St. Peter's Umbrella Part 24

Madame Krisbay certainly enjoyed the company of her two neighbors, and those gentlemen soon raised the whole country in her estimation. But it was lucky she understood no Slovak, and could not hear the conversation carried on by the intelligence of Babaszek. Of course they were clever people too, in their way, and Veronica often smiled at the jokes made, for they were all new to her, though the natives of Babaszek knew them all by heart; for instance, the rich butcher, Pal Kukucska, always got up when the third course was on the table, and drank to his own health, saying:

"Long life to my wife's husband!"

It would really be waste of time to try and describe the supper, for nothing of any real importance happened. They ate, they drank, and then they went home. Perhaps they spoke of important matters? Not they! Only a thousand trifles were discussed, which it would be a pity to put in print; and yet the incidents of that supper were the talk of Babaszek for weeks after. For instance, Mr. Mravucsan upset a gla.s.s of wine with the sleeve of his coat, and while they were wiping it up, and strewing salt on the stain, Senator Konopka, turning to the lady of the house, exclaimed:

"That means a christening, madam!"

Of course Mrs. Mravucsan blushed, but Veronica asked in a most innocent tone:

"How can you know that?" (She was either a goose, that young girl, or she was a good actress.)

Now who was to answer her with a face as innocent as the Blessed Virgin's must have been when she was a girl in short frocks? They all looked at each other, but luckily the forester's wife, Mrs. Wladimir Szliminszky, came to the rescue with this explanation:

"You see, my dear, the stork which brings the children generally lets one know beforehand, and the knocking over a gla.s.s is one of the signs it gives."

Veronica thought for a bit, and then shook her head unbelievingly.

"But I saw the gentleman knock the gla.s.s over himself," she objected.

To this Mrs. Szliminszky had no answer ready, so, according to her usual custom, she turned to her husband and began worrying him.

"Wladin, cut the fat off that meat."

Wladin frowned.

"But, my dear, that is just the best bit."

"Never mind, Wladin, I can't allow it. Your health is the first consideration."

And Wladin obediently cut off the fat bits.

"Why is your coat unb.u.t.toned? Don't you feel how cold it is? b.u.t.ton it up at once, Wladin."

The forester did as he was told, and with the pleasant feeling of having done his duty, turned his attention to his plate again.

"Not another bit, Wladin, you've had enough. We don't want you to dream of bulls to-night."

Wladin obediently put down his knife and fork, and prepared to drink a gla.s.s of water.

"Give it me first," cried his wife excitedly. "I want to see that it is not too cold."

Wladin handed over his gla.s.s of water.

"You may drink a little of it, but not too much. Stop, stop, that will do!"

Poor Wladin! He was a martyr to conjugal love! For sixteen years he had suffered under this constant thoughtfulness, and though he was a strong man when he married, and had never been ill since, yet every minute of his life he expected some catastrophe; for, through constant warnings, the unfortunate Pole had worked himself up to the belief that a current of air or a drop of water could be disastrous to him. He felt that Nature had bad intentions toward him.

"Take care, Wladin, or the dog will bite your foot!"

One of the watch-dogs was under the table gnawing at a bone he had possessed himself of, and a little farther off the cat was looking on, longingly, as much as to say: "Give me some of that superfluous food."

Now began the so-called "amabilis confusio." Every one spoke at once, and every one about a different subject. The Senators had returned to the important question of the corpse hanging in the wood; Mrs. Mravucsan complained that no one was eating anything, and looked as wretched as she could.

Each one drank to the other's health, and during the quiet moment that followed, a voice was heard:

"Oh, Wladin, Wladin!"

It was Mrs. Szliminszky's voice; she evidently objected to her husband drinking, and her neighbor, Mr. Mokry, the lawyer's clerk, objected to her constant distractions, in spite of the interesting theme they were discussing.

"That strong cigar will harm you, Wladin; you had better put it down.

Well, and why did you go to Besztercebanya, Mr. Mokry?"

"I had a lot to do there, but, above all, I bought the suit I have on."

He looked admiringly at his dark blue suit for about the hundredth time that evening.

"It is a very nice suit. What did you pay for it?"

"I had it made to measure at Klener's, and went to try it on myself."

"What was the price?"

"It is real Gacs cloth, and quite impervious to rain; you should see it by daylight!"

"Yes, of course, but what did it cost?" asked the Polish lady, her thoughts still occupied with her husband.

"I saw the piece of cloth myself; this was the first length cut off it.

It has a peculiar look in the sunlight."

"Yes, yes; but I asked the price of it."

But it was difficult to bring Mokry to think of other things when he was once launched on the subject of his new suit.

"Klener has a tailor working for him, a certain Kupek, who used to work at one of the court tailors' in Vienna, and he said to me: 'Don't grudge the money, Mr. Mokry, for this is such a durable stuff that your own skin will wear out first.' Please feel it."

"It's as soft as silk. Wladin, my dear, I think you had better change places with me. You are in a draught there each time the door is opened. What are you making such a face for? You surely don't mean to argue with me? Over you come now!"

The beloved martyr changed places with his wife, and now Mrs.

Szliminszky was on the opposite side of the table, next to Wibra; but he was entirely taken up with Veronica, who was chattering to her heart's content. The clever young man, of whom it was said he would once be the first lawyer in Besztercebanya, was listening to the girl with as much attention as though a bishop were speaking, and would not for a moment have taken his eyes off her.

They spoke quietly, as though they were discussing very important questions, though they were in reality speaking of the most innocent things. What did Veronica do at home? She read a good deal, and took long walks. What did she read, and where did she walk? And Veronica gave the t.i.tles of some books. Gyuri had read them all too, and they began exchanging notes regarding some of them, such as "Elemer the Eagle,"

"Ivan Berend," "Aranka Beldi." Gyuri considered Pal Beldi very stupid for not accepting the t.i.tle of prince when it was offered him. Veronica thought it was better he had not done so, for if he had, the novel would never have been written.

Then Gyuri began to question her about Glogova. Was it very dull?

Veronica looked at him, surprised. How could Glogova be dull? It was as though some ignorant person had asked if Paris were dull.

"Is there a wood there?"