“No soft soap,” said the jockey, “for I never uses any.  However, thank you for your information; I have hitherto thought myself a’nition clever fellow, but from henceforth shall consider myself just the contrary, and only—­what’s the word?—­confounded ’cute.”

“Just so,” said I.

“Well,” said the jockey, “as you say you can speak High Dutch, I should like to hear you and master six foot six fire away at each other.”

“I cannot speak German,” said I, “but I can understand tolerably well what others say in it.”

“Come no backing out,” said the jockey, “let’s hear you fire away for the glory of Old England.”

“Then you are a German?” said I, in German to the foreigner.

“That will do,” said the jockey, “keep it up.”

“A German!” said the tall foreigner.  “No, I thank God that I do not belong to the stupid sluggish Germanic race, but to a braver, taller, and handsomer people;” here taking the pipe out of his mouth, he stood up proudly erect, so that his head nearly touched the ceiling of the room, then reseating himself, and again putting the syphon to his lips, he added, “I am a Magyar.”

“What is that?” said I.

The foreigner looked at me for a moment, somewhat contemptuously, through the smoke, then said, in a voice of thunder, “A Hungarian!”

“What a voice the chap has when he pleases!” interposed the jockey; “what is he saying?”

“Merely that he is a Hungarian,” said I; but I added, “the conversation of this gentleman and myself in a language which you can’t understand must be very tedious to you, we had better give it up.”

“Keep on with it,” said the jockey, “I shall go on listening very contentedly till I fall asleep, no bad thing to do at most times.”

CHAPTER XXXIX

The Hungarian.

“Then you are a countryman of Tekeli, and of the queen who made the celebrated water,” said I, speaking to the Hungarian in German, which I was able to do tolerably well, owing to my having translated the Publisher’s philosophy into that language, always provided I did not attempt to say much at a time.

Hungarian.  Ah! you have heard of Tekeli, and of L’eau de la Reine d’Hongrie.  How is that?

Myself.  I have seen a play acted, founded on the exploits of Tekeli, and have read Pigault Le Brun’s beautiful romance, entitled the “Barons of Felsheim,” in which he is mentioned.  As for the water, I have heard a lady, the wife of a master of mine, speak of it.

Hungarian.  Was she handsome?

Myself.  Very.

Hungarian.  Did she possess the water?

Myself.  I should say not; for I have heard her express a great curiosity about it.

Hungarian.  Was she growing old?

Myself.  Of course not; but why do you put all these questions?