St. Peter's Umbrella Part 7

"No great loss that, sir; it was only fit to put in the hands of a scarecrow."

"One hundred florins to the one who brings it me back," groaned the old gentleman.

The boatmen, astonished, gazed at one another, then the younger man began to pull off his boots.

"Are you joking, sir, or do you mean it?"

"Here are the hundred florins," said Gregorics, taking a bank-note from his pocket-book.

The young man, a fine specimen of a Szeged fisherman, turned to Kupeczky.

"Is the old chap mad?" he asked in his lackadaisical way, while the umbrella quietly floated down the stream.

"Oh dear no," answered Kupeczky, who, however, was himself surprised at Gregorics's strange behavior.

"It's not worth it, domine spectabilis," he added, turning to the old gentleman.

"Quick, quick!" gasped Gregorics.

Another doubt had arisen in the boatman's mind.

"Is the bank-note a real one, sir?" he asked.

"Of course it is. Make haste!"

The man, who had by this time taken off both his boots and his jacket, now sprang into the water like a frog, and began to swim after the umbrella, the old boatman shouting after him:

"You're a fool, Janko; come back, don't exert yourself for nothing."

Gregorics, afraid the warning would take effect, flew at the old man and seized hold of his tie.

"Hold your tongue or I'll murder you. Do you want to ruin me?"

"Well, what would that matter? Do you want to throttle me? Leave go of my neck-tie."

"Well, let the boy go after my umbrella."

"After all, what is the hen good for if not to look after the chickens?"

muttered the old boatman. "The current just here is very strong, and he won't be able to reach the umbrella. And what's the good of it, when it will come back of itself when the tide turns in half an hour's time, to the other side of the 'Yellow.' In half an hour the fishermen will spread their nets, and the gentleman's umbrella will be sure to be caught in them; even if a big fish swallows it we can cut it open."

And as the old fisherman had said, so it came to pa.s.s; the umbrella was caught in one of the fis.h.i.+ng nets, and great was the joy of old Gregorics when he once more held his treasure in his hand. He willingly paid the young fisherman the promised one hundred florins, though it was not really he who had brought the umbrella back; and in addition he rewarded the fishermen handsomely, who, the next day, spread the tale through the whole town of the old madman, who had given one hundred florins for the recovery of an old torn red umbrella. They had never before caught such a big fish in the Tisza.

"Perhaps the handle of the umbrella was of gold?"

"Not a bit of it; it was only of wood."

"Perhaps the linen was particularly fine?"

"Rubbis.h.!.+ Is there any linen in the world worth one hundred florins? It was plain red linen, and even that was torn and ragged."

"Then you have not told us the tale properly."

"I've told you the whole truth."

Kupeczky remarked to Gyuri:

"I would not mind betting the old gentleman has a tile loose."

"A strange man, but a good one," answered Gyuri. "Who knows what memories are attached to that umbrella!"

CHAPTER III.

PaL GREGORICS'S DEATH AND WILL.

No signification was attached to the above-mentioned incident till years after, when every one had forgotten all about it, Gyuri included. As for Kupeczky, he could not remember it, for as soon as the news came from Besztercebanya that old Gregorics was dead, he took to his bed and never rose from it again.

"I am dying, Gyuri," he said to his sobbing pupil, "I feel it. It was only Gregorics kept me alive, or rather I kept myself alive for his sake. But now I'm done for. I don't know if he has provided for your future, my poor boy, but it's all over with me, I'm dying, I wouldn't mind betting it."

And he would have won his bet too. Gyuri went home for Gregorics's funeral, and a week later the landlady sent word that the old professor was dead, and he was to send money for the funeral.

But what was Kupeczky's death to that of Gregorics? The poor old fellow was quite right to take his departure, for no one wanted him, no one took any notice of him. He slipped quietly into the next world, just as one ought to do; even during his life he caused no disturbance; he was here, he went, and there was an end of it. But Pal Gregorics went to work in quite a different style. He was taken ill with cramp on the Thursday in Holy Week, and went to bed in great pain. After a time the cramp ceased, but left him very weak, and he fell asleep toward evening.

Some hours after he opened his eyes and said:

"Anna, bring me my umbrella, and put it here, near my bed. That's it!

Now I feel better!"

He turned over and went to sleep again, but soon woke up with a start.

"Anna," he said, "I have had a fearful dream. I thought I was a horse, and was being taken to a fair to be sold. My step-brothers and nephews appeared on the scene, and began to bid for me, and I stood trembling there, wondering which of them I was to belong to. My brother Boldizsar pulled open my mouth, examined my teeth, and then said, 'He is not worth anything, we could only get five florins for his skin.' As he was speaking, up came a man with a scythe. He poked me in the ribs (it hurts me still), and exclaimed, 'The horse is mine, I'll buy it.' I turned and looked at him, and was horrified to see it was Death himself. 'But I will not give the halter with the horse,' said my owner. 'It does not matter,' answered the man with the scythe, 'I can get one from the shop round the corner; wait a minute, I'll be back directly.' And then I awoke. Oh, it was dreadful!"

His red hair stood on end, and beads of perspiration rolled down his face, which Anna wiped with a handkerchief.

"Nonsense," she said, "you must not believe in dreams; they do not come from Heaven, but from indigestion."

"No, no," said the sick man, "I'm going, I feel it. My time will be up when they bring the halter. Don't waste words trying to console me, but bring me pen and paper, I want to send a telegram to the boy; he must come home at once. I'll wait for his arrival, yes, I'll wait till then."

They brought a table to his bed, and he wrote the following words:

"Come at once, uncle is dying and wants to give you something.--Mother."

"Send the servant with this at once."

He was very restless while the man was away, and asked three times if he had returned. At length he came back, but with bad news; the telegraph office was closed for the night.

"Well, it does not matter," said Anna, "we will send it in the morning.