Margari however attributed this reception, or rather, non-reception, to the capricious humours to which his honour was constantly liable without rhyme or reason (it is a peculiarity of self-made plutocrats as everybody knows); but he was not a bit offended,—he knew his place. His honour doesn't want to see Margari just now, very well, he shall not see him so he jumped up behind the carriage alongside the lacquey. But how surprised his honour will be when he gets to Promontor to see Margari open the carriage door for him? How he will bid him go to the devil and immediately after burst out laughing and give him a present! And what will the present be? Has it anything to do with the good news with which he meant to surprise him? And all the while, Mr. John, inside the carriage was hugging himself with the idea that he had rid himself of Margari for a time and devoutly wishing that the cholera, or some other equally rapid and effectual disease, might remove the old rascal off the face of the earth altogether.
When the carriage stopped at the picturesque vineyards of Promontor, Mr. John almost had a stroke when, on looking through the glass window, the first feature of the panorama that presented itself was the figure of Margari, hastening to open the door with obsequious familiarity.
"You here, Sirrah," he roared (he would have choked with rage on the spot if he had not said Sirrah). "How on earth did you get here?"
Margari instantly imagined that his honour's flashing eyes, convulsive mouth and distorted face were the outward signs of a jocose frame of mind, for there was always a sort of travesty of humour in Mr. John's features whenever he was angry. So, to his own confusion, it occurred to him to make a joke for the first time in his life.
"Crying your honour's pardon, I flew," said he.
And in fact the very next instant he was sent flying so impetuously that he did not stop till he plumped right into the trellis-work surrounding a bed of vines. Never in all his life before had Mr. John dispensed such a buffet. Margari fairly disappeared among the leaves of the friendly vine arbours.
It was now Mr. John's turn to be frightened at what he had done. He was frightened because every box on the ears he gave used regularly to cost him 200 florins, a very costly passion to indulge in. And besides he was particularly anxious just then to keep Margari in a good humour. A man may loathe a viper but he had better not tread on its tail if he cannot tread on its head. Horrified at his own outburst of rage, the moment he saw Margari disappear in the vine-arbours, he rushed after him, freed him with his own hands, picked him up, set him on his legs again and began to comfort him.
"Come, come, my dear friend! compose yourself. I did not mean to hurt you. You are not angry, are you. I hope you are not hurt? Where did you hit yourself?"
Margari, however, began whimpering like a schoolboy, the more the other tried to quiet him, the more loudly he bellowed.
"Come, come! don't make such a noise! Come under the verandah and wipe the blood from your face!"