Part 22 (1/2)

And Lorand had been so confused when Pepi uttered this foul thing to his face before me. He did not deny it, nor was he angry.

I arrived at home in an agony of shame. The street-door was already closed: so I had to pa.s.s in by the shop door. I wished to open it softly that the bell should not betray my coming, but Father Fromm was waiting for me. He was extremely angry: he stopped my way.

”Discipulus negligens! Do you know 'quote hora?' Decem. Every day to wander out of doors till after nine, hoc non pergit.--Scio, scio, what you wish to say. You were at the P. C.'s. That is 'unum et idem' for me.

The other 'asinus' has been learning his lessons ever since midday, so much has he to do, while you have not even so much as glanced at them; do you wish to be a greater 'asinus' than he? Now I say 'semel propter semper,' 'finis' to the carnival! Don't go any more a-dancing; for if you stay out once more, 'ego tibi umsicabo.' Now 'pergus, dixi.'”

Old Marton during this well-deserved drubbing kept moving the scalp of his head back and forth in a.s.sent, and then came after me with a candle, to light me along the corridor to the door of my room, singing behind me these jesting verses:

”Hab i ti nid gsagt Komm um halbe Acht?

Und du k.u.mmst mir jetzt um halbe naini Jetzt ist de Vater z'haus, kannst nimmer aini.”[41]

[Footnote 41: ”Did I not tell thee, 'come at half-past seven?' and thou comest now at half-past eight? Now the father is at home, thou canst no more come in.”]

And after me he called out ”Prosit, Sir Lieutenant-Governor.” I had no desire to be angry with him. I felt too sad to quarrel with any one.

Henrik was indeed slaving away at the table, and the candle, burnt to the end, proved that he had been at it a long time.

”Welcome, Desi,” he said good humoredly. ”You come late; a terrible amount of 'labor' awaits you to-morrow. I have finished mine: you will be behind with yours, so I have written the exercises in your place.

Look and see if it is good.”

I was humbled.

That heavy-headed boy, on whom I had been wont to look down from such a height, whose work I had prepared in play, work which he would have broken his head over, had now in my place finished the work I had neglected. What had become of me?

”I waited for you with a little pleasant surprise,” said Henrik, taking from his drawer something which he held in his hand before me. ”Now guess what it is.”

”I don't care what it is.”

I was in a bad humor, I longed to lay my head on the bed.

”Of course you care. f.a.n.n.y has written a letter from her new home. She has written to you in Magyar, about your dear mother.”

These words roused me from my lethargy.

”Show me: give it me to read.”

”You see, you are delighted after all.”

I tore the letter from him.

First f.a.n.n.y wrote to her parents in German, on the last page in Magyar to me. She had already made such progress.

She wrote that they often spoke of me at home; I was a bad boy not to write mother a letter: she was very ill and it was her sole delight to be able to speak of me. As often as her parents or brother wrote to f.a.n.n.y, she would add a few lines after opening the letter, in my name, then take it to my mother and read it to her, as if I had written. How delighted she was! She did not know my German writing, so she readily believed it was I who had written. But I must be a good boy and write myself, for some day mother and grandmother would discover the deceit and would be angry.

My heart was almost bursting.

I pored over the letter I had read, and sobbed bitterly as I had never before done in my life.