Kalman, who hoped that a quarrel between them would serve his purposes better than the heaviest Tokay, nodded approvingly to Zatonyi, who went on, to the great annoyance of Mr. Skinner, though doubtless very much to his own satisfaction.
"This is not a place for your frivolous jokes, sir—frivolous, I say, sir; and make the most of it, if you please! Up to the criminal's execution, we sit as a court-martial—all the time, sir, without intermission, without—fiddlesticks! It is provided in the articles, chapter four thousand five hundred and twenty-four, that we are to eat in court-martial, sir, and we play at Tarok in court-martial, sir, and we——"
"Cease your row!" snarled the justice.
"I will make a row! And I must make a row, and I'm entitled to make a row, and I'd like to see the man who'd prevent me from making a row! I'm as much of an assessor as any man in the county!"
The Baron had meanwhile studied his cards. He was prepared to come out strong, and he urged them to continue the game; but neither Mr. Skinner nor Kenihazy would listen to him, for Kalman did his utmost to excite them still more. Mr. Skinner fancied he saw a sneer on Völgyeshy's lips, which he could not ascribe to any thing but the doubts which it was evident that hated person entertained of his assertion, that he, Paul Skinner, would drink three glasses to Mr. Kenihazy's one, and remain sober into the bargain.
"Don't boast!" said Kalman. "I'll never believe you."
"You won't?"
"No, indeed! I'll back Kenihazy against anybody."
"You will, will you? I say two cows to my greyhound."
"Done! Your greyhound is mangy; but I don't care. I am sure to win."