His chauffeur got into the car, the old gentleman got in beside him. The Caïd Madani motioned me to get in behind, the Caïd Madani got in after me, the Caïd Aïssa got in after the Caïd Madani, the Sheik Marhoun got in after the Caïd Aïssa, the kadi got in after the Sheik Marhoun. The Caïd Ali said, “I don’t think I shall come, there isn’t much room left.”
All the others protested, so he got in too.
The Caïd Mohamed categorically refused to make a ninth.
The bash agha turned round and said, “Well, I think we are all here. Let us start.”
The car moved off. At the entrance of the town the Sheik Marhoun said, “Do you think that we’ve got enough petrol to get there and back?”
“Inch Allah,” replied the chauffeur.
The kadi, who is a practical man, and who likes his comforts, interposed, “I think you had better make certain.”
The chauffeur made certain and found there was enough to do about one mile down hill.
We therefore returned to the town to get some. No one seemed to mind, though; my seven Arabs made no comment and remained as placid as if the filling of the petrol tank was merely a childish whim of the kadi. I felt certain that they were saying to themselves, “If the car lacks fuel, Allah will surely provide.”
I said to the kadi, “Lucky you thought of asking.”