Verhovayak Lapja, 1937. július-december (20. évfolyam, 27-53. szám)
1937-08-26 / 35. szám
PAGE 12. August 26, 1937.--------------7förhovayJournal ================ THE FAMILY NEST By—COLOMAN MIKSZÁTH (Continued from last issue) And just as in a fairy tale liiere stood by the road-side a shepherd with his sheep, ready to answer any questions we might feel inclined to put to him. “What house is that, my man?” asked Cousin Paul. “That? Why, the Boróth manor house, to he sure.” “Indeed!” So pleased was Cousin Paul with this answer that •he threw the man a handful of coppers and kept chuckling, as we drove on: “Well, well, well, what d’you say to that? Did you ever?” He jumped from the carriage with youthful agility almost before it had stopped. But no one came out to the terrace to receive us. “Hi, there! Is no one at home ?” No answer. The place was as silent as the grave. “IIm. 1 hope this isn’t an enchanted castle whose inmates have all been turned to stone.” But no. At that very moment emerged from a side building a stocky and extremely hirsute old man who wore a green shade over his eyes and whose feet were encased, notwithstanding the warm autumn weather, in thick winter boots reaching up to bis knees. “Is Mr. Charles Boróth at home?” Cousin Paul inquired of him. “Not this year,” answered the old man. “The devil lie isn’t,” exrlaimed Cousin Paul, much diagrined. “Where is he?” “At the battle of Piski.” We looked at each other n stupefaction at this allover; lint just then a feminne voice which seemed to ■dine from the skies brought ■nlightemnent. “You”ll have to shout ouder than that,” it said, lie's deaf.” I turned to see whence the nice came and saw a comev peasant lass sitting in the iranche? of the mulberry ree that stood in the center >f the court-yard. It was vident what she had been oing there, for her rosy face ras smudged all over with lie juice of the berries. “lie’s deaf,” she repeated, lie didn’t hear what you aid.” “We have come to call on lie master of the house,” 'ousin Paul told her. “1 think he’s among the ee-hives. I’ll go and see.” She slid down the tree with the agility of a wild cat and ran to fetch Charles, who was so delighted at seeing us that he hugged us both, after which he swept us into the house and excelled himself in his efforts for our comfort. The hirsute old man, who it appeared was the bailiff, alsoAame in, and seeing how the land lay apologized profusely for his behaviour. It seemed that he had been under the delusion that we had come to buy oak-apples; that was why he had told us that they had none this year. Afterwards he believed that we had asked him where he had lost his hearing, and had answered, as the truth was, “at the battle of Piski.” Charles meanwhile had a thousand questions to ask us: was AI illy all right? Plad she found the locket which she had lost at the time of his visit? Did she still haye her deer-hound? (Why of course!) Had the canary recovered from its indisposition? (It’s as right as a trivet, my boy.) While iie thus kept us busy talking, the house gradually' wakened from its lethargy. Doors opened and were slammed, the tinkle of glassware and crockery mingled with the giggle of serving wenches, and liveried foothmen appeared as if by magic from nowhere in particular. Cousin Paul was quite dazzled by all that he saw' and heard, especially after we had been summoned to the magnificent supper and his. eyes noted the handsome family silver and the fine damask napery with the embroidered coat-of-arms of the Borótbs — a lion rampant on a field or, holding Insect Causes Farmer to Lose Reputation and Trousers and Land in Asylum How Anton Kertesz, a wealthy farmer of Nyíregyháza, Hungarylost simultaneously his reputation as a gentleman, his trousers and his freedom—being confined for some days in an insane asylum—is related in the Budapest papers. The papers trace the cause of his misfortunes to a few score of bees. Anton recently decided to add the keeping of bees to his already profitable vocations, such as sheep, garden truck and fruit. On the advice of an expert he collected two» families of unbusy bees in a couple of milk jugs and took them to the Budapest Apiological Institute to have them psycho-analyzed—or whatever an arrow in its mouth. Such things are not to be sneezed at, say what you will. “Nice little place you’ve got here, my boy';” volunteered my cousin with enthusiasm when supper was over. “Not too bad,” admitted Charles with becoming modesty. “If it weren’t so remote from the world.” “Remote?” snapped Cousin Paul, -— “why, it’s no distance at all! And wluit gorgeous air! It's just the thing for our AI illy.” “The air’s all right. The trouble is that we have no society'. Not a single neighbor anywhere with whom to exchange a word.” “All the better. No busybodies to gossip and carrytales. You’ll have one another. What more do you want? Besides, there’s Mr. — what’s the name of your bailiff?” “Martin Autos.” “Well you’ll have bis company during, the long winter evenings.” “Thanks,” laughed Charles. “Ever since Eve, known him he has had no other subject of conversation than the battle of Piski.” As lie spoke be rose and going around the table, shouted in the old man’s ear: “How far did we get with get with the battle of Piski last night, Mr. Antos?” “I was just telling you,” replied the old man mildly, “how' General Bern looked through his field glasses and saw' the Russians advansing. . . ” "He’ll be a veritable godsend to our A filly'.” “I shall be delighted to make her a present of him. But first I must have Milly herself here.” “We shan’t quarrel about done to discover the cause of character defects in bees. The farmer put the jugs, covered with parchment which he thought was firmly tied down, beneath his seat in the train Soon, however, the bees were swarming up his legs beneath his trousers and making their presence felt. Two women shared his compartment, and, with true Hungarian gallantry, he suffered in silence until he could bear no more and was forced to scream in agony, “Clear out immediately.” The terrified women fled into the next compartment. Meantime, M. Kertesz utilized their absence to remove his trousers and shake the invaders out of that, my buy. You can have her as soon as you please.” *' MY SECOND VISIT d he wedding w as solemnised almost at once, and Charles Boróth carried off Milly to Gerely. As I myself went to live in Budapest about the same time, I lost sight of them completely for a while, and it was more than twelve months before it suddenly occurred to me that it might be a pleasant thing to pay the young couple a surprise visit in their lovely country mansion. The idea materialised, and one fine morning I found myself on their doorstep, suitcase in hand and travelling rug over my arm. “Is your master in?” I asked of a loitering kitchen maid. “1 shouldn’t think he’d be dressed yet.” “What? At ten in the morning?” “Would you have a man rise at cock-crow on bis honey-moon ?” she asked saucily. Familiarity calls- for response, so I pinched her dimpled cheek. “There must be a good supply of honey in this place, my dear, to last all this while. It’s over a year since the wedding.” She showed her small white teeth in a derisive grin. “You know' a lot, don’t you? But you’ve got it wrong. The wedding was four days ago.” “Nonsense!” “It isn’t nonsense. They went to church on Saturday, and to-day is Tuesday.” “All right, all right. But I came to see Mr. Boróth." “Yes. And it’s Mr. Boróth I mean.” the opposite direction tore the trousers out of his hand. ' At this moment the guard anxiously peered into the compartment. Seeing a trouserless man gesticulating from the window he rapidly withdrew, locking the door behind him. At Budapest the door was unlocked to admit two men, who told the farmer that they were tailors come to measure him for new trousers. He was suspicious of the two unusually athleticlooking tailors, and his suspicions were justified when they pinioned him to a stercher and placed him in an ambulance. Arrived at an asylum, the indignant farmer started an incoherent story of i ilk jugs, idle bees and vanished trousers, which resulted in the unhappy man being furnished, not with trousers, but with a strait waistcoat. “That’s enough now. Go and ask if he will see me.” She came back in a minute. “Please go in,” she said. I entered, and found a party of complete strangers sitting at breakfast. The party consisted of two elderly ladies, a young w oman in a lace negligee, and a darkhaired young man. “What can I do for you ?” the latter asked me, coming fonvard politely. “Excuse me — I came^to see Mr. Boróth.” “I am Mr. Borótlr.” “You. . .” I stammered in bewilderment. “You mean .... Forgive me, but that’s — how shall I say — there must be some mistake. I meant my friend Boróth who married my cousin Milly. . .” “Ah yes, that was another Boróth.” “No, no, he was the Boróth of Gerely. Charles Boróth.” “Oh, Charles? I’ve heard of him, hut I have not the pleasure of his personal acquaintance. I am George Boróth. May I ask your own name ?” “Stephen Bibithy.” “Bibithy? Of the Szabolcs Bibithys?” lie cried with animation, — “Then you’re among friends here. I know your family well. Ca_spcr Bibithy is one of my best pals. But this is delightful! Quick, a chair. Have you had breakfast? Of course not. Oh — allow me to introduce you to the ladies: my mother-in-law', Mrs. John Ring, and my wife’s aunt, Madame Montfort, wife of the well-known Viennese binker. And this is my wife, Maria nostra: she it that at present, for she belongs to us all; but in a week’s time, when her mother and her aunt will begone, she will be Marie tnea.” He laughed so infectiously at this silly joke that :t was impossible not to laugh with him. “That’s right. Now you feel that you’re at home among us, and will forget that it wasn’t us you meant to call upon. I shan’t let you go away in a hurry, I warn you.” “I can’t help the feeling that Charles is playing a trick upon me and that he and Milly will suddenly come walking in . . .” He interrupted me hastily, almost with annoyance. (to be continued) the window. Unfortunately for is j him an express train passing in MAGYAR BEE EPISODE WITH A DEADLY STING
