Jump to content

Page:The Czechoslovak Review, vol4, 1920.pdf/225

From Wikisource
This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
THE CZECHOSLOVAK REVIEW
201

eled looked like house-boats on wheels. They swayed and wobbled from side to side, and I know the occupants must have been good sailors or they could not have stood it. From the tiny piece of stovepipe which stuck out of the roof of each, smoke was ascending, and the damp pasty smell of dumplings came through the open window. The drivers of the two wagons were gypsy looking fellows, burnt black by the sun.
Mount Milešovka in Northern Bohemia.
We followed them from one place to another and might have gone along to theircamp and eaten supper with them, if Miloš had not suddenly come charging under an arch-way toward us, conjuring us to listen to his account of the way he got his glasses fixed. According to his eloquent representations, it happened somewhat in this way.

It seems that he finally found a shop which was not closed, and a damsel was working with a broom, sweeping it out. He asked her if she thought the proprietor would repair the clasp for him, to which the maiden made spirited answer that she was perfectly sure he would not, because it was after hours. Miloš then began to plead that he could not see the road, the houses, the signs, and so on, but the girl with the broom was as unsympathetic as a piece of flint. After some minutes of such sparring, Miloš deliberately went over to the work-table, and sat down at it, hunting about for tools. The girl asked him what he was doing. Milox replied that he was going to fix it himself, whether or no, because he was determined to see her through the glasses and find out whether her looks were as cruel as her disposition. This, we were led to believe, melted the heart of the fair creature so completely that she sat down and did the work for him herself.

Milada had remained silent during this recital and when it was finished she began, to my great surprise, to tell of some interesting passages between herself and the driver of one of the komedianti wagons. There was not a single word of truth in the whole of her story, and I could do nothing but gulp and suppress my hilarity. Miloš, however, took it very seriously. Milada