"Don't have any fear, Pápis," said Tsajkos, "the gentleman will pay you, sure enough; he has no end of money. How much do you want for your place?"
The gipsy did not hesitate. "A ducat a day," he retorted promptly.
Ráby began to enter into the humours of the situation. He reflected a minute on the proposal.
"That is not much, after all," he said politely.
"Ah, you are the right sort, you are," cried old Tsajkos. "I only hope you'll be long with us. You shall just see what a good place we'll make for you against the wall with no one on the other side, and my knees can be your pillow. We can't do feather beds down here, or even run to straw, but one sleeps soundest on the bricks after all."
"But where will Pápis sleep himself?"
For all his own misery, Ráby could not repress the question.
The whole crew burst out laughing. As soon as they had stilled their mirth, the prisoners looked at each other embarrassed, and then at their leader to explain.
The old man smiled slily.
"Where will Pápis sleep? Why, in the bucket, to be sure, up above there," he answered.