"Now, noble sir, what did you think of the operations?" asked the Knight of Kadarcs, as he cleaned out his pipe for a smoke.
"A nice piece of work; it's a pity that sort of fighting has gone out of fashion!"
But the worthy burghers had learned a twofold lesson. First, that when a plebeian fights it out with a noble, it is the plebeian who gets the worst of it; and secondly, that the people themselves, if they see their superiors thrashed, not only turn their backs on them, but regard it as a good joke.
But after drinking to his health, the rescuers took leave of their host, now settled again in his own home.
"We shall be at your service whenever you want us," was their parting salutation.
CHAPTER XXIII.
When Ráby was left alone he began to see that what had been done was really a foolish proceeding.
To attack a peaceful town with armed force, beat thirty or forty of its citizens, to say nothing of its magistracy, black and blue—this was beyond a joke in any civilised city.
Besides, those who had their heads broken in the fray, would not be silent about their grievances. For that matter, Böske had already seen several vehicles full of people with bandaged heads, proceeding in the direction of Buda.