"Here's one from Roxbury, Massachusetts, and another from Mexico City,"
remarked the clerk delightedly.

"And here's one from Paris, France," added the stenographer. "Say! Some
travelers!"

"Well, go on getting the jury," said the judge, yawning again and
handing the paper to the clerk.

At that moment Mr. Salim Zahoul, the interpreter procured by Mr.
Pepperill, approached, bowed and, twisting his purple mustache,
addressed the court: "Your Excellence: I haf to zay dat dees papaire eet
haf articles on zis affair--ze _memkaha_--zat are not diplomatique."

Judge Wetherell blinked at him.

"Who's this man?" he demanded.

"That's the interpreter," explained W.M.P.

"Interpreter!" answered the court. "I can't understand a word he says!"

"He was the best I could get," apologized Pepperill, while the
countenance of Mr. Zahoul blazed with wrath and humiliation. "It's very
difficult to get a fluent interpreter in Arabic."

"Well, just interpret what _he_ says to _me_, will you?" kindly
requested His Honor.