"Most high and mighty, he robbed me of my turban and knocked me down stairs," affirmed Bosja.
"No, your worship; he robbed me of my turban and stole half my flute," protested the orphan.
The official dignitary frowned and shut his eyes reflectively.
He foresaw that he had a case of unusual intricacy before him, and he was thinking how he should deal with it.
After a moment he opened his eyes, rubbed his nose profoundly, and sneezed.
All the officials imitated their superior by rubbing their noses and sneezing in concert.
The uproar was tremendous.
Order being at length restored, the bashaw fixed his eyes upon Bosja, and said to him—
"Let me hear what you have to say."
"It is this. Your slave last night was troubled with the toothache, and retired to his couch. The pain kept me awake, and just as I was going to sleep—"