"In two days you shall have your pay. Go!"
"We will wait no longer!" cries a bim bashi, and they all cry after
him: "We want our money! We will not leave here until we are paid!"
They press farther and farther into the house, more and more
fiercely demanding their pay. Suddenly, a loud, firm voice resounds
from the court-yard: "What does this mean, soldiers? What are you
doing here? How dare you force your way into the palace of the
chief?"
A smile lights up Bardissi's countenance. This is his friend
Mohammed Ali. He will extricate him from his embarrassing position.
Yes, it is he, the sarechsme, at whose approach the men respectfully
fall back and make room. He enters the palace and hastens to
Bardissi.
"Oh, forgive me! I knew not that my soldiers had dared to come here.
They also came to me and demanded their pay; I had none to give
them, yet I had no idea they would go so far as to annoy you
personally."
Bardissi makes no reply. He only looks at his friend, and grasps his
hand warmly.
"I thank you, Mohammed, for having come."
"It is my duty, Bardissi," replies he, loud enough to be understood
by all his soldiers. "Yes, it is the duty of the sarechsme to be
identified with his soldiers; and if, impelled by their want, they
went too far, I beg for their forgiveness; but I also beg that
justice be done them; and their demands are just.
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