When the Emperor had departed, the Mayor returned home in a rage, and you may be sure that Hans could not get in a word edgewise even until his employer had told him what he thought of him.
"Excuse me," said Hans, when the Mayor had finished, after an hour's angry tirade—"excuse me, but would you mind saying that over again? I was thinking of something else."
"Say it over again?" shrieked the Mayor. "Never. I shall never speak to you again."
"But what have I done?" asked Hans, so innocently that the Mayor relented and repeated his tirade, and then Hans broke down.
"Did I do that?" he said. "Then it is very plain that I need a vacation."
"I think so," retorted the Mayor. "You may take the next thousand years without pay."
"One year will be sufficient," said Hans. "Though I thank you just as kindly for the others." Then he wept, and the Mayor's wife took pity on him, and asked him to tell her what it was that had so occupied his mind of late that he had committed so many grievous errors, and Hans told her all.
"It's my great-great-great-great-great-granduncle's fault," he sobbed.
"Your what?" cried his mistress.