St. Peter's Umbrella Part 14

"Do you take me for a fool?"

Whereupon he went to Gaspar and said:

"Well, you may have 'Lebanon' for 40,000 florins."

Gaspar shook his head and answered:

"I'm not quite mad yet."

And now the auction began again, but this time it went _backward_, until at last, with the greatest difficulty, Sztolarik got 15,000 florins out of them. They bought it together, and both signed their names to the deeds.

On the day they received the key of the house from the guardian, they both went there, shut themselves in, and began to pull down the inner wall with the pickaxes they had brought with them under their cloaks. Of course they found the caldron, but what was in it has not become clear to this day, though that was the chief point to be settled in the Gregorics lawsuit, which took up the attention of the Besztercebanya law courts for ten years.

It began in this way. A few months after the purchase of "Lebanon,"

Prepelicza appeared on the scene, and demanded his share of the treasure discovered in the wall, otherwise he would make known the whole affair to Mrs. Panyoki. The brothers got mad with rage at the sight of him.

"You miserable thief!" they cried. "You were a party to the fraud practised upon us by that good-for-nothing brother of ours, who wanted to rob us in order to benefit that boy. You helped him to fill the caldron with rusty nails and bits of old iron. Now you are here, you may as well have your share."

With that they each seized hold of a stick, and began to beat Prepelicza till he was black and blue. Off he went to a doctor for a certificate as to his wounds, and then to the barber, who had to write a long letter to the king in his name, complaining of the behavior of the two brothers Gregorics toward one of his honest (?) subjects.

"If the king is not ashamed of them as subjects, I am not ashamed of owning how I have been beaten; they were two to one!"

Then he hired a cart (for it was impossible for him to walk in his present state), and drove to Varecska, where Mrs. Panyoki spent the summer, and told her the whole tale from beginning to end.

The result was the lawsuit Panyoki _versus_ Gregorics, which furnished the neighborhood with gossip for ten years. A whole legion of witnesses had to be examined, and the deeds and papers increased to such an extent that at the end they weighed seventy-three pounds. Mrs. Panyoki could only prove the existence of the caldron, its having been walled in, and its appropriation later on by the two brothers, who, on their part, tried to prove that it contained nothing of value, only a number of rusty nails and odd bits of iron. As the dead man had no lawyer to defend him, _he_ lost the lawsuit, for it was certain he had played the trick on his relations, and thus brought about the lawsuit, which only ended when it was all the same which side lost or won it, for the seventy-three pounds of paper and the six lawyers had eaten up the whole of the Gregorics and Panyoki fortunes. By degrees all the members of the family died in poverty, and were forgotten; only Pal Gregorics lived in the memories of the six lawyers, who remarked from time to time: "He was a clever man!"

But in spite of all researches, the dead man's fortune was still missing, not a trace of it was to be found, no one had inherited it except rumor, which did as it liked with it, decreased it, increased it, placed it here or there at pleasure.

Traces

PART III

CHAPTER I.

THE UMBRELLA AGAIN.

Many years pa.s.sed, and things had changed very much in Besztercebanya, but the thing that will interest us most is the door-plate on the house formerly inhabited by old Gregorics, on which is to be read: "Gyorgy Wibra, lawyer."

Yes, little Gyuri is now a well-known lawyer; people come to him from all sides for advice, and young girls smile at him from their windows as he pa.s.ses. He is a very handsome young man, and clever. He has youth and health, and his whole life before him, what more can he want? But the narrow-minded inhabitants of the little town are at present only occupied with one question, viz., whom will he marry? Why, Katka Krikovszky would marry him any day, and she is the prettiest girl in the town. Then there is Mathilda Hupka, who would receive him with open arms if he came to her with a proposal, though she is very high and mighty.

And even Mariska Biky would not refuse him, and she belongs to the n.o.bility, and has 50,000 florins. Girls are very cheap nowadays! But Gyuri Wibra paid no attention to any of them; he was a serious and retiring young man, and his friends soon saw that he was infinitely above them in every way. As a rule young men first take their diploma, then start an office, look out for clients who do not come, and by their absence make the place seem so large and empty, that the young lawyer feels he must have company of some kind. So he brings home a wife to cheer his solitude.

But it never occurred to Gyuri to marry. And once when Mrs. Krikovszky broached the subject to him and asked when they would hear of his engagement, he answered absently:

"I am not in the habit of marrying."

It certainly is a bad "habit," but one that does not seem inclined to go out of fas.h.i.+on. For thousands of years people have been marrying, repenting of it, and considering it madness to have done so, but they never get over the madness, and marriage is as fas.h.i.+onable as ever. As long as pretty young girls are growing up, they are always growing up for some one.

Gyuri's business was a brilliant success from the beginning; fortune smiled on him from every side, but he received it with a tolerably sour face. He worked, but only from habit, just the same as he washed himself and brushed his hair every day. His mind was elsewhere; but where? His friends thought they knew, and often asked him:

"Why don't you marry, old fellow?"

"Because I am not rich enough."

"Why, that is the very reason you should marry. Your wife will bring the money with her."

(That is the usual opinion of young men.)

Gyuri shook his head, a handsome, manly head, with an oval face, and large black eyes.

"That is not true. It is the money brings the wife!"

What sort of a wife had he set his heart on? His friends decided he must be chasing very high game. Perhaps he wanted a baroness, or even a countess? He was like the Virginian creeper they said, which first climbs very high and then blossoms. But if he were to marry, he could be successful later on all the same. Look at the French beans; they climb and blossom at the same time.

But this was all empty talk. There was nothing whatever to prevent Gyuri getting on in his profession; nothing troubled him, neither a pretty girl's face, nor a wish for rank and riches, only the legend of the lost wealth disturbed him. For to others it was a legend, but to him it was truth, which danced before his eyes like a Jack-o'-lantern; he could neither grasp it nor leave it alone; yet there it was by day and by night, and he heard in his dreams a voice saying: "You are a millionaire!"

When he wrote out miserable little bills for ten or fifteen florins, these words seemed to dance before him on the paper:

"Lay down your pen, Gyuri Wibra, you have treasures enough already, heaven only knows how much. Your father saved it up for you, so you have a right to it. You are a rich man, Gyuri, and not a poor lawyer. Throw away those deeds and look for your treasure. Where are you to look for it? Why, that is just the question that drives one mad. Perhaps sometimes, when you are tired out, and throw yourself down on the ground to rest, it may be just beneath you, it is, perhaps, just beginning to get warm under your hand when you take it away to do something else, and it may be you will never find it at all. And what a life you could lead, what a lot you could do with the money. You could drive a four-in-hand, drink champagne, keep a lot of servants. A new world, a new life would be open to you. And to possess all this you only need a little luck; but as you have none at present, take up your pen again, my friend, and go on writing out deeds and bills, and squeezing a few florins out of the poor Slovaks."

It was a great pity he had heard anything about the missing treasure. He felt it himself, and often said he wished he knew nothing about it, and would be very glad if something were to happen which would go to prove that the treasure did not really exist; for instance, if some one would remark:

"Oh, yes, I met old Gregorics once in Monte Carlo; he was losing his money as fast as he could."

But no such thing happened; on the contrary, new witnesses were always turning up to a.s.sure him: "Old Gregorics must certainly have left an immense fortune, which he intended you to have. Don't you really know anything about it?"

No, he knew nothing at all about it, but his thoughts were always running on the subject, spoiling all his pleasure in life. The promising youth had really become only half a man, for he had two separate and distinct persons in him. Sometimes he entirely gave himself up to the idea that he was the child of a servant, and began to feel he had attained to a really good position by means of his own work, and was happy and contented in this thought. But only a word was needed to make the lawyer a totally different man. He was now the son of rich old Pal Gregorics, waiting to find and take possession of his property. And from time to time he suffered all the pangs of Tantalus, and left his office to look after itself for weeks at a time, while he went to Vienna to look up some of his father's old acquaintances.

The rich carriage-builder, who had bought Gregorics's house in Vienna, gave him valuable information.

"Your father," he said, "once told me when I paid him for the house, that he should put the money in some bank, and asked me which would be the best and safest way to set to work about it."

Gyuri wandered then from one bank to another, but without success.

Thoroughly worn out he returned to Besztercebanya with the full intention of not thinking any more about the subject.

"I am not going on making a fool of myself," he said. "I won't let the Golden Calf go on lowing in my ears forever. I will not take another step in the affair, and shall imagine I dreamed it all."

But it was easier said than done. You can throw ashes on a smouldering fire--it will put it out, but not prevent it smoking.

Sometimes one friend referred to it, sometimes another. His mother, who now walked on crutches, often spoke of the good old times, sitting in her arm-chair by the fire. And at length she owned that old Gregorics had wanted to telegraph for Gyuri on his deathbed.

"He seemed as though he could not die till he had seen you," she said.