"Oh! I believe you."
The great tabby Tom, who had been washing his face by the stove, rose at this moment, stretched himself, arched his back, jumped down, and going to the csikós, measured his claws on his boots, showing how high the snow would lie next winter.
Then he sprang into his friend's arms, rubbing and pushing his head against his hand, and slowly licking every one of the five fingers. At last he lay down and began purring.
"Look how the cat is trying to coax you," said Klári.
"I am not going to ask him whose arms he purred in yesterday. How much do I pay for the 'Back Hendli'?"
"You! Nothing, of course, somebody else did that. But where are you off to in such a terrible hurry?"
"To the vet, on the Mata puszta—I am taking him a letter."
"You won't find him at home, for he passed here at three this morning, looking for those gentlemen. When he heard they had gone, he went jogging on in his gig to the Zám puszta. One gentleman was the steward of a Moravian Count, who wants to buy some of our cattle to breed on his estate; the other German was an artist. He drew me in his little book, and the cowherd also."
"So the cowherd was here also?"
"Of course he was here, since he was sent to show the gentlemen across the puszta to the Zám Herd."