A little gipsy-ragout is at your service, however," replied Peter Bus.
"I beg your pardon," cried the gipsy, "but that is my kinsman, and you are not allowed to roast him." His lordship fell a-laughing at this insipid jest.

Such witticisms formed no small part of his amusement, and because the innkeeper had humoured him, his intentions towards him had completely changed.
"Then what _can_ you give your guests ?" he resumed.
"Everything, my lord.

Only, unfortunately, what is mine is all gone, what will be mine is far off, and what should be mine is nowhere." His lordship was so pleased with this circumlocution of "nothing" that he burst out laughing, and, wishing to immortalize it, exclaimed-- "Where is Gyarfas?
Where is that poet fellow skulking now ?" And yet the worthy fellow was standing close beside him with his hands folded behind his back, and with his pale, withered, parchment-like face peevishly regarding the whole entertainment.

"Look alive, Gyarfas! Quick! Make a verse upon this inn, where people can get nothing to eat!" Mr.Gyarfas cast down his eyelashes, drew his mouth up to his nose, and, tapping his brow with the tip of his finger, delivered himself of this extemporized verse-- "If thou bring not to eat with thee hither, All empty the plates stand before thee.
The fast of this house is eternal; The Turk will not visit this shanty." "What's the man talking about! What has the Turk to do with this _csarda_ ?" "He has a great deal to do with it," responded Gyarfas, placidly, "inasmuch as the Turk needs to eat, though he does not always get the chance, and therefore would not be likely to come here where he would find nothing, so the verse is perfect." The Nabob now suddenly turned towards the landlord.
"Have you a mouse on the premises then ?" "They are not mine, my lord.

I only rent the house.