“I don’t know anything about any leaflets,” I answered, delighted to hear that some had at last made their appearance.
“The scent leads here,” the sergeant said threateningly, “it is said they are distributed here.”
“Search me,” I said, and turned out the pockets of my white apron. But I was too happy to dissemble: I laughed heartily.
November 29th.
I stood in front of the cashier’s little glass cage, leaning my elbows on the cool marble slab. There were only a few people coming and going in the big offices of the bank; a few servant girls sat about with their deposit-books in their hands.
“How’s business in these days?” I asked the cashier as he pushed my money over the counter.
“We have never been like this before. War-time was a perfect golden age in comparison.” He leant toward me and spoke in a whisper. “The Jews are exploiting the country and the Government shamelessly. The salary of a minister used to be twelve thousand crowns. The ministers of the popular Government have allotted themselves two hundred thousand and have had it paid out for a year in advance. For overtime, they take one hundred and sixty crowns an hour. The number of Ministers and Government delegates increases every day. There are forty Secretaries of State running about Budapest. Every radical journalist wants to be at least a Secretary of State. Treasury notes are printed as fast as posters. It is said that the popular Government has spent three milliards in a month—twice as much as the most expensive month of the war. This peace is an expensive thing, and one can’t say that the republic is exactly cheap. We are racing towards bankruptcy. Many people are taking their money to Switzerland....”
“What I possess shall remain here. If the country is ruined, we Hungarians will be ruined with it, at any rate.”
“It is wise to take precautions however,” the cashier said. “It is rumoured that all gold and silver is to be commandeered.”