Once he came to a lawyer’s office, and there they wished to put him off with a paper scrawled over with pot-hooks, telling him to come another day. “And, pray, why should I come another day when I am here to-day”, answered Bartos testily. “What is that?” said the official. “That I will not stir hence until my business is transacted.” The official shouted to a clerk. Just as he had uttered the words Bartos stepped up to the table behind which sat the official, and said tartly, “A clerk on me! Here I am if you want me. Then he struck the official’s table such a blow with his stick that it set all the pens and pencils skipping, and shouted, “Am I then come to look for justice at some booby’s office!” Hereupon all the official staff rushed in pell-mell, but as soon as they saw Bartos they whispered something to their chief, whom the affair had compromised, and in five minutes Bartos’s business was transacted. It is to be understood that now none of the clerks were forthcoming, and if they had come it would have been just the same.
If some of my readers think these answers and sayings of Bartos somewhat rough and boorish, I cannot help it. But still I say that he only paid folks in their own coin, and that he only paid them out in this manner when they as good as braved him to do so. But if the brutalities and all the insulting expressions were noted down, which in previous times (every one knows how long ago I mean) the officials permitted themselves to use towards the people, a pretty large column might be compiled. Also it came to pass sometimes that the neighbours grumbled in the presence of Bartos about the brutal behaviour of the officials. “It is a curious thing,” said Bartos, “I have had no fault to find with them now for a long time.”
Once he came to an office and the official was smoking. Bartos also drew out a well-filled pipe and lighted it. “Do you think you are in the servants’ hall?” objected the official. “Yes,” answered Bartos, “here is smoke as if from a lot of stable-boys”, and they passed it over.
In other respects Bartos was, as we have said, intrinsically good-hearted, and even not without humour. About a hundred paces from the burial-ground stood several pear-trees which belonged to the neighbours of Frishets, but they allowed Bartos to take the fruit in requital for his various services, so that Bartos might say the pears were his. Once, on a Sunday afternoon, thinking that Bartos was not at home, two lads climbed into the pear-tree and shook off the fruit into bags. But, as it fell out,
