nap or at other times they got into such an earnest conversation that they did not know how to end it. Matýsek knew how to lead one into strange discussions and often Barka shivered in wonderment at him.
For instance, if, from their position on the boundary line, he saw a carriage approaching on the highway, he would begin conjecturing who rode in it, whether the steward from the court, the brewer from the city or, perhaps, the Prince himself.
“There ought to be a law against certain people always riding while others must continually go on foot and also against some persons having great wealth while others have nothing,” Matýsek reasoned between conjectures.
“The court will hardly make a law against such things,” was Barka’s opinion.
“I’m quite sure the rich men won’t permit such a law,” grinned Matýsek. And to think that people said he was weak mentally!
“Perhaps if God wished it, it would come to pass,” judged Barka. “But most likely it isn’t the law because it wouldn’t agree with everyone’s health.”
Matýsek remained firm, however, that a law should be enacted making it possible for all people to ride in carriages and from that stand he refused to budge. But Barka nevertheless tripped him up on the matter.
“And who, good friend, would then look after the horses? Who would water and feed them?”
Matýsek could not quickly answer and remained
