“I have always lived at peace with my neighbours. I am a good Mussulman, fearing Allah and the law. I am calumniated.”
“Hold your tongue,” said the court, “and do not speak till you are spoken to.”
“It is true,” explained plaintiff number one, “that, for some time past, he has let us be quiet, and only committed distant robberies; but a few days since, he stole one of our bullocks.”
“Sidi Bou Krari!” roared the savage. “How dare they slander a poor innocent creature like me in that way?”
“But is the fact clearly proved?” the president inquired. “How did it occur?”
“It is as plain as can be,” stated plaintiff number two. “There is not the least doubt about the matter.”
“That’s what you get by serving the French!” muttered Ben Serraq, with the air of a Cato. “What ingratitude, gracious Allah, Lord of the universe!”
At this juncture, Djilali received orders to prevent the accused, by any means whatever, from making lengthy interruptions to the recital of the plaintiffs’ wrongs. As to short exclamations that will break forth, the chaouch might allow them to burst from their safety-valve, seeing the material impossibility of confining them within the lips of a subject like the present defendant.
“Come, then,” said the court, decidedly, “one of you explain the business.”
“Don’t mind what they say,” Ben Serraq roared out. “They are liars. Besides, they have a spite against me.”