"Oh, if you don't know—" said the Khoja indignantly, and gathering his robe about him, he quitted the pulpit without another word.
The men looked at each other in dismay, for the Khoja was a very popular preacher.
"We have done wrong," said they, "though we know not how; without doubt our ignorance is an offence to his learning. Wherefore, if he comes again, whatever he says to us we will seem as if we knew all about it."
The following week the Khoja got again into the pulpit, from which he could see a larger assembly than before.
"O ye Muslims!" he began, "what am I to say—"
But before the words were fairly out of his mouth the congregation cried out with one voice, "We know, good Khoja! We know!"
"Oh, if you know—" said the Khoja sarcastically, and shrugging his shoulders, and lifting his eyebrows, he left the place as one who feels that he can be of no further use.
"This is worse than before," said the Muslims in despair. But after a while they took counsel, and said, "Let him come once more, and we will not lose our sermon this time. If he asks the same question we will reply that some of us know, but that some of us do not know."