Arabia must be a very untidy country if they made coffee often over there.

He dirtied two saucepans, three jugs, one tablecloth, one nutmeg-grater, one hearthrug, three cups, and himself.

This made coffee for two--what would have been necessary in the case of a party, one dares not think.
That we did not like the coffee when made, MacShaughnassy attributed to our debased taste--the result of long indulgence in an inferior article.
He drank both cups himself, and afterwards went home in a cab.
He had an aunt in those days, I remember, a mysterious old lady, who lived in some secluded retreat from where she wrought incalculable mischief upon MacShaughnassy's friends.

What he did not know--the one or two things that he was _not_ an authority upon--this aunt of his knew.
"No," he would say with engaging candour--"no, that is a thing I cannot advise you about myself.

But," he would add, "I'll tell you what I'll do.