Part 11 (1/2)

”It's none of your business. What right have you to talk? If I had come into the world like you, with my belly on my back, the Russians couldn't have done anything to me.”

The humpback seated himself quietly beside John without showing the least sign of being insulted.

”The war hasn't made you any politer, I can see that,” he remarked drily. ”You're not exactly in a happy frame of mind, which does not surprise me. Yes, that's the way it is. The poor people must give up their sound flesh and bone so that the enemy should not deprive the rich of their superfluity. You may bless your stars you came out of it as well as you did.”

”I do,” Bogdan growled with a glance of hatred. ”The sh.e.l.ls don't ask if you are rich or poor. Counts and barons are lying out there, rotting in the sun like dead beasts. Any man that G.o.d has not smitten in his cradle so that he's not fit to be either a man or a woman is out in the battlefield now, whether he's as poor as a church mouse or used to eating from golden plates.”

The humpback cleared his throat and shrugged his shoulders.

”There are all sorts of people,” he observed, and was about to add something else, but bethought himself and remained silent.

This Bogdan always had had the soul of a flunkey, proud of being allowed to serve the high and mighty and feeling solid with his oppressors because he was allowed to contribute to their pomp in gold-laced livery and silver b.u.t.tons. His masters had sicked him on to face the cannons in defense of their own wealth, and now the man sat there disfigured, with only one eye, and still would not permit any criticism of his gracious employers. Against such stupidity there was nothing to be done. There was no use wasting a single word on him.

The two remained sitting for a while in silence. Bogdan filled his pipe carefully and deliberately, and Mihaly watched him with interest.

”Are you going to the castle?” the humpback asked cautiously, when the pipe was at last lit.

John Bogdan was well aware just what the hateful creature was aiming at. He knew him. A Socialist--that's what he was, one of those good-for-nothings who take the bread out of poor people's mouths by dinning a lot of nonsense into their ears, just like a mean dog who snaps at the hand that feeds him. He had made a good living as foreman in the brickyard, and as thanks he had incited all the workmen against the owner, Bogdan's master, until they demanded twice as much wages, and were ready to set fire to the castle on all four corners. Once Mihaly had tried his luck with him, too. He had wanted to make his master out a bad man. But this time he had bucked up against the right person. A box on his right ear and a box on his left ear, and then a good sound kick--that was the answer to keep him from ever again trying to make a Socialist of John Bogdan, one of those low fellows who know no G.o.d or fatherland.

Mihaly moved on the bench uneasily, every now and then scrutinizing his neighbor from the side. At last he plucked up courage and said suddenly:

”They'll probably be glad up there that you are back. Your arms are still whole, and they need people in the factory.”

Bogdan turned up his nose.

”In the brickyard?” he asked disdainfully.

The humpback burst out laughing.

”Brickyard? Brickyard is good. Who needs bricks in war? The brickyard's gone long ago, man. Do you see those trucks over there? They are all loaded up with sh.e.l.ls. Every Sat.u.r.day a whole train of sh.e.l.ls leaves here.”

Bogdan listened eagerly. That was news. A change on the estate of which he had not yet heard.

”You see, there is such a nice division,” Mihaly continued, smiling sarcastically. ”One goes away and lets his head be blown off. The other remains comfortably at home and manufactures sh.e.l.ls and decorates his castle with thousand-dollar bills. Well, I'm satisfied.”

”What are we to do, eh, shoot with peas or with air? You can't carry on a war without sh.e.l.ls. Sh.e.l.ls are needed just as much as soldiers.”

”Exactly. And because the rich have the choice of being soldiers or making sh.e.l.ls, they choose to make the sh.e.l.ls and send _you_ off to have your head blown off. What are you getting for your eye? Twenty-five dollars a year? Or perhaps as much as fifty? And the others whom the ravens are feeding on don't get even that out of the war. But the gentleman up in the castle is making his five hundred a day and doesn't risk even his little finger doing it. I'd be a patriot on those terms myself. I am telling you the truth. At first, of course, they said he was going to war, and he did actually ride off in great state, but three weeks later he was back here again with machines and all the equipment, and now he delivers fine orations in the townhouse and sends other men off to die--and on top of it is gallant to the wives left behind. He stuffs his pockets and fools with every girl in the factory. He's the c.o.c.k of the whole district.”

Bogdan, his brows knit in annoyance, let the man talk on. But the last part struck him with a shock. He p.r.i.c.ked up his ears and grew uneasy and for a while struggled heroically against asking a question that burned on his lips. But in the end he could not restrain himself and blurted out:

”Is--is Marcsa working in the factory, too?”

The humpback's eyes flashed.

”Marcsa, the beautiful Marcsa! I should say so! She's been made a forelady, though they say she's never had a sh.e.l.l in her hands, but, to make up, the lord's hands have--”

With a short, hoa.r.s.e growl John Bogdan flew at the humpback's throat, squeezed in his Adam's apple, pressing it into his neck, and held him in a merciless clutch. The man beat about with his arms, his eyes popped from his head in fright, his throat gurgled, and his face turned livid.

Then John Bogdan released his hold, and Mihaly fell to the ground and lay there gasping. Bogdan quickly gathered up his things and strode off, taking long, quick steps, as if afraid of arriving too late for something in the castle.

He gave not another look back at Mihaly the humpback, never turned around once, but quietly went his way and for a long while felt the warm throat in his hand.

What was a man who lay gasping on the road to him? One man more or less.