If the fellow cursed and swore, as he was pretty sure to do, he should have a good hiding from the heydukes.

As the innkeeper was himself a gentleman, the whole joke would possibly cost about a couple of thousand of florins or so, but the fun was quite worth that.
So he called up his serving-men, and made them harness horses and light torches, and set off through the pathless darkness with twelve heydukes, taking with him everything necessary for eating and drinking, in order to have a banquet in honour of the jest as soon as it was accomplished, not forgetting to carry along with him the three personages who chiefly ministered to his amusement, and whom he sent on before him in a separate waggon, to wit, his favourite greyhound, his gipsy jester, and his parasitical poet, all three of whom made a nice little group together.
Now, worthy Mr.Peter Bus was famous far and wide for his peculiar sensitiveness to insult; the merest trifle was sufficient to lash him into a fury.

A heyduke, therefore, was sent on in advance, who rattled at his windows like a savage, and bellowed at the top of his voice-- "Get up there, you innkeeper fellow! Get up, get up! You are required to wait upon your betters, and look sharp about it!" At these words Peter Bus bounded to his feet as if he had been shot from a gun, snatched up his _fokos_, looked out of the window, and perceiving the brilliant array of serving-men, who lit up the whole house with their torches, instantly guessed with whom he had to do.

He now grasped the fact that they wanted to make him fly into a rage for their especial amusement, and resolved for that very reason not to fly into a rage at all.

So he hung his _fokos_ up nicely on its nail again, thrust his head into his sheepskin cap, threw his _bunda_ over his shoulders, and stepped out.
All the newly arrived guests were already inside the courtyard.