His country, poor fellow! What share had he in that country beyond the right to tramp the public highway, and make himself a mud hut for shelter?
"Then he gave me a cuff," continued the gipsy, "had me shut up here, and promised to hang me. Well, he may break me on the wheel, for aught I care, but I won't play for him even if he smashes my fiddle for refusing."
"Well, don't be down-hearted, my little man," said Manasseh, cheerily.
"I'm not a bit down-hearted," declared the other. "I only thought I'd ask you not to throw away your cigar-stump when you've finished smoking. You can walk, your feet are free; come here when you are through with your cigar, and let it fall into my mouth, so that I can chew it."
"But you'll find it a hot mouthful."
"So much the better."
This cynical gipsy phlegm exactly suited Manasseh's mood, and he exerted himself to cheer the poor fellow up, promising to secure his release as soon as he himself should gain an audience with Diurbanu.
"But you won't get out of here yourself in a hurry," returned the gipsy. "Once in Diurbanu's hands, you might as well be in the hangman's. Already he has put to death seven envoys who came to treat for peace, and they were only St. George peasants. So what will he do to you who are an Adorjan and wear a seal ring? But you've a breathing-spell yet. The others served him as a little relish before dinner; you are to be kept for dessert. One drinks a glass of spirits at a gulp, but black coffee is to be sipped and enjoyed. I know this Diurbanu well, and you'll know him, too, before he's through with you. I'll bet you my fiddle, Manasseh, you won't live to see another day; but it serves you right! You could handle three such men as Diurbanu in a fair fight; yet, instead of meeting him on the battle-field, you walk right into his clutches and let him bind you fast—like Christ on the cross."
"Take not that name in vain, you rogue!" commanded Manasseh, sternly, "or I'll let you feel the weight of my foot."
"Kick me if you wish to," returned the vagrant, imperturbably; "but, all the same, if I had been Christ I wouldn't have chosen a miserable donkey to ride on, but would have sent for the best horse out of Baron Wesselenyi's stud; and as soon as I had the nag between my legs, I would have snapped my fingers at old Pontius Pilate."