"Aha! Now all respect to you. Paul, hand him the flask and let him drink to his very good health."
"Pardon me," said Gregory, waving aside the offered flask with a serious air; "first, I have certain matters to attend to." Then, turning to Richard, "Yesterday I swore that the fifty lashes should be paid for, and now I have come to settle the score. There is the payment,—fifty for fifty. Now, Captain, have the goodness to give me a receipt, stating that the fifty strokes with the strap are 'null and void.'"
"What do you want of such a receipt, Boksa?" asked Richard.
"I want it as a proof that the fifty I received yesterday don't count; so that when any one brings them up against me I can contradict him, and show him my evidence in black and white."
"All right, Boksa, you shall have it." And Richard went back to his room, took pen, ink, and paper, and drew up a certificate, stating that the fifty lashes administered to Gregory Boksa were thereby declared to be null, void, and of no validity. The words "null, void, and of no validity" gave Gregory no little comfort, as well as the fact that the document was countersigned by Ödön Baradlay. The ox-herd stuck the certificate into the pocket of his dolman with much satisfaction, and received back his sword, pistols, and pole-axe.
"Now then, where is the flask?" said he.
Old Paul handed him the bottle, and he did not put it down till he had drained the last drop.
"And now tell me," said Richard, "how you managed to get the oxen back."
Gregory Boksa shrugged his shoulders, tightened his belt, drew down one corner of his mouth, wrinkled his nose, raised his eyebrows, and finally thus delivered himself over one shoulder: "Well, you see, I went to the German colonel and asked him kindly to let me have my cattle back again. The German is a good fellow, and, without wasting words over the matter, he gave me the animals all back, and one or two extra, with his compliments and best wishes to Captain Baradlay."
More than this was not to be got from Gregory Boksa. The loud-mouthed braggart, who was never tired of rehearsing deeds which he had not performed, took a fancy, now that he had actually carried through a genuine bit of daring, to keep as still as a mouse about it; and no one ever heard from him the smallest account of how he passed that night.