ying, Gyuri," he said to his sobbing pupil, "I feel it. It was
only Gregorics kept me alive, or rather I kept myself alive for his
sake. But now I'm done for. I don't know if he has provided for your
future, my poor boy, but it's all over with me, I'm dying, I wouldn't
mind betting it."

And he would have won his bet too. Gyuri went home for Gregorics's
funeral, and a week later the landlady sent word that the old professor
was dead, and he was to send money for the funeral.

But what was Kupeczky's death to that of Gregorics? The poor old fellow
was quite right to take his departure, for no one wanted him, no one
took any notice of him. He slipped quietly into the next world, just as
one ought to do; even during his life he caused no disturbance; he was
here, he went, and there was an end of it. But Pal Gregorics went to
work in quite a different style. He was taken ill with cramp on the
Thursday in Holy Week, and went to bed in great pain. After a time the
cramp ceased, but left him very weak, and he fell asleep toward evening.
Some hours after he opened his eyes and said:

"Anna, bring me my umbrella, and put it here, near my bed. That's it!
Now I feel better!"

He turned over and went to sleep again, but soon woke up with a start.

"Anna," he said, "I have had a fearful dream. I thought I was a horse,
and was being taken to a fair to be sold. My step-brothers and nephews
appeared on the scene, and began to bid for me, and I stood trembling
there, wondering which of them I was to belong to. My brother Boldizsar
pulled open my mouth, examined my teeth, and then said, 'He is not worth
anything, we could only get five florins for his skin.' As he was
speaking, up came a man with a scythe. He poked me in the ribs (it hurts
me still), and exclaimed, 'The horse is mine, I'll buy it.' I turned and
looked at him, and was horrified to see it was Death himself. 'But I
will not give the halter with the horse,' said my owner. 'It does not
matter,' answered the man with the scythe, 'I can get one from the shop
round the corner; wait a minute, I'll be back directly.' And then I
awoke. Oh, it was dreadful!"

His red hair stood on end, and beads of perspiration rolled down his
face, which Anna wiped with a handkerchief.

"Nonsense," she said, "you must not believe in dreams; they do not come
from Heaven, but from indigestion."

"No, no," said the sick man, "I'm going, I feel it. My time will be up
when they bring the halter