et to show their mettle, and lay bets with
one another. Shortly afterwards a cloud of dust arising from below the
gardens declares that Master Jock is approaching. No sooner are the
carriages visible than they are welcomed by a thundering huzzah, which
presently passes over into peals of merry laughter. For Master Jock had
hit upon the joke of dressing the gipsy Vidra in a splendid costume of
cloth of gold, and making him sit in the family state-carriage drawn by
four horses, while he himself came huddled up in a common peasant-cart
immediately afterwards, and the honest country-folks loudly applauded
the gold-bedizened costume till they perceived that there was only a
gipsy inside it, whereupon the laughter grew louder still, which greatly
amused the good gentleman.

With him came, besides his court jesters, those of his boon companions
whom he liked the best. Number one was Miska Horhi, the owner of an
estate of five thousand acres or so at the other end of the kingdom, who
would skip over to his crony in March and stay till August, simply to
ask him who he thought would be the next vice-lord-lieutenant of the
county, leaving word at home that the crops were to be left untouched,
and nothing was to be done till he returned. Number two was the famous
Laczi Csenkoe, the owner of the finest stud in the _Alfoeld_, who, rather
than tire his own beautiful horses, preferred to go on foot, unless he
could drive in somebody else's conveyance. Number three was Loerincz
Berki, the most famous hunter and courser in the county, who told
falsehoods as glibly as if he lied from dictation. Number four was
Friczi Kalotai, who had the bad habit of instantly purloining whatever
came in his way, whether it were a pipe, a silver spoon, or a watch.
Nevertheless, this habit of his was not without its advantages, for
whenever his acquaintances lost anything, they always knew exactly where
to look for it, and would simply seize him by the neck and turn out his
pockets, without offending him the least bit in the world. Last of all
came Bandi Kutyfalvi, the most magnificent tippler and swash-buckler in
the realm, who, in his cups, invariably cudgelled all his boon
companions; but he had the liquid capacity of a hippopotamus, and nobody
had ever seen him dead-drunk in his life.

On the arrival of these distinguished guests, the brown musicians blew a
threefold flourish with their trumpets, and the principal jurors
measured the racecourse, at on