Chapter IV: The Avaricious Gregorics

The contents of the will soon became known in the town, and caused quite a little storm in the various patriarchal drawing-rooms, with their old-fashioned cherry-wood pianos, over which hung the well-known picture, the "March of Miklos Zrinyi," and their white embroidered table-cloths on small tables, in the centre of which stands a silver candlestick, or a glass brought from some watering-place with the name engraved on it, and a bunch of lilac in it. Yes, in those dear little drawing-rooms, there was any amount of gossip going on. It was really disgraceful of Gregorics, but he was always tactless. The idea of compromising honest old ladies, mothers and grandmothers!

The nine ladies were the talk of the town, their names were in every mouth, and though there were many who blamed Gregorics, there were also some who took his part.

"After all," they said, "who knows what ties there were between them? Gregorics must have been a lively fellow in his youth."

And even those who defended Gregorics decided that after all there must have been some friendship between him and the nine ladies at some time or other, or why should he have remembered them in his will; but his behavior was not gentlemanly in any case, even if they were to believe the worst. In fact, in that case it was even more tactless.

"For such behavior he ought to be turned out of the club, I mean he ought to have been turned out; in fact, I mean, if he were alive he might be turned out. I assure you, if they write on his gravestone that he was an honorable man, I'll strike it out with my own pencil."

These were the words of the notary.

The captain of the fire-brigade looked at it from a different point of view.

"It is a cowardly trick," he declared. "Women only reckon until they are thirty-five years of age, and these are all old women. A little indiscretion of this kind cannot hurt them. If you breathe on a rusty bit of steel it leaves no mark. We only remove caterpillars from those trees which have flowers or leaves, or which will bear fruit, but on old, dried-up trees we leave them alone. But it is the husbands Gregorics has offended, for it is cowardly to affront people who cannot demand satisfaction from you. And I think I may affirm with safety that Gregorics is now incapable of giving satisfaction."

The next morning Istvan Vozary (whose wife was one of the nine ladies mentioned in the will) appeared at the lawyer's and informed him that as his wife had never had anything to do with the dead man, she had no intention of accepting the 2000 florins. When this was known in the town, the eight remaining ladies arrived, one after the other, at the lawyer's, in order to make known to him their refusal of the legacy, as they also had nothing to do with Gregorics.

I do not know when Sztolarik had had such a lively time of it as on that day, for it was really amusing to see those wrinkled old dames, toothless and gray-haired, coming to defend their honor.

But it was even livelier for the Gregorics family, for they thus got back the 20,000 florins they had been cheated out of--that is, with the exception of the 2000 florins left to the Academy of Arts and Sciences, for, of course, the Academy accepted the legacy, though it also had had nothing to do with Gregorics. But the Academy (the tenth old woman) was not so conscientious as the other nine.

The joy of the Gregorics soon turned to bitterness, for they could not manage to find out where the Bohemian estates were. Gaspar went off to Prague, but came back after a fruitless search. They were unable to find any papers referring to the estates; not a bill, not a receipt, not a letter was to be found.

"It was incomprehensible, such a thing had never happened before," Boldizsar said.

They were wild with anger, and threatened Matyko and Anna to have them locked up, if they would not tell them where the estates were in Bohemia; and at length they were brought before the Court and examined. Matyko at least must know all about it, for he had travelled everywhere with his master.

So Matyko had to own that his master had never been to Bohemia at all, but had always gone to Szeged or to Kolozsvar, where Gyuri had been at school.

Oh! that sly Pal Gregorics, how he had cheated his relations! Now it was as clear as day why he had turned all his possessions into money, of course he had given it all to that boy. But _had_ he given it him? How could he have trusted hundreds of thousands to a child of that age? Then, where had he put it? to whom had he given it? That was the riddle the Gregorics were trying to solve.

The lawyer, the last person who had spoken to Gregorics, declared he had not mentioned any money, and Anna swore by Heaven and earth that she and her son had not received a kreutzer from him, and were much embittered at the fact of his leaving them without any provision. She had not a good word to say for the dead man. He had made the boy unhappy for life, spending so much on him and his education, and then leaving him totally without providing for him; so that the boy, for whom expensive professors had been kept, would now be reduced to giving lessons himself, in order to enable him to live, for the house would hardly bring in enough to pay for his keep, while attending the lectures at the University.

"Well," said Sztolarik, "if he had intended the boy to have his money, he could have given it straight into his hands, no one could prevent it."

This was quite true, and that was the very reason it seemed so strange he had not done so. The house in Vienna had been sold for 180,000 florins, the Privorec estates for 75,000, which made over a quarter of million florins. Good heavens! Where had he put it to? If he had exchanged the paper notes for gold, melted it, and eaten it by spoonfuls ever since, he could not have finished it yet.

But Gregorics had been a careful man, so the money must be in existence somewhere. It was enough to drive one mad. It did not seem likely that Anna or the boy should have the money, nor Sztolarik, who was Gyuri Wibra's guardian; so the brothers Gregorics did not despair of finding it, and they engaged detectives to keep their eyes on Anna, and looked up a sharp boy in Pest to let them know how Gyuri lived there, and to find out from his conversation whether he knew anything of the missing money. For Gyuri had gone to Pest, to attend the University lectures, and study law. The boy sent word that Gyuri lived very simply, attended every lecture, lived at the "Seven Owls," and dined at a cheap eating-house known by the name of the "First of April." This little restaurant was mostly frequented by law students. On the daily bill of fare was the picture of a fat man speaking to a very thin man, and underneath was the following conversation:

Thin man: "How well you look; where do you dine?"

Fat man: "Why here, at the 'First of April.'"

Thin man: "Really? Well, I shall dine there too for the future."

All the same, the fare was not of the best, and perhaps the above conversation was intended to make April Fools of people. For the restaurant-keepers of olden times were frank, and even if they lied, they did it so naively, that every one saw through the lie.

Gaspar Gregorics received the following particulars as to Gyuri's mode of life:

"He breakfasts at a cheap coffee-house, attends lectures all the morning, dines at the 'First of April,' the afternoon he passes at a lawyer's office, copying deeds, etc., and in the evening he buys a little bacon or fried fish for supper, then goes home and studies till midnight. Every one likes him, and he will make his way in the world."

That avaricious Gaspar Gregorics began to wish the boy had the quarter of a million after all, for he might in a few years' time marry his daughter Minka, who was just eleven.

Anna had let the house, and Sztolarik sent Gyuri thirty florins every month out of the rent.

The Gregorics divided the 18,000 florins refused by the nine ladies, among the three of them, and also the few hundreds obtained by the sale of the dead man's furniture and personal property, but the rest of the money was still missing.

The whole town was discussing the question of its whereabouts, and all sorts of silly tales were set afloat. Some said the old gentleman had sent it to Klapka, and that one day Klapka would return with it in the form of guns and cannon. Others said he had a castle, somewhere away in the woods, where he kept a very beautiful lady, and even if he had not been able to eat up his fortune in the form of melted gold, a pretty woman would soon know how to dispose of it.

But what made the most impression on every one was, that an ironmonger appeared at Gaspar's house with a bill for a large caldron Gregorics had bought the day before his death, but had not paid for.

Gaspar gave a long whistle.

"That caldron was not among the things we sold," he said. And he went through the inventory again; but no, the caldron was not there.

"I am on the right road," thought Gaspar. "He did not buy the caldron for nothing. Consequently, what did he buy it for? Why, to put something in it of course, and that something is what we are looking for!"

Boldizsar was of the same opinion, and positively beamed with delight.

"It is God's finger," he said. "Now I believe we shall find the treasure. Pal must have buried the caldron somewhere, thinking to do us out of our rights; and he would have succeeded if he had not been so stupid as not to pay for the caldron. But luckily in cases of this kind the wrongdoer generally makes some stupid mistake."

The ironmonger remembered that it was Matyko who had chosen the caldron and taken it with him; so Gaspar one day sent for the servant, gave him a good dinner with plenty of wine, and began to question him about Pal's last days, introducing the incident of the caldron, the bill for which the ironmonger had just sent him he said.

"What about it, Matyko," he asked. "Did your master really order it? I can hardly believe it, for what could he have wanted it for? I'm afraid you have been buying things for yourself, in your master's name."

That was the very way to make Matyko speak, to doubt his honor; and now he let out the whole story in order to clear himself. The day before his death, his master had told him to go and buy a caldron, and bring it him, together with two masons. He had done as he was told, and toward evening had taken the caldron into his master's bedroom; the masons had arrived at the same time, and had seen the caldron, so they could bear witness to the fact.

"Well, that's right, Matyko, you're a lucky fellow, for if you have two witnesses, your honor is as intact as ever, and you must consider my words as unspoken. Drink another glass of wine, and don't be offended at my suspicion; after all, it was only a natural conclusion; we could find no traces of the caldron, and the ironmonger wanted to be paid for it, and said you had taken it away. Where can it have got to?"

"Heaven only knows," answered Matyko.

"Did you never see it again?"

"Never."

"And what became of the masons? What did they come for?"

"I don't know."

Gaspar smiled pleasantly at the man.

"You are like 'John Don't-know' in the fairy tale. He always answered, 'I don't know' to everything that was asked him. Of course you don't know the two witnesses either who could establish your innocence? In that case, my good fellow, you're no better off than you were before."

"But I do know one of them."

"What is his name?"

"Oh, I don't know his name."

"Well, how do you know him, then?"

"He has three hairs at the end of his nose."

"Rubbish! He may have cut them off since then."

"I should know him all the same by his face; it is just like an owl's."

"And where did you pick up the two masons?"

"They were mending the wall of the parish church."

By degrees Gaspar Gregorics got all particulars out of the man; and now the ground seemed to be burning under his feet, so he went straight into the town to look for the man with the three hairs on his nose.

It was not difficult to find him, and at the first place he asked at, three voices answered at once:

"That must be Andras Prepelicza. His mustache made a mistake, and grew on the top of his nose instead of on his lip."

After that it was mere child's play, for every workman knew that Prepelicza was "building Pest," as they expressed it. He was working at a large house in the Kerepesi Street.

Gaspar immediately had the horses harnessed, and drove to Pest, not stopping till he reached the capital; and there he set to work to find Prepelicza among the Slovak workmen. The mason was just going up on a pulley to the third story when he found him, and Gaspar shuddered as he thought: "Supposing the cords were to give way now!"

"Hallo, Prepelicza!" he shouted. "Wait a bit, I was just looking for you. I want to have a talk with you."

"All right," called out the mason, examining the newcomer from above. "Come up if you want to talk."

"You come down to me, it is very important."

"Well, shout it out, I can hear it all right up here."

"I can't do that, I must speak to you in private at any cost."

"Good or bad?"

"Very good."

"Good for me?"

"Yes, good for you."

"Well, if it is good for me it can wait till the evening. I shall be down by then, but I want to finish this top window first."

"Don't argue, but come down at once. You won't be sorry for it."

"Why, I don't even know who you are."

"I'll send you word in a minute."

And with the next pulley he sent Prepelicza up a nice new crisp ten-florin note. The man who took it up got a florin for doing so.

At the sight of this novel visiting-card Prepelicza threw down his hammer and trowel, and with the next pulley returned to his mother earth, where miracles have been going on ever since the time of Moses.

"What can I do for you, sir?"

"Follow me."

"To the end of the world, sir."

"We need not go as far as that," said Gregorics, smiling. And they only went as far as "The Cock," a small public-house, where they ordered some wine, after drinking which, the wily Gaspar began, smiling blandly:

"Can you speak, Prepelicza?"

The mason began to wonder what was going to happen, and looked long and attentively into the steely gray eyes of his new acquaintance, and then said guardedly:

"A jay can speak, sir."

"I am from Besztercebanya."

"Really? There are very decent people there. I seem to know your face too, sir."

"You probably mistake me for my half-brother," said Gaspar. "You know, the one who had the caldron put away so secretly."

"The caldron!" Prepelicza's mouth was wide open from astonishment. "Was that your brother? Now I understand where the likeness is, at least ... I mean ... (and he began to scratch his ear doubtfully). What caldron are you speaking of? I can't be expected to remember every pot and pan I have seen in my life."

Gaspar was prepared for such hitches as this, so was not surprised, and offered the mason a cigar, which he immediately wetted to make it burn slower, then lit it, and began to drum on the table like a man who has just found out that he has something to sell, and has the right purchaser before him. Now he must be as phlegmatic as possible, and the price of the article would rise in proportion.

His heart beat loud and fast, and the white cock framed on the wall above the green table seemed to awake to life before his eyes, and to crow out these words: "Good afternoon, Andras Prepelicza! Cock-a-doodledo. You have luck before you! Seize hold of it!"

"What do you say, Prepelicza, you don't remember the caldron? What do you take me for? Do I look like a fool? But I daresay in your place I should do the same. This wine is very good, isn't it? What do you say? It tastes of the cask? Why, my good fellow, it can't taste of mortar, can it? Here, waiter, fetch another bottle of wine, and then be off and leave us alone. Well, what were we speaking of? Ah, yes, you said a short time ago that the jay could speak, and that is quite true; you are a wise man, Prepelicza, and the right man for me, for we shall soon come to terms. Yes, the jay can speak, but only if they cut its tongue. That is what you meant, isn't it?"

"H'm!" was the answer, and the three hairs on the mason's nose began to move, as though a breath of air had passed through them.

"I know of course that they cut the jay's tongue with a knife, but as you are not a bird, Prepelicza ..."

"No, no," stammered the man hastily.

"Well, instead of a knife I take these two bank-notes to cut your tongue with."

And with that he took two hundred-florin bank-notes out of his pocket-book.

The eyes of the mason fixed themselves greedily upon the bank-notes, upon the two figures printed on them, one holding a sheaf of wheat, the other a book; his eyes nearly dropped out of his head he stared so hard, and then he said:

"The caldron was heavy, very heavy indeed."

That was all he could get out, while he continued gazing at the two cherubs on the paper notes. He had six of his own at home, but they were not as pretty as these.

"Well, my good man," said Gregorics surprised, "still silent?"

"It would be like a stone on my heart if I were to speak," sighed the mason--"a very big stone. I don't think I could bear it."

"Don't talk such nonsense! A stone, indeed! Why, you have had to do with nothing else all your life, you need not cry about having one on your heart! You can't expect me to give you two hundred florins, and then give you a hot roll to carry in your heart. Don't be a fool, man."

Prepelicza smiled at this, but he put his big red hands behind his back, a sign that he did not intend to touch the money.

"Perhaps you find it too little?"

Not a word did he answer, only pushed his hair up in front, till he looked like a sick cockatoo; then, after a few moments, raised his glass to his lips, and drained it to the dregs, and then put it back on the table so brusquely that it broke.

"It is disgraceful!" he burst out; "a poor man's honor is only worth two hundred florins, though God created us all equal, and He gave me my honor as well as to the bishop or to Baron Radvanszky. And yet you tax mine at two hundred florins. It's a shame!"

Upon that Gaspar decided to play his trump.

"Very well, Prepelicza, you needn't be so cross. If your honor is so dear, I'll look for cheaper."

And with that he put back the two bank-notes in his pocket.

"I'll look up your companion, the other mason."

Then he called the head waiter, in order to pay for the wine. Prepelicza smiled.

"Well, well, can't a poor man give his opinion? Of course you can look up the other man, and he won't be as honest as I, probably. But ... well, put another fifty to it, and I'll tell you all."

"Very well. It's a bargain!"

And the mason began to relate the events of that memorable night, and how they had carried the caldron through the courtyard and garden to a small house.

"To the 'Lebanon'!" exclaimed Gaspar excitedly. "To that boy's house!"

And the mason went on to tell how Gregorics had stood by while they had walled in the caldron, and watched every movement, Gaspar throwing in a question now and then.

"Was it heavy?"

"Very heavy."

"Did no one see you as you passed through the courtyard?"

"No one; every one had gone to bed."

Gaspar was quite excited, and seemed to enjoy every word he heard; his eyes shone, his thoughts were occupied with the future, in which he imagined himself a rich man, the owner of untold wealth. He might even buy a baronetcy! Baron Gaspar Gregorics! How well it sounded! And Minka would be a little baroness. That fool of a Pal had not known how to make proper use of his wealth, so it must have increased immensely, he had been so economical!

"And what did my brother pay you for your work?"

"He gave us each fifty florins."

"That was quite right of him."

A weight had fallen from his heart at these words, for he had begun to fear Gregorics had given them some thousands to buy their silence, and that would have been a great pity, as it would have diminished the sum he hoped to possess before long. For he had decided to buy "Lebanon," with its caldron and its orchard. He would go to-morrow to that boy's guardian and make an offer for it. And he rejoiced inwardly at the trick he was playing his brother and sister.

He returned home as fast as horses could take him, and did not even stop at his own house, but went straight on to Sztolarik's and informed him he would like to buy "Lebanon."

This was the name they had given to the orchard and house old Gregorics had bought of the clergyman's widow. He had tried to grow cedars there at first, but the soil of Besztercebanya was not suitable for these trees, and the sarcastic inhabitants of the small town christened the orchard "Lebanon."

Mr. Sztolarik showed no surprise at the offer.

"So you want to buy 'Lebanon'?" he said. "It is a good orchard, and produces the finest fruit imaginable. This year a well-known hotel-keeper bought all the fruit, and paid an enormous price for it. But what made you think of buying 'Lebanon'?"

"I should like to build a house there, a larger house than the present one."

"H'm! There is always a good deal of bother attached to a purchase of that kind," said Sztolarik coldly; "the present owner is a minor, and the Court of Chancery must give permission for the sale to take place. I would rather leave things as they are. When the boy is of age he may do what he likes, but if I sell it now he may be sorry for it later on. No, no, Mr. Gregorics, I can't agree to it. After all the house and orchard are a _pretium affectionis_ for the boy; he spent his childhood there."

"But if I offer a good sum for it," broke in Gaspar, nervously.

Sztolarik began to feel curious.

"What do you consider a good sum? What do you think of offering for it?"

"Why, I would give--" and here he was overcome by a fit of coughing, which made him turn as red as a peony--"I would give 15,000 florins."

Well, that was a brilliant offer, for Pal Gregorics had bought it of the clergyman's widow for 5000 florins. It was only a small bit of ground, and a good way from the market, which decreased its value exceedingly.

"Utcumque," said Sztolarik, "your offer is a good one. But, but ... well, I'll tell you what, Mr. Gregorics, I'll consider your offer a bit, and I must write to the boy about it too, and also speak to his mother."

"But I want to settle it as soon as possible."

"I'll write about it to-day."

Gaspar did not wish to say any more about the matter, for fear of awakening the lawyer's suspicions, but a day or two afterward he sent a tiny cask of Tokay wine to him (some Pal Gregorics had left in his cellar, and which they had divided among them), with the inquiry as to whether he had any answer from Budapest. Sztolarik sent back word he expected a letter every minute, and thanked him very much for the wine; he also remarked to the footman who had brought it that he hoped it would go smoothly, but whether he meant the wine, or something else, the footman did not quite understand.

Hardly had the man gone, when the expected letter arrived, containing the news that Gyuri agreed to the sale of the orchard, and Sztolarik was just going to send one of his clerks to Gaspar, when the door opened, and in walked Boldizsar Gregorics, puffing and blowing from the haste he had made.

"Pray take a seat, Mr. Gregorics. To what do I owe the honor of your visit?"

"I've brought you a lot of money," gasped Boldizsar, still out of breath.

"We can always do with plenty of that," said the lawyer.

"I want to buy that poor orphan's little bit of property, 'Lebanon.'"

"'Lebanon'?" repeated Sztolarik, surprised. "What on earth is the matter with them all?" he muttered to himself; then continued out loud: "Perhaps you want it for your brother?"

"No, no, I want it for myself. It would suit me nicely; the view from there is so lovely, and the fruit-trees are so good."

"It is really strange, very strange!"

"Why is it strange?" said the other, surprised.

"Because I have already one purchaser in view."

"Well, we won't let him have it. I daresay I can offer you more than he."

"I doubt it," said the lawyer; "the first offer was 15,000 florins."

Boldizsar showed no surprise.

"Well, I offer 20,000."

Not till after he had said it did it occur to him that the orchard was not worth even 15,000 florins, and he turned impatiently and asked:

"Who is the fool who offers so much?"

"Your brother Gaspar."

At this name Boldizsar turned deathly pale, and dropped gasping on to a chair. His lips moved, but no sound came from them, and Sztolarik thought he would have a stroke, and rushed out for some water, calling for help as he went; but when he returned with the cook armed with a rolling-pin and a jug of water, the old gentleman had recovered, and began to excuse himself.

"I felt a bit giddy; I often have attacks like this. I'm getting old, you see. And now to return to our discussion. Yes, I'll give you 20,000 florins for 'Lebanon,' and pay the money down."

The lawyer thought a minute, then said:

"We can't manage things so quickly, for we must have the consent of the Court of Chancery. I'll see about it at once."

And he was as good as his word, for such an advantageous sale of the orchard he had never dared to hope for. But all the time he was wondering why the two Gregorics were so anxious to have it. There must be some reason for it. Supposing they had struck upon some treasure there, it was not impossible, for had not King Arpad and his successors lived about here? He decided to send Istvan Drotler, the civil engineer, to have a look at the place, and see if it contained gold or coal. But before he had time to start for the engineer's, Gaspar Gregorics appeared on the scene, to ask if there were any letter from Pest. Sztolarik was in difficulties.

"The letter is here, yes, the letter is here; but something else has happened. Another purchaser has turned up, and he offers 20,000 florins for 'Lebanon.'"

This was evidently a great blow for Gaspar.

"Impossible," he stammered. "Is it Boldizsar?"

"Yes."

Gaspar was furious; he began to swear like a trooper, and waved his stick about, thereby knocking down one of Mrs. Sztolarik's flower-pots, in which a rare specimen of hyacinth was just blossoming.

"The wretch!" he hissed. And then he sat staring fixedly in front of him for some time.

How did he get to know of it? was the question he was revolving in his mind. It was very simple. That sly Prepelicza had easily found out in Besztercebanya that Pal Gregorics had more than one brother living, and he decided that if one of them paid him 250 florins for the secret, the other would perhaps be inclined to pay something too. So he got into the train, travelled to Besztercebanya, and looked up Boldizsar. There was nothing surprising in that except, perhaps, the fact that Prepelicza was not such a fool as he looked.

"Oh, the wretch!" Gaspar kept on saying. "But he shall not have it, I _will_ buy it. I'll give you 25,000 florins for it."

Sztolarik smiled and rubbed his hands.

"It will belong to the one who gives most for it. If it were mine, I would give it you for the 15,000 florins you offered at first, for I always keep my word. But as it belongs to a minor, and I have his interests at heart, I must do the best I can for him. Now don't you think I am right?"

Gaspar agreed with him, and tried to make him promise to give him the preference. But what was the good of it? Sztolarik met Boldizsar that evening at the club, and made no secret of the fact that Gaspar had been to see him that morning, and offered him 5000 florins more for the orchard. But Boldizsar was not surprised, and only answered:

"Well, I will give 30,000."

And this mad auction went on for days, until the attention of the whole town was drawn to it, and people began to think the Gregorics must have gone mad, or that there must be some important reason for their wishing to have possession of "Lebanon."

Gaspar came and offered 32,000 florins, and as soon as Boldizsar heard of it, he came and offered 3000 florins more; and so on, until people's hair began to stand on end.

"Let them go on as long as they like," thought the lawyer.

And they did go on, until they reached the sum of 50,000 florins, which was Boldizsar's last offer. And heaven only knows how long it would have gone on still.

The engineer had been to look at the place, and had declared there was nothing of any value to be found there, not even a bit of gold, unless it were the stoppings of some dead woman's teeth.

"But supposing there is coal there?"

"Not a sign of it."

"Then what on earth are the Gregorics thinking of?"

Whatever the reason was, it was certainly to Gyuri's advantage, and his guardian meant to make the most of the opportunity, so he let the two brothers go on bidding till the sum promised was 50,000 florins. He intended to wait till Gaspar capped it with 52,000, and then close the bargain.

But he had reckoned without his host, for one fine day it suddenly occurred to Gaspar it was strange Mrs. Panyoki showed no signs of taking part in the auction. She evidently knew nothing of the existence of the treasure; Prepelicza had not told her the secret, and had thus proved himself a clever man, for if he had told her too, his part in the play was over. Whereas now, when the two brothers had the caldron in their possession, they would be obliged to pay him hush-money to hold his tongue. As Gaspar turned all this over in his mind, he began to find it ridiculous for him and Boldizsar to keep on outbidding each other, thus attracting every one's attention to them, putting money into the boy's pocket, and awakening Mrs. Panyoki's suspicions. And whichever bought "Lebanon" at last would certainly not be left to enjoy it unmolested. So he decided it would be cheaper if they were to work together, buy the estate, share the contents of the caldron, and pay Prepelicza a certain sum yearly to hold his tongue.

So one day the brothers came to terms, and Sztolarik was very surprised when, the next day, the door opened, and in walked Boldizsar and announced that he had thought things over, and come to the conclusion that "Lebanon" was decidedly not worth 50,000 florins, and he had given up all idea of buying it.

"That does not matter," said Sztolarik, "your brother will give us 48,000 for it."

And he waited impatiently till he had a chance of speaking to Gaspar about it. But that good man calmly answered:

"It was very stupid of me to offer so much for it, and I am really grateful to you, Sztolarik, for not taking me at my word at once. Why, I can buy a good-sized estate for the money I offered for it."

The lawyer hardly knew what to do next. He was afraid he had made them go back on their bargain, by letting them carry it on so long, and felt sure he would be the laughing stock of the town, and that Gyuri would reproach him with not looking after his interests properly. So off he rushed to Boldizsar and offered him "Lebanon" for 45,000 florins; but Boldizsar only laughed, and said:

"Do you take me for a fool?"

Whereupon he went to Gaspar and said:

"Well, you may have 'Lebanon' for 40,000 florins."

Gaspar shook his head and answered:

"I'm not quite mad yet."

And now the auction began again, but this time it went _backward_, until at last, with the greatest difficulty, Sztolarik got 15,000 florins out of them. They bought it together, and both signed their names to the deeds.

On the day they received the key of the house from the guardian, they both went there, shut themselves in, and began to pull down the inner wall with the pickaxes they had brought with them under their cloaks. Of course they found the caldron, but what was in it has not become clear to this day, though that was the chief point to be settled in the Gregorics lawsuit, which took up the attention of the Besztercebanya law courts for ten years.

It began in this way. A few months after the purchase of "Lebanon," Prepelicza appeared on the scene, and demanded his share of the treasure discovered in the wall, otherwise he would make known the whole affair to Mrs. Panyoki. The brothers got mad with rage at the sight of him.

"You miserable thief!" they cried. "You were a party to the fraud practised upon us by that good-for-nothing brother of ours, who wanted to rob us in order to benefit that boy. You helped him to fill the caldron with rusty nails and bits of old iron. Now you are here, you may as well have your share."

With that they each seized hold of a stick, and began to beat Prepelicza till he was black and blue. Off he went to a doctor for a certificate as to his wounds, and then to the barber, who had to write a long letter to the king in his name, complaining of the behavior of the two brothers Gregorics toward one of his honest (?) subjects.

"If the king is not ashamed of them as subjects, I am not ashamed of owning how I have been beaten; they were two to one!"

Then he hired a cart (for it was impossible for him to walk in his present state), and drove to Varecska, where Mrs. Panyoki spent the summer, and told her the whole tale from beginning to end.

The result was the lawsuit Panyoki _versus_ Gregorics, which furnished the neighborhood with gossip for ten years. A whole legion of witnesses had to be examined, and the deeds and papers increased to such an extent that at the end they weighed seventy-three pounds. Mrs. Panyoki could only prove the existence of the caldron, its having been walled in, and its appropriation later on by the two brothers, who, on their part, tried to prove that it contained nothing of value, only a number of rusty nails and odd bits of iron. As the dead man had no lawyer to defend him, _he_ lost the lawsuit, for it was certain he had played the trick on his relations, and thus brought about the lawsuit, which only ended when it was all the same which side lost or won it, for the seventy-three pounds of paper and the six lawyers had eaten up the whole of the Gregorics and Panyoki fortunes. By degrees all the members of the family died in poverty, and were forgotten; only Pal Gregorics lived in the memories of the six lawyers, who remarked from time to time: "He was a clever man!"

But in spite of all researches, the dead man's fortune was still missing, not a trace of it was to be found, no one had inherited it except rumor, which did as it liked with it, decreased it, increased it, placed it here or there at pleasure.

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