Part 66 (2/2)

And the poor lad pressed his glowing face to the iron bars. ”Oh! if they'd but let me touch it!”

”It's no go, my boy!” cried the young murderer from the furthest corner of the cell; ”they won't allow you to set the prison on fire, as you did the other day. Get away from the bars, you little rascal; if you don't, I'll drag you away by the hair!”

”Bravo, Pishta! Give it him!” said the old man; ”he all but killed us with his smoke. You see he's mad!”

Pishta got up and seized the boy; but Tengelyi interfered, and asked how the child could have set the prison on fire.

”That boy! There never was such a boy! He used to ask me by the hour for my steel and flint; and when he once had it, there was no getting it away from him. He would strike fire, and when he made the sparks fly he laughed and screamed like mad. And one night he prigged a piece of tinder and lighted it, and put it in the old cove's straw.”

”Pull his ears for him, Pishta!” cried the old man. Even Tengelyi's interference would not have saved the lad from being beaten, had not the appearance of the turnkey, with some bottles of wine and brandy, engaged the attention of the prisoners.

”Give us the brandy, Imri; and I say, Pishta, take a bottle and let that nasty toad alone, since the man who treats us wishes to protect him. Let him stare at the flame to the end of time; only look sharp that he doesn't claw your tinder. Will you not take a drop, sir?” added the old man, addressing Tengelyi. The notary's refusal astonished him quite as much as the cleanliness and neatness of his dress and appearance.

”If you don't care, I'm sure _I_ don't!” said he; and, turning to his comrades, he added, in a whisper: ”Leave him alone, for after all he pays for our brandy. To-morrow morning we'll make him send for some more. He's our cellar, you know! Drink, Imri, my boy! Stick to the brandy. You look rather queer about the eyes; but never mind, you'll get used to it, and you're a whapper for all that.”

Thanks to the old man's calculations on his future generosity, Tengelyi was left to his reflections. The prison presented a scene of uproarious hilarity, which, at length subsiding, gave place to the deep and heavy breathing of its drunken inmates, when the door again opened and admitted a man, who, laying a mattress, a pillow, and a blanket at Tengelyi's feet, introduced himself as Gatzi the Vagabond, a former inmate of the cell, though at present a kitchen prisoner[29] of the recorder's. Having thus informed Mr. Tengelyi of his state and station, both in the world and in the prison of Dustbury, he produced a small basket with eatables, adding that they were sent by Mr. Volgyeshy, who wished the notary to be patient, for that he was sure to have his own private room next day. ”And,” added Gatzi, ”I'll make you a bed fit for a king to sleep on. I've just made the recorder's bed, and he is particular, you know.”

[Footnote 29: See Note I.]

Tengelyi, who had not broken his fast since the previous day, took some meat and bread, and invited the new comer to fall to.

”Thank you!” said Gatzi the Vagabond. ”I've eaten as much as I can eat.

The recorder had no end of things for supper. I waited at table, and minded my own business, I can a.s.sure you. But you don't take any wine! I hope it's good; and it's I myself fetched it at the inn, and the landlord knows he can't do me, for if he did I'd go to the Lion next time, that's all.”

”Try it!” said Tengelyi. ”As for me, I do not mean to take any.”

”I humbly thank you!” said the prisoner, seizing the bottle. ”Ah, well-a-day, what wine! Bless me, if you'd give me such wine every day, I'd never wish to leave this place.”

”It strikes me you are pretty well reconciled to your captivity.”

”Oh I'm far more comfortable than I might be. I've been a servant ever since I was a boy; and now I'm a kitchen-prisoner. Dear me! there's no difference between the two; and when the weather's bad, and I sit by the kitchen-fire thinking how they used to set me to work, both in winter and in summer, it strikes me that I'm better off than I ever was. I've got plenty to eat, a warm jacket, and a few kreutzers now and then for an extra service. The haiduks don't bully me--in short, it's the very place for a poor fellow like myself.”

”But what of liberty? Would you not like to be free and unfettered?”

”These chains of mine _are_ troublesome; yes, so they are, especially when I've to change my boots. You can't believe how awkward they are at times, though they are lighter than any in the place. But, after all, who knows when they take them off but that I must carry heavier loads to gain my bread? And as for liberty, why you see, sir, in fine weather, in a starry night, I think it would be a nice thing indeed to be racing over the heath with my fellows; but, after all, liberty's very uncomfortable: a man must work for his bread, you know.”

The notary sighed.

”Cheer up, sir!” said the Vagabond, in happy unconsciousness of the real cause of the notary's sigh. ”Cheer up, sir! To-morrow you'll have your own room; and since Mr. Volgyeshy's your lawyer, I am sure you'll get through the business, however ugly it may be. The devil himself could not live in this hole among a parcel of blackguards! Would you believe it, sir? there isn't a respectable man among the lot!”

”Society's none of the best in the other cells, I dare say,” responded the notary, as he settled down for the night.

”Oh, but it is! It was quite a pleasure to be in the cell I once lived in. They were all men of substance, I a.s.sure you, sir, and mighty fine stories they told. There was no end of good stories. There was a woman, too--but this is a place to despair in.”

”Then, I presume, this is not your own cell?”

”By no means!” said Gatzi the Vagabond, with great pride. ”I'm in the habit of sleeping in the recorder's kitchen, or in the yard, and I've only come down here because Mr. Volgyeshy told me to watch lest something might happen to you, sir.”

”What can he mean?”

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