape and design are...!" and he dragged the other through several streets until he found a door to which he could point as being not altogether unlike his own.
"But I weary thee," he said, suddenly, as if regretful of the time he had wasted.
"Nay, nay, not at all," Abi Fressah assured him, although he was inwardly fuming at the delay. "Thy descriptions delight me immeasurably. Thou hast not yet unfolded to me the wonders of thy dining-room."
Thereupon Ben Maslia took up the tale of the dining-room and its furniture, and he dragged his companion half a mile out of their path to show him the furniture emporium where he had purchased the tables and the couches. Then he retraced his steps to point out a building from which he had borrowed certain ideas of decoration.
Abi Fressah's fat body was unused to such exertion. He perspired freely, his legs tottered beneath him, and his tongue was parched. He was really very uncomfortable, and the pangs of hunger from which he suffered were not lessened when Ben Maslia stopped outside a restaurant to speak to a friend who was just going in.
The conversation was prolonged, and all the time Abi Fressah's nose was tickled by the smell of the cooking. He endured agonies, especially when the friend invited Ben Maslia to dine with him, and Ben Maslia, after a few moment's hesitation, firmly declined.