The jar was stoppered with a cracked and
discolored wooden cork.
It seemed only right and proper to the old Physician that the
noble-born Master Rababull, no doubt put on the spot at times by the
mischief of those beneath him, should be the proper court of final
recourse, and in the Physician's view of things, what must be done must
be done. Too bad about the gentle boy's suffering, but right was right,
and the bully had received his just recompense.
"No, that's not it," he said, frowning as he sniffed at the contents.
Although the Physician might secretly have wished for a fairer and less
vindictive world, he could but observe that well had the gods fated
Rababull to be Master.
Could even one of his servants have inflicted such drastic punishment,
and have done it so impartially and without undue hesitation, as he had
just done? The Physician sagely reflected that another could not have
done it at all. Perhaps instead, the other fellow would have become too
emotionally involved and done too much.
Or a man of more timid nature might have betrayed cowardice and chosen
to talk it off haughtily and do nothing at all, thereby engendering a
smoldering spirit of outrage and rebellion in his own subjects. If the
master could not settle the matter to the adequate satisfaction of all,
who could?
But there was more to it than that.
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