“Shall we go to the club, it is close by?” asked another.
“Yes, if I thought that muttering would last much longer.”
“Silence! silence!” shouted the usher, “respect for the court!”
That respect for the court was all very well; but the good people of Santjoemeh had gathered together for the sake of amusement, and they were being bored almost to death.
At length the clerk had got to the end of his dreary tale—at length the djaksa had, for the last time, said to the prisoner: “Do you understand, Setrosmito?” And at length, for the last time, the latter had replied in his monotonous drone the same words:
“Yes, kandjeng toean.”
Then came the usual shuffling of feet and a general murmur of satisfaction which, however, the usher soon managed to subdue.
As soon as silence had been restored, the head djaksa rose from his chair and, in his capacity of public prosecutor, he began to open the case for the Government.
His speech was remarkably well put together, and worked out with much skill and care; but it could have an interest only for those who knew nothing of the other side of the case.
It was, in fact, little more than a statement of what had occurred, strictly on the lines of the report of the bandoelan Singomengolo.