The Poor Plutocrats | Page 8

and flung
into the sea as a corpse.
"Would you have dared to have that done to you, Margari?" interrupted
Mr. Demetrius.
"If I had a lot of money I might, begging your honour's pardon, but a
poor devil like me is only too glad to live at any price," replied Margari,
whose answer naturally had no relation whatever to the text, not a word
of which he understood.
"You are a simple fellow, Margari; but go on, go on!"
Margari gaped violently, he would have liked to have stretched himself
too, but he bethought him in time that his coat had already burst
beneath his armpits, and he had no wish to make the rent still larger, so
he let it alone and proceeded with his bitter labour.
By the time Monte Cristo had swum back to dry land, Margari's eyelids
were almost glued to his eyes and still the old gentleman showed no

sign of drowsiness. Mr. John's threat had kept Mr. Demetrius awake all
night, and consequently had kept poor Margari awake too. Once or
twice an unusually interesting episode excited the old man's attention,
and for the time he forgot all about John's duel--for example, when
Monte Cristo discovered the enormous treasure on the island--and he
would then rouse up Margari and make him go and find a map and
point out the exact position of Monte Cristo's island. Margari searched
every corner of the sea for it, and at last looked for it on the dry land
also without finding it. Tiring at length with the fruitless search he
proposed, as the best way out of the difficulty, that he should write on
the afternoon of the following day to Monsieur Alexander Dumas
himself to explain to his honour where the island used to be and
whether it still existed.
"What a blockhead you are," said the old man, "but go on, go on!"
Margari gave a great sigh and looked at the clock on the wall, but, alas!
it was still a long way from six o'clock. At last, however, while he was
still reading, the clock did strike six. Margari instantly stood up in the
middle of a sentence, marked the passage with his thumb-nail so as to
know at what word to begin again on the following evening, turned
down the leaf and closed the book.
"Well! is that the end of it?" enquired Mr. Demetrius in angry
amazement.
"I humbly beg your honour's pardon," said Margari with meek
intrepidity, "there's nothing about reading after six in our
agreement"--and off he went. Mr. Demetrius thereupon flew into a
violent rage, cursed and swore, vowed that he would dismiss his reader
on the spot, and as the morning grew lighter fell into a deep, death-like,
narcotic sleep from which he would not have awakened if the house
had come tumbling about his ears. When he did awake, about ten
o'clock, his first care was to make enquiries about Mr. John. Then he
sent the porter to the police station to inform the authorities that his son
and Mr. Hátszegi, who were both staying at the Queen of England inn,
were going to fight a duel, which should be prevented at all hazards. A
police constable, at this announcement, flung himself into a

hackney-coach and set off at full speed to make enquiries. Half an hour
later a heyduke was sent back to the porter to tell him that either the
whole affair must be a hoax, as nothing was known of a duel, or else
that the two combatants must already be dead and buried, as not a word
could be heard of either of them. Luckily, towards the afternoon, Mr.
John himself arrived in a somewhat dazed condition, like one who has
been up drinking all night. The members of the family were all sitting
together as usual in Mr. Demetrius's room, listening in silence to his
heckling, when the tidings of Mr. John's arrival reached him. Demetrius
immediately summoned him. He sent back word at first that he was
lying down to try to sleep, which was an absurd excuse for even the
richest man to give in the forenoon; on being summoned a second time
he threatened to box the porter's ears; only the third time, when
Clementina was sent with the message that if he did not come at once,
his sick father would come and fetch him, did he respond to the call
and appear before them in a pet.
"Well, thou bloodthirsty man, what has happened? What was the end of
it?"
"What has happened?" repeated John with monstrously dilated eyes.
"What marvel do you expect me to relate?"
"Clementina, Miss Kleary, Henrietta, retire," cried the old man; "retire,
go into the next room. These are not the sort