“So I am, on state occasions; but to-day, I tell you. I am superintendent of the commissariat department. Now, look sharp!”
Hakkabut hereupon descended into the hold of the tartan, and soon returned, carrying ten packets of tobacco, each weighing one kilogramme, and securely fastened by strips of paper, labeled with the French government stamp.
“Ten kilogrammes of tobacco at twelve francs a kilogramme: a hundred and twenty francs,” said the Jew.
Ben Zoof was on the point of laying down the money, when Servadac stopped him.
“Let us just see whether the weight is correct.”
Hakkabut pointed out that the weight was duly registered on every packet, and that the packets had never been unfastened. The captain, however, had his own special object in view, and would not be diverted. The Jew fetched his steelyard, and a packet of the tobacco was suspended to it.
“Merciful heavens!” screamed Isaac.
The index registered only 133 grammes!
“You see, Hakkabut, I was right. I was perfectly justified in having your goods put to the test,” said Servadac, quite seriously.
“But—but, your Excellency—” stammered out the bewildered man.