St. Peter's Umbrella Part 17

CHAPTER III.

THE TRACES LEAD TO GLOGOVA.

One fine spring afternoon, a light sort of dog-cart stopped before Mrs.

Muncz'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. Muncz?"

"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 ap.r.o.n.

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

"I can a.s.sure 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. Muncz, 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. Muncz 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. Muncz's turn to be confused.