"I am here," said Móczli, touching the brim of his hat, "where shall I drive, sir?"
"Just drive where you were told to," said Lorand, "take him for whom you were sent, to her who sent you for him.—I am going in another direction."
At these words Márton grasped my arm so savagely I almost cried out with pain. It was his peculiar method of showing his approval.
"Very good, sir," said Móczli, without asking any further questions, and clambering up onto the box.
"Stop a moment," Lorand exclaimed, taking out his purse. "Let no one say that you were paid for any services you did me with other people's money."
"Wha-at?" roughly grumbled Móczli. "Pay me? Am I a 'Hanák fuvaros'[51] that someone should pay me for helping a 'juratus' to escape? That has never happened yet."
[51] A Slavonian coachman who hires out his coach and carriages.
With that he whipped up his horses, and drove out of the courtyard.
"That's the trump for you," said Márton, "that's Móczli. I know Móczli, he's a sharp fellow, without him we should never have found our way here. Well, sir, and whither now?"
This remark was made to Lorand. My brother was acquainted with the jesting old fellow, and had often heard his humorous anecdotes, when he came to see me.