“That may be the case in fact,” replied Yussuf; “but law is a very difficult thing, as you will find out.  So come along with me to the cadi.”

The party then proceeded on their way to the cadi, but they had not gone many yards, when the papouche-maker whispered to Yussuf, “Most valiant and powerful sir, I quarrelled with my wife last night, on account of her unreasonable jealousy.  I did pronounce the divorce, but there was no one to hear.  If we slept together once more, she would be pacified.  Therefore, most humane sir, I entreat you to interfere.”

“Was there no witness?” inquired Yussuf.

“None, good sir,” replied the man, slipping five direhms into the hand of Yussuf.

“Then I decide that there is no divorce,” replied Yussuf, pocketing the money, “and therefore you are no debtor.  Woman, come hither.  It appears that there was no divorce—­so says your husband—­and you have no witness to prove it.  You are therefore no creditor.  Go to your husband, and walk home with him; he is not much of a husband, to be sure, but still he must be cheap at the three dirhems which you have paid me.  God be with you.  Such is my decree.”

The woman, who had already repented of her divorce, was glad to return, and with many compliments, they took their leave of him.  “By Allah!” exclaimed Yussuf, “but this is good.  I will live and die an officer of the law.”  So saying he returned home for his basket, purchased his provisions and wine, and lighting up his house, passed the evening in carousing and singing as before.

While Yussuf was thus employed, the caliph was desirous of ascertaining the effect of the new decree, relative to the baths.  “Giaffar,” said he, “I wonder whether I have succeeded in making that wine-bibber go to bed supperless?  Come, let us pay him a visit.”

“For the sake of Islam, O caliph,” replied Giaffar, “let us forbear to trifle with that crackbrained drunkard any more.  Already has Allah delivered us out of his hands.  What may we not expect if he is hungry and desolate?”

“Your wisdom never grows less,” replied the caliph; “those are the words of truth:  nevertheless, I must go and see the madman once more.”

Giaffar, not being able to prevail, prepared the dresses, and they, accompanied by Mesrour, again sallied forth by the private gate of the seraglio.  Once more were they surprised at witnessing the same illumination of the house, and one of the jalousies having burst open with the wind, they perceived the shadow of Yussuf, reflected on the wall, his beard wagging over his kabobs, and a cup of wine in his hand.

“Who is there?” cried Yussuf, when Giaffar, at the command of the caliph, knocked at the door.

“Your friends, dear Yussuf—­your friends, the Moussul merchants.  Peace be with you.”

“But it’s neither peace nor welcome to you, you owls,” replied Yussuf, walking out into the verandah.  “By Allah! if you do not walk away, and that quickly, I shall come down to you with my bone polisher.”