It is only a little while until Mr. Mitry enters and takes his
place at a small table in the center of the room. A half hour or
more is spent in smoking cigarettes--almost every native smokes.
Here it seems that the habit is in no sense considered a vice.
Indeed, the missionary himself, not only smokes, but assists in
making cigarettes for the others. They smoke and smoke until the
room is so darkened that we see each other but dimly through the
haze. I am surprised that I can endure it. The tobacco must be
different from that used in America, for ordinarily a single
cigarette is more offensive to me than was the smoke of nearly
fifty on that evening--for some of the men smoked two or three
apiece in that close room.

After the smoking was over black coffee was served in small cups
holding about one-fourth as much as the average teacup. They sip
this slowly and talk. I note that frequently they are saying
something about "hawadje," and then they fix their eyes upon me.
My dragoman tells me that he has been explaining our hard trip to
Gerasa, that they were skeptical about it, but that he has
convinced them of its verity.

But now it is time for the service. Mr. Mitry opens his Bible and
reads in Arabic the story of Moses' invitation to Hobab. Then he
expounds the Scripture for some time while the men listen with
rapt attention. There are some questions and answers. I understand
only a word now and then, but it is a picture of more than
ordinary interest to me to look upon the expectant, and then the
satisfied faces of these natives.