“No, Resident, the funniest part of the whole business was Mr. Zuidhoorn’s face. That’s what you ought to have seen. He sat there, with his mouth wide open, scowling over his spectacles which hung down low on his nose, after the retreating figure of the colic-stricken djaksa; and, in his loose gown, he looked for all the world like an old gingham umbrella in a cover much too big for it.”
“That will do! that will do! Mr. Thomasz,” grinned van Gulpendam, “you have told your story splendidly!”
The deputy-recorder made a low bow in acknowledgment of the compliment.
“And what happened next?”
“Why then, Resident, nothing could happen—there was no djaksa, no usher of the court—so the session could not go on. The members present were smiling and were beginning to look at their watches; evidently they had had quite enough of sitting there to no purpose. So Mr. Zuidhoorn had no option—he brought down his hammer and adjourned the court for a week. Thereupon I hurried off at once to bring you the news.”
“And capitally you have done it, Mr. Thomasz! I am much obliged to you—at the proper time I will repay your zeal.”
As soon as the deputy-recorder had left, van Gulpendam turned to his secretary who, with folded arms, had stood listening to the conversation.
“Our object, you see, has been attained—now to take advantage of the fair tide. You must take care that all the documents are ready in good time—next week I purpose to take the chair myself at the assizes.”
“Everything shall be in readiness, sir,” replied the secretary; “but will you allow me to make one remark?”
“By all means, secretary—fire away!”