CHAPTER III.
THE WHITSUN KING.
And now we are home again in poor dear Hungary.
It is the red dawn of a Whitsun Day, and a real dawn it is.

Very early, soon after the first cock-crow, a band of brown musicians began marching along the roads of Nagy-Kun-Madaras, and in front of them, with a long hazel-wood wand in his hand, strutted a sworn burgher of the town, whose face seemed full of angry dignity because he was engaged on an important official function before ever a drop of _palinka_ had crossed his lips.
The worthy sworn burgher was honourably clad in blue, which well becomes a man in his official capacity; his spiral hat was adorned by a couple of large peonies in full bloom; in his button-hole was a posy of pinks and vine leaves; his silk vest had silver buttons; his face was red, his moustache pointed, his boots shaggy and spurred.

He kept raising his feet as gingerly as if he were walking on eggs, and not for all the world would he have looked on either side of him, still less upon the gipsy minstrels behind his back; only when he came in front of the door of any burgher or town councillor he would signify, by raising his stick, that they were to walk more slowly, while the trumpets blared all the louder.
Everywhere the loud music aroused the inhabitants of the streets.
Windows and blinds were thrown open and drawn up, and the young women, covering their bosoms with aprons, popped their heads out and wished Mr.
Andrew Varju a very good morning.

But Mr.Andrew Varju recognized nobody, for he was now the holder of a high office which did not permit of condescension.
But now he reached the houses of the civic notabilities, and here he had to go indoors, for he had particular business with them.

This particular business consisted of a drink of _palinka_, which awaited him there, and whose softening effect was visible on his face when he came back again.
This accomplished, the most important invitation of all remained to the last, to wit, that of his honour the most noble Master Jock, which had to be given in due order.
Now, this was no joke, for Master Jock had the amiable habit of keeping tame bears in his courtyard, which devour a man without the slightest regard to his official position; or the poor man might stray among the watch-dogs, and be torn to ribbons.