Naturally they all came to grief. Every bumper of wine was a fresh occasion of shame, and the drinkers laughed heartily at one another, for every one of them was obliged to interrupt his song while he drank.
Michael Kis had to show them once more how it was done.
"A bumper here!" cried Bandi at last, and gallantly buckled to the attempt; but the song only proceeded a little way, and then a drop of wine managed to get into his windpipe, and immediately, like a whale rising to the surface of the sea to blow, or like a stone triton spouting forth the water of a fountain, a violent upward rush of imprisoned breath discharged through every aperture of the suffocating wretch the wine that filled his throat.
The whole table arose, the company bursting with laughter, while Bandi, gasping and coughing, shook his fists at Mike during every brief respite his lungs allowed him, and cried, "I'll kill you I'll kill you!" And at last, when he began to feel better, he rolled the sleeves of his shirt up his big bony arms, and yelled hoarsely, "I'll kill you! I'll kill you! Look out, I say, for I'm going to kill the whole company."
At these words there was a general rush for the door. Every one knew Kutyfalvi's way of going to work, and it was just as well, at such times, either to fly before him or to lie down, for he had this in common with the bear race, that he never hurt any one whom he found lying on the ground. The heydukes hastily removed Master Jock outside also. All the rest who had still the slightest command over their legs crept under the table.
Kutyfalvi was a big, strong brute of a man. He could take up three bushel sacks of wheat with his teeth and fling them over his head; he could bite a thaler piece in two; he could pull a wild horse to the ground single-handed—all of which feats inspired his comrades with such a respect for him that a very advanced stage of drunkenness was necessary before even the strongest of them would venture a bout with him, especially as all such foolhardiness generally resulted in the monstrous Cyclops mangling his weaker antagonist out of all recognition.
No wonder, then, if every living soul in the room sighed, "Woe to thee, Mike Kis!" when they beheld him draw down upon his devoted head the wrath of this giant, who, infuriated at the failure of the wine-swallowing experiment, now rushed upon him with open arms, in order to pound him to pieces, pitching all the chairs out of his way as he rushed along.
But the ennobled ostler was used to such encounters, and when his antagonist had come quite close to him, he deftly ducked beneath his arms, and then gave him a lesson in the stable dodge. With one hand he caught hold of his opponent's collar, twisting it so tightly that he gasped for breath, at the same time tripping up his legs, and then, with the other hand, he threw him over his knee. That is the stable dodge,
which can be safely employed against even the strongest rowdies.