"I say," continued Mr. James, "how the deuce can they see for whom we vote, no matter what name they may cry?"
"But the names of the two candidates are written on the urns: now if a man can't read, how is he to vote? I have seen ten of them at least who I know never knew a letter. Hollo, Pishta!" cried Kishlaki, stopping the man who was just walking to the screens; "do you know your letters?" And Pishta replied, with great pride, "I do not read before the Lord our God."
"But then you can read!" suggested Shoskuty. "You do not read because you don't choose; but you could if you would?"
"No, I never learnt it. I am none of your Slowak students; neither did my grandfather learn it in his time."
"I told you so!" cried Kishlaki, triumphantly; and addressing the Cortes, "What urn did you throw your ball in?"
"The right-hand one!" replied the Cortes, adjusting his bunda. "Any thing to please my judge. Eljen Bantornyi!"
"This man came to vote for Bantornyi, and you see, gentlemen, he has voted for Rety," said Kishlaki, with great satisfaction. "Now I ask whether this sort of thing is to continue?"
"It is very extraordinary!" sighed Mr. James; while Slatzanek, stroking his moustache, protested that accidents would happen.
"Accidents, indeed! let us have another look at these accidents. Can you read?"
"No."