It was a long palaver—too long for the chiefs.
Was the island Akasava or Isisi? Old men of either nation testified with oaths and swearings of death and other high matters that it was both.
From dawn to sunset Bosambo sat in the thatched palaver house, and on either side of him was a brass pot into which he tossed from time to time a grain of corn.
And every grain stood for a successful argument in favour of one or the other of the contestants—the pot to the right being for the Akasava, and that to the left for the Isisi.
And the night was given up to festivity, to the dancing of girls and the telling of stories and other noble exercises.
On the tenth day Iberi met T'lingi secretly.
"T'lingi," said Iberi, "it seems to me that this island is not worth the keeping if we have to feast this thief Bosambo and search our lands for his pleasure."
"Lord Iberi," agreed his rival, "that is also in my mind—let us go to this robber of our food and say the palaver shall finish to-morrow, for I do not care whether the island is yours or mine if we can send Bosambo back to his land."
"You speak my mind," said Iberi, and on the morrow they were blunt to the point of rudeness.