ted dress! Believe me, the renowned Worth might with
advantage take a walk in the woods, and learn the art of combining
shades from the butterflies."

"Gently, Wladin!" called out Mrs. Szliminszky at this moment. "How many
lungs have you? A three-kreutzer stamp is sufficient for local letters."

Wladin and Senator Fajka were wondering how matters would stand if they
were both very deaf, and Wladin was talking so loudly that his loving
spouse felt bound to put in a word of remonstrance, and request him to
have some respect for his lungs.

"They are quite close to each other, and yet they shout as though they
were trying to persuade some one not to put a fifteen-kreutzer stamp on
a local letter. Oh dear! When will people be more sensible?"

At that moment, Senator Konopka rose and drank to the health of the
host, the "regenerator" of Babaszek. He spoke in exactly the same thin,
piping voice as Mr. Mravucsan; when the guests closed their eyes, they
really believed the master of the house himself was speaking, and
sounding his own praises; of course this caused great amusement. Upon
that up sprang the mayor, and answered the toast in Konopka's voice,
with just the same grimaces and movements he always made, and the
merriment rose in proportion. Kings do this too in another form, for at
meetings and banquets they pay each other the compliment of dressing up
in each other's uniforms; and yet no one thinks of laughing at them.

Toast succeeded toast.

"You have let the dogs loose now," whispered Fajka to Konopka.

Mokry drank to the health of the lady of the house, and then Mravucsan
stood up a second time to return thanks in his wife's name. He remarked
that, to their great disappointment, one of those invited had been
unable to come, namely, Mrs. Muencz, who had at the last moment had an
attack of gout in her foot, which was no wonder, considering the amount
of standing and running about she did when there was a fair in their
town. Then they all emptied their glasses to the health of the old
Jewess.

After the shouts of acclamation had died away, Wladin Szliminszky called
out:

"Now it is my turn!"

"Wladin, don't make a speech!" cried his wife. "You know it is bad for
your lungs to speak so loud."

But she could do nothing now to prevent him; a henpecked husband is
capable of everything; he will button or unbutton his coat, eat or drink
to order, but refrain from making the speech his brain has conceived he
wi