Master Jock's unusual emotion did not interfere one jot with the good humour of the waggish company, who laughed and joked all the way from the church to the castle, some repairing thither on horseback, and some on foot. Ordinarily, Master
Jock would have been much diverted by their practical jokes, but now he only shook his head at them. Mike Horhi devised every conceivable sort of joke capable of making him roar with laughter. He filched the clergyman's book; he rubbed pitch on the cantor's seat, that he might stick fast there; he substituted gunpowder for poppy-meal in the kitchen, and filled the powder-flasks of the heydukes with poppy-meal instead of gunpowder, so that when they prepared to fire salvoes in honour of their master, on his return from chapel, not a gun would go off, while the poppy-cakes intended for the banquet all exploded on the hearth. But Master Jock not only did not laugh at these funny things, but actually took Miska Horhi to task for making such a blockhead of himself, and bade him divert himself more decently in future. He also made the poet show him beforehand the verses he was to recite at table, in case they might contain any frivolous or improper expression; he told the gipsy that when he got drunk he was on no account to kiss all the guests one after the other, as usual; the dogs were kicked into the courtyard, and not allowed to come into the banqueting-room and pick the fat morsels off the plates of the guests, as they generally did; the gipsies, actors, and students were told to behave themselves decently; and the common people were given to understand that, though an ox would be roasted and wine would run from the gutter for them, they were nevertheless not to attempt to fight or squabble, as it would not be allowed. And every one asked his neighbour in amazement what was the meaning of this strange phenomenon.
In point of fact, this sudden change of conduct was due to a single idea. He believed that his young kinsman Bélá would infallibly come on his birthday. He might come late, but come he certainly would. He could not have given any
reason for his belief, but he expected him, he counted on him; and whenever his cronies began to commit any out-of-the-way absurdity, the thought immediately occurred to him: If the youngest scion of the Kárpáthy family were to see this, what would he say to it? No! Once he had beheld his uncle in the midst of diversions unworthy of him; he should now see him taking his pleasure like a gentleman.
After the usual festive congratulations, the guests of quality descended into the garden, where the assembled peasantry were awaiting their master.
At other times, whenever Master Jock ascended or descended the steps, he had to be supported on both sides, for, like a locomotive, he could only get along on level ground; but now he shoved Palko's hand aside, and easily went down the two and thirty marble steps which led into the garden. No doubt the six months of regular living he had had to submit to while attending to his parliamentary duties at Pressburg had restored somewhat the elasticity of his nerves and muscles.
Below, a host of school children, drawn up in a row, greeted him with cries of "Éljen!"[9] And at the moment when he had descended among the festive mob awaiting him there, all the gipsies present blew three loud flourishes on their trumpets, and two grey-haired retainers advanced towards him, leading after them, by the horns, a young stall ox that had been fattened up for the occasion, and the bolder of the twain, coming forward, took off his cap, coughed slightly, steadily regarded the tips of his own boots, and recited congratulatory verses in his master's honour, without the slightest hesitation or stumbling, which, perhaps, is not to be greatly wondered at, considering that he had now recited the selfsame verses nine years running.
[9] Vivat!
"And God grant your honour long life, which I wish you with all my heart!" concluded the worthy man, as if he doubted what reception the pious verses he had just recited might receive in heaven, and was determined to clinch the matter in prose of his own making.