bodies.” The chaps took fright and fled, but Bartos had merely a splinter of wood in his hand in place of a knife.
Of his youthful experiences especially, many stories were told. He was once in an ale-house where music was playing, and the lads were disputing who should have the honour of dancing a solo.
When they could in no wise determine among themselves, Bartos stepped up to the table, behind which sat the musicians, clapped his fist down upon it, and shouted out, “Play me a solo.” The musicians tuned up, and Bartos had already begun to spin round in the waltz with some damsel or other. But his comrades would not leave him in peace. Like one man they clubbed together against him, and tried to hinder him from dancing. Bartos let go his partner, caught the foremost of the lads with one hand by the neck, with the other hand by the girdle, lifted him off his feet high in the air, began to chevy the others with him, to strike them blindly with him, and to press them towards the doorway until he pressed them through it; then he flung the one whom he had held by the neck and the girdle among them, and said, “Take him, it was he who worsted you.” Then he looked around for his partner, she was cowering under a bench in a corner of the room and trembled all over. Says Bartos, “Just come out of that”, and then to the musicians, “You have not finished playing us the solo.” Never in her life had the damsel danced as she did that day. The servants peeped in at the window to see how she and Bartos danced together, and he danced until he was out of breath. When he could not make another step, he called to those who stood outside, “Now you may come in, now I will let you have your turn.”
But Bartos was by no means a gross tyrannical sort of giant. Never in his life had he ever challenged any one, never in his life had he ever given the first blow, after that, if he gave one, it was scored in the popular memory. Nor was he the least at feud with the gentry in public offices, only that there again he had a tongue in its proper place and lammed into them with words. He had no fear of persons, be they gentle or humble; of the gentry still less than of the humble.
He carried money for his neighbours to the public offices and into the city; who, pray, could take it into the town more securely, who, pray, could do their business for them better than Bartos? But God preserve the official who dared to touch him even with a harsh look! Or just fancy if they had threatened him with the
