Chapter III: The Traces Lead to Glogova

One fine spring afternoon, a light sort of dog-cart stopped before Mrs. Muencz's shop, and a young man sprang out of it, Gyuri Wibra, of course.

Rosalia, who was just standing at her door, speaking to Mr. Mravucsan, the mayor, and Mr. Galba, one of the senators, immediately turned to the young man with the question:

"What can I do for you, sir?"

"Are you Mrs. Muencz?"

"Yes, sir."

"I want to buy an umbrella."

The two gentlemen, surprised, looked up at the cloudless sky.

"What the devil does he want to buy an umbrella for?" muttered Mravucsan.

Then added aloud:

"Where are you from, sir?"

"From Besztercebanya."

Mravucsan was even more surprised.

Fancy any one coming all the way from Besztercebanya to Babaszek to buy an umbrella! How proud he was it had happened under his mayorship! He nudged Galba:

"Do you hear?" he said.

"This is only a small village shop, sir," answered Rosalia. "We don't keep umbrellas."

"Pity enough!" muttered Mravucsan, biting savagely at his mustache.

"But I heard," went on the stranger, "that you had second-hand umbrellas to sell."

Second-hand umbrellas! Well, what next!

Mravucsan, who was asthmatic, began to breathe heavily, and was just going to say something disparaging to the stranger, when some runaway horses attracted his attention, as they rushed across the market-place, dragging a handsome phaeton with them.

"That will never be fit for use again," said the smith, as he stood looking on, his hands folded under his leather apron.

The phaeton had probably been dashed against a wall, for the left side was smashed to bits, the shaft was broken, one of the wheels had been left somewhere on the road, and the reins were dragging on the ground between the two horses.

"They are beautiful animals," said Galba.

"They belong to the priest of Glogova," answered Mravucsan. "I'm afraid some one may have been thrown out of the carriage; let us go and see."

During this time the number of customers in Mrs. Muencz's shop had increased, and as they had to be attended to, she first turned to the stranger before serving them, and said:

"There are a lot of old umbrellas somewhere on the loft, but they would not do for a fine gentleman like you."

"I should like to look at them all the same."

Mrs. Muencz had her hand on the door to let her customers in, and only answered without turning round:

"I can assure you you would not take them in your hand."

But the young man was not to be put off so easily; he followed her into the shop, and waited till the customers were all served, then remarked again that he would like to see the umbrellas.

"But, my good sir, don't bother me about the umbrellas. I tell you they would be of no use to you. They are some that were left from the time of my poor husband; he knew how to mend umbrellas, and most of these are broken and torn, and they certainly will not have improved, lying on the dusty loft so long. Besides, I cannot show you them, for my son is at the fair, the servant has a bad foot and cannot move, and when there is a fair my shop is always full, so I cannot leave it to go with you."

The young lawyer took a five-florin note out of his pocket.

"I don't want you to do it for nothing, Mrs. Muencz, but I must see the umbrellas at any price. So let me go up alone to the loft, and please take this in return for your kindness."

Mrs. Muencz did not take the money, and her small black eyes examined the young man suspiciously.

"Now I shall certainly not show you the umbrellas."

"And why not?"

"My poor dead husband used to say: 'Rosalia, never do anything you don't understand the reason of,' and my husband was a very clever man."

"Of course, of course, you are quite right, and can't understand why I offer five florins for an old ragged umbrella."

"Just so; for five florins you might see something better."

"Well, it is very simple after all. My father had a very old umbrella, to which he was much attached, and I heard that it had come by chance into your husband's hands, and I should very much like to have it as a souvenir."

"And who was your father, sir? Perhaps I may have heard of him."

The lawyer blushed a little.

"Pal Gregorics," he said.

"Ah, Gregorics! Wait a bit! Yes, I remember, the funny little man in whose will ..."

"Yes, yes. He left 2000 florins to nine ladies in Besztercebanya."

--"I remember, but I don't think he was ..."

"Yes ... no ... of course not ... I mean ..." and here he stopped in confusion. "I am Gyuri Wibra, lawyer."

Now it was Mrs. Muencz's turn to be confused.

"Of course, sir, I understand. How stupid of me! I have heard of you, sir, and I knew your poor father; dear me, how very like him you are, and yet so handsome. I knew him _very_ well," she added, smiling, "though he did not leave me 2000 florins. I was an old woman when he was still young. Well, sir, please go up and look at the umbrellas. I will show you the way, and tell you just where to look for them. Follow me, please, and I hope you will find the old gentleman's umbrella."

"I would give you fifty florins for it, Mrs. Muencz."

At the words "fifty florins" the old woman's eyes shone like two glowworms.

"Oh! what a good son!" she sighed, turning her eyes up to heaven. "There is nothing more pleasing to God than a good son, who honors the memory of his father."

She got quite active and lively at the thought of the fifty florins, and shutting the door of the shop, she tripped across the yard with Gyuri to the ladder of the loft, and even wanted to go up with him herself.

"No, no, stay down below, Mrs. Muencz. What would the world say, if we two were to go up to the loft together?" said Gyuri jokingly.

Old Rosalia chuckled.

"Oh, dear heart alive!" she said, "there's no danger with me. Why, your father didn't even remember me in his will, though once upon a time ... (and here she complacently smoothed her gray hair). Well, my dear, please go up."

Gyuri Wibra searched about among the rubbish on the loft for quite half an hour, during which time the old woman came twice to the foot of the ladder to see if he were coming down. She was anxious about the fifty florins.

"Well?" she asked, as he appeared at last empty-handed.

"I have looked through everything," he said, in a discouraged tone, "but the umbrella I want is not among the others."

The old Jewess looked disappointed.

"What can that tiresome Jonas have done with it?" she exclaimed. "Fifty florins! Dreadful! But he never had a reason for anything he did."

"In all probability your husband used that umbrella himself. Mr. Sztolarik of Besztercebanya says he distinctly remembers seeing him with it once."

"What was it like?"

"The stuff was red, with patches of all sorts on it, and it had a pale green border. The stick was of black wood, with a bone handle."

"May I never go to heaven!" exclaimed Rosalia, "if that was not the very umbrella he took with him last time he left home! Yes, I know he took that one!"

"It was a great pity he took just that one."

Rosalia felt bound to defend her husband.

"How was he to know that?" she said. "He never had a reason for anything he did."

"Well, there's no help for it now," sighed Gyuri, as he stood on the last rung of the ladder, wondering what he was to do next, and feeling like Marius among the ruins of Carthage, only there were not even ruins to his Carthage; all hopes had returned to the clouds from which they had been taken.

Slowly he walked through the shop to his dog-cart, which was waiting outside, and the old woman waddled after him, like a fat goose. But once out in the street, she suddenly seemed to wake up, and seized hold of the lawyer's coat.

"Wait a bit. I had nearly forgotten it, but my son Moricz, who is a butcher in Ipolysag, was here at the time; he had come to buy oxen, I remember. My son Moricz knows everything, and may I never go to heaven (Rosalia evidently had a strong objection to leaving this world) if he can't throw some light on the subject. Go to the fair, my dear boy, to the place where the sheep stand, and speak to the handsomest man you see there, that will be my son Moricz; he's handsome, very handsome, is Moricz. Speak to him, and promise him the fifty florins. I am sure he once told me something about that umbrella. For when my poor dear Jonas died, Moricz went to look for him, and when he found traces of him, he went from village to village making inquiries, till everything was clear. (Here Rosalia gazed tearfully heavenward.) Oh, Jonas, Jonas, why did you treat us so? If your senses had left you, why must you follow them? You had enough sons who would have taken care of you!"

She would have gone on like this all day, if Gyuri had not stepped into his dog-cart and driven off to the scene of the fair as she had advised him.

After putting a few questions to the bystanders, he found Moricz Muencz, a short, stout man, his pock-marked face looking like a turkey's egg. He was as ugly as a Faun. His butcher's knife and steel hung from a belt round his waist, and on his arm was tattooed the head of an ox.

He was just bargaining for a cow, and its owner, a tanner, was swearing by heaven and earth that such a cow had never been seen in Babaszek before.

"It will eat straw," he assured him, "and yet give fourteen pints of milk a day!"

"Rubbish!" answered Moricz. "I'm not a calf, and don't intend to look upon this cow as my mother. I'm a butcher, and want to kill it and weigh it."

"That's true," said the honest tanner; and of his own free will he lowered the price by five florins.

Moricz did not seem to think that enough, and began poking at the ribs of the cow.

"What bones!" he exclaimed, and then pulled open its mouth to look at its teeth. "Why, it has not got a tooth in its head!"

"What do you want it to have teeth for?" asked the honest tanner. "I don't suppose you want to weigh its teeth too?"

"But it kicks!"

"Well, it won't kick once it is killed; and I don't suppose you want to weigh it before it is killed?"

The honest tanner laughed at his own wit, which had put him into such a good humor, that he again took five florins off the price. But Moricz was not yet satisfied, for he still gazed at the cow, as though trying to find more faults in her. And just at that moment Gyuri Wibra called out:

"Mr. Muencz, I should like to have a word with you."

The tanner, fearing to lose his purchaser, took five florins more off the price, and Moricz, being a sensible man, at once struck the bargain; he always bought of an evening from such as had not been able to sell their cattle during the day, and gave it for a low price to save their having to drive it home again.

"What can I do for you, sir?"

"I should like to buy something of you, which belongs neither to you nor to me."

"There are plenty of things in the world answering to that description," said Moricz, "and I can assure you, I will let you have it as cheap as possible."

"Let us move on a bit."

Gyuri led him out of the crowd to the village pump, near which grew an elder-tree. This tree, round which they had put some palings, was also a part of the future greatness of Babaszek, for the green, evil-smelling insects which housed in its branches, and which are used in various medicines (Spanish flies), induced them to believe that they might, once upon a time, have a chemist in Babaszek. The young girls of the town used to collect the insects, and sell them to the chemist at Zolyom for a few kreutzers; but that was forbidden now, for the people had decided: "Near that tree there will once be a chemist's shop, so we will not have the insects taken away."

They evidently considered them the foundation of the future chemist's store.

Gyuri told the Jew what he wanted; that he was interested in his father's favorite umbrella, and would buy it if he could find it. Did Moricz know anything about it?

"Yes, I do," was the disappointed answer, for now he knew what a trifle it was, he saw the price fall in proportion.

"I will give you fifty florins for any information that will lead to its discovery."

Moricz quickly took off his cap, which until now he had not considered it necessary to remove. Fifty florins for an old umbrella! Why, this young man must be the Prince of Coburg himself from Szent-Antal! Now he noticed for the first time how very elegantly he was dressed.

"The umbrella can be found," he said; and then added more doubtfully, "I think."

"Tell me all you know."

"Let me see, where shall I begin? It is now about fourteen years since my father disappeared, and I have forgotten most of the details, but this much I remember, that I started to look for him with my brother Sami, and in Podhragy I found the first trace of him, and following this up, I was told that when there he was still quite in his right mind, had sold a few trifles to the villagers, slept at the inn, and had bought a very old seal from a certain Raksanyi for two florins. He must have had all his senses about him then, for when we took him out of the Garam, he had the seal in his coat pocket, and we sold it for fifty florins to an antiquary, as it turned out to be the seal of Vid Mohorai, of the time of King Arpad."

"Yes, but these particulars have nothing to do with the subject in question," interrupted the young man.

"You will see, sir, that they will be useful to you."

"Well, perhaps so; but I don't see what they have to do with the umbrella."

"You will see in time, if you will listen to the rest of my tale. I heard in Podhragy that he went from there to Abelova, so I went there too. From what I heard, I began to fear that my father was beginning to lose his senses, for he had always inclined toward melancholy. Here they told us that he had bought a lot of 'Angel Kreutzers' (small coins, on which the crown of Hungary is represented, held by two angels; they were issued in 1867, and many people wear them as amulets, and believe they bring luck) from the villagers for four kreutzers each; but later on I found I was mistaken in my surmise."

"How was that? Was he not yet mad?"

"No, for a few days later, two young Jews appeared in Abelova, each bringing a bag of 'angel kreutzers,' which they sold to the villagers for three kreutzers each, though they are really worth four."

"So it is possible ..."

"Not only possible, but certain, that the two young cheats had been told by the old man to buy up all the 'angel kreutzers' they could, and he thus became their confederate without knowing it. So it is very probable he may have been mad then, or he would have had nothing to do with the whole affair. From Abelova he went through the Viszoka Hor forest to Dolinka, but we could find out nothing about his doings, though he spent two days there. But in the next village, Sztrecsnyo, the children ran after him, and made fun of him, like of the prophet Elijah, and he, unfastening his pack (not the prophet Elijah, but my poor father), began throwing the various articles he had for sale at them. In fifty years' time they will still remember that day in Sztrecsnyo, when soap, penknives, and pencils fell among them like manna from heaven. Since then it is a very common saying there: 'There was once a mad Jew in Sztrecsnyo.'"

"Bother Sztrecsnyo, let us return to our subject."

"I have nearly done now. In Kobolnyik my poor old father was seen without his pack; in one hand he had his stick, in the other his umbrella, with which he drove off the dogs which barked at him. So in Kobolnyik he still had his umbrella you see."

Tears were rolling down Moricz's pock-marked face, his heart was quite softened at the remembrance of all these incidents.

"After that we looked for a long time for traces of him, but only heard of him again in Lehota. One stormy summer night he knocked at the door of the watchman's house, the last in the village, but when they saw he was a Jew, they drove him away. They told me he had neither a hat nor an umbrella then, only the heavy, rough stick he used to beat us with when we were children."

"Now I begin to understand the drift of your remarks. You want to show that the umbrella was lost between Kobolnyik and Lehota."

"Yes."

"But that proves nothing, for your father may have lost it in the wood, or among the rocks, and if any one found it, they would probably make use of it to put in the arms of a scarecrow."

"No, that is not it, I know what happened. I heard it by chance, for I was not looking for the umbrella; what did I care for that! I wanted to find my father. Well, among the Kvet mountains I met a tinker walking beside his cart, a very chatty man he seemed to be. I asked him, as I did every one we met, if he had not seen an old Jew about there lately. 'Yes,' he answered, 'I saw him a few weeks ago in Glogova during a downpour of rain; he was spreading an umbrella over a child on the veranda of a small house, and when he had done so he moved on.'"

The lawyer sprang up hastily.

"Go on," he cried.

"There is nothing more to tell, sir. But from the description the tinker gave me, I am sure it was my father, and, besides, Glogova lies just between Lehota and Kobolnyik."

"Well, you have given me valuable information," exclaimed the lawyer, and, taking a fifty-florin note out of his pocketbook, he added: "Accept this as a slight return for your kindness. Good-by."

And off he went like a hound which has just found the scent; over some palings he vaulted, in order to get to his cart as quickly as possible. On he raced, but as he passed the gingerbread stall, Moricz Muencz stood before him again.

"Excuse me for running after you," he exclaimed breathlessly, "but it suddenly occurred to me that I might give you a word of advice, which is this. There are a good many people from Glogova here at the fair, so you really might get the crier to go round and find out if they know anything of the umbrella. If you would promise a reward for any information, in an hour's time you will have plenty, I am sure. In a small village like Glogova, every one knows everything."

"It is quite unnecessary," replied the lawyer, "for I am going to Glogova myself. Thanks all the same."

"Oh, sir, it is I who have to thank you; you have behaved in a princely fashion. Fifty florins for such a trifle! Why, I would have done it for one florin."

The lawyer smiled.

"And I would willingly have given a thousand, Mr. Muencz."

And with that he walked away, past the stall where they were selling nuts, and onions tied up in strings. Moricz stood gazing after him till he was out of sight.

"A thousand florins!" he repeated, shaking his head. "If I had only known!"

And off he went, driving his cow before him.