Khalid must have recoiled from the practice. Or in his recklessness, not to say obtrusion, he must have been outrageous enough to express in the office of the honourable attorney, or in the neighbourhood thereof, his views about pettifogging and suchlike, that the said honourable attorney was under the painful necessity of asking him to stay home.
Nay, the young Syrian was discharged. Or to put it in a term adequate to the manner in which this was done, he was “fired.”
Now, Khalid betakes him back to his cellar, and thrumming his lute-strings, lights up the oppressive gloom with Arabic song and music.