It was now time for dinner, whereat we may have the honour of making a
closer acquaintance with the host and hostess and their four guests.
The prefect, Mr. John Zabvary, with his jaundiced complexion and bleared
eyes, is an excellent specimen of the perfect egoist. Whosoever it is
that comes to him, whether to ask, or to give something, is equally an
enemy in disguise. Does he ask a favour? what is it he wants? Does he
bring something? why is there not more of it? With that perpetual dry
cough of his, he always seems to be calling attention to the faults of
someone or other. He does not even dress like anyone else, but sits at
the end of the table in loose shirt-sleeves, his head nearly
extinguished by a huge red velvet cap, from which dangles an enormous
red tassel, that seems to mock at received Magyar modes. He is a
shocking speaker, and when he gets angry, words fail him, and he begins
to stammer. He is, however, the uncle and guardian of Fraulein
Fruzsinka, which fact perhaps accounts for his short temper.
For Fraulein Fruzsinka, with her pretty face and arch ways, her bright
eyes and alluring smile, is none the less a domestic affliction in her
way. How the prefect longs for someone to rid him of her! How willingly
would he not give her to the first comer.
But it is her own fault that no one marries her, for she flirts
desperately with each admirer in turn. You see it even as she sits at
the table, keeping up a cross-fire of bread-pellets with the judge in a
way that is anything but ladylike. The prefect coughs disapproval and
shakes his head each time he glances at his wayward niece, who, on her
part, only shrugs her shoulders defiantly.
Yet is Judge Peter Petray a highly distinguished man. The dark Hungarian
dolman that he wears suits him admirably. His black curly hair is not
powdered in the Austrian mode, nor twisted into a cue, but curls over
his forehead in a most attractive fashion, and his short moustache
proclaims him a cavalier of the best type.
His neighbour, the president of the court, Mr. Valentine Laskoy, is a
good specimen of the Magyar of the old school, with his squat little
rotund figure, short red dolman, variegated Hungarian hose, bright
yellow belt, and tan boots. The long fair moustache that droops either
side of his mouth, seems to vie with the bushy eyebrows half defiantly.
Yet it is a face that is always smiling, and the owner has a powerful
voice wherewith to express his feelings.
The dinner lasted well into the twilight. How describe it? Everyone
knows what an Hungarian dinner implies. With other people, eating is a
pleasure, with the Magyar it is a veritable _cultus_.
The meal was enlivened by anecdotes, and those of the most racy kind,
whilst the fragrant fumes of tobacco wrapped the company in a cloud of
smoke.
When they at last rose from the table, the judge drew from under his
dolman a little note that Fraulein Fruzsinka had slipped into his hand
under the table--a missive that an onlooker might have taken perhaps for
a love-letter. The judge, however, pushed it over to the president,
exclaiming as he did so, "Worshipful friend, will you please verify this
little account?"
"What is it? I can't see to read by candle-light." And with that the
president pushed the document over to the prefect.
"It's only the statement of accounts," grumbled the host, as he thrust
the paper from him, while he growled: "That is my niece's affair and has
nothing to do with me!"
"I can't see by candle-light," repeated the president. "I can't make out
the letters." For a good Hungarian never puts on spectacles. Whoever has
good eyes may read if he will.
His worship, the judge, had good eyes as it happened. But Fraulein
Fruzsinka kicked his foot under the table, a hint her admirer well
understood.
"Let us hear how much we four have eaten and drunk in four days." Here
it is:
12 pounds of coffee.
24 pounds of fine sugar.
626 loaves of wheaten bread.
534 decanters of wine.
154 pounds of beef.
4 sucking pigs.
107 pairs of fowls, turkeys, and geese.
54 1/2 gallons of Obers beer.
174 1/2 pounds of fish.
24 1/2 pounds of almonds.
18 1/4 pounds of raisins.
422 eggs.
3 hundred weight of finest wheat flour.
Each item was greeted with a roar of laughter from the company. What was
here set forth could not have been consumed. Moreover the expenditure
was the affair of Fraulein Fruzsinka, who superintended these payments.
It was the judge's cue to be polite under the circumstances. Fraulein
Fruzsinka held her table-napkin before her face while it was being read,
in order to hide her blushes. Behind her stood the heyduke with the
inkstand, so that the document might be duly signed by the authorities.
Happily the item of the ink wherewith it was signed was not put down,
else, doubtless, it had amounted to a bucketful! Then they all
exchanged the greeting customary at the close of a meal. If anyone had
anything further to say, it was about the gipsy musicians who were just
beginning to play.