Part 34 (2/2)
”Well, now be quick. The carriage is waiting.”
”Carriage? With that I cannot travel far. Besides it is unnecessary. I have two good legs, they will carry me, if necessary, to the end of the world, without demanding payment afterwards.”
I took a little purse, on the outside of which mother had worked a design, from my pocket, and wished to slip it into Lorand's side-pocket without attracting attention.
He discovered it.
”What is this?”
”A little money. I thought you might want it for the journey.”
”How did you come by it?” enquired my brother in astonishment.
”Why, you know, you yourself paid me two twenties a sheet, when I copied those writings.”
”And you have kept it?”--Lorand opened the purse, and saw within it about twenty florins. He began to laugh.
How glad I was to see him laugh now, I cannot tell you, his laughter infected me too, then I do not know why, but we laughed together, very good-spiritedly. Now as I write these words the tears stand in my eyes--and I did laugh so heartily.
”Why, you have made a millionaire of me.”
Then cheerfully he put my purse into his pocket. And I did not know what to do in my delight at Lorand's accepting my money.
”Now comrade mine, I could go to the end of the world. I don't have to play 'armen reisender'[50] on the way.”
[Footnote 50: Poor traveller.]
When we stepped out again through the low door into the narrow dark courtyard, Marton and Moczli were standing in astonishment before us.
Anyone could see they could not comprehend what they had seen by peeping through the window.
”I am here,” said Moczli, touching the brim of his hat, ”where shall I drive, sir?”
”Just drive where you were told to,” said Lorand, ”take him for whom you were sent, to her who sent you for him.--I am going in another direction.”
At these words Marton grasped my arm so savagely I almost cried out with pain. It was his peculiar method of showing his approval.
”Very good, sir,” said Moczli, without asking any further questions, and clambering up onto the box.
”Stop a moment,” Lorand exclaimed, taking out his purse. ”Let no one say that you were paid for any services you did me with other people's money.”
”Wha-at?” roughly grumbled Moczli. ”Pay me? Am I a 'Hanak fuvaros'[51]
that someone should pay me for helping a 'juratus' to escape? That has never happened yet.”
[Footnote 51: A Slavonian coachman who hires out his coach and carriages.]
With that he whipped up his horses, and drove out of the courtyard.
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