The innkeeper's daughter came out at the sound. She made as if she did not see the csikós at all, but attended to the two shepherds, counted up the wine, gave them back the change out of their "dog-tongues," and wiped the table where wine had been spilled. They mounted their donkeys, and being once more in full security, rattled on with their song defiantly:
"Wolves all fear my dogs so strong.
Two lads lead the flock along.
I? Why I ride all the day
On my little donkey grey."
Only when they had quite taken themselves off did the girl address the csikós.
"Well, haven't you even 'good-day' for me, my dearest treasure?"
"Sándor Decsi is my name," growled the herdsman savagely.
"I beg your honour's pardon! Won't you please step into the tap-room, sir?"
"Thanks! I'm well enough out here."
"There you would find fitting society."
"So I see by the horse. He'll come out to me soon enough."
"Well, what can I bring you? Red wine? White wine?"