"Well, the gentleman won't find one here, we don't care for thieves. If one comes roaming around we soon kick him out."
"So there are no betyárs left on the Hortobágy puszta?"
"There's no saying! Certainly there are plenty of thieves among the shepherds, and some of the swineherds turn brigands, and it does sometimes happen that when a csikós gets silly and loses his head, he sinks to a vagabond betyár, but no one can ever remember a cowboy having taken to robbery."
"How is that?"
"Because the cowboy works among quiet, sensible beasts. He never sits drinking with shepherds and swineherds."
"Then the cowherd is the aristocrat of the puszta?" remarked the manager of the stables.
"That's it, exactly. Just as counts and barons are among grand folk, so are csikós and cowboys among the other herdsmen."
"So there is no equality on the puszta?"
"As long as men are on the earth, there will never be equality," said the overseer. "He who is born a gentleman will remain one, even in a peasant's coat. He will never steal his neighbour's cow or horse, even if he find it straying, but will drive it back to its owner. But whether he won't try a little cheating at the market, that I am not prepared to say."
"For gentlemen to take in each other at the horse fair is, however, quite an aristocratic custom!"