The Strange Story of Rab Ráby. Mór Jókai
that. I mean to settle down and buy myself a house, with a field and vineyard. As an inhabitant of the city, I shall have the right to mix myself up in local affairs."
"That sounds like business. For that matter, I can recommend you a house that belonged to the notary's brother. It's a fine property, with garden, vineyard, and meadow attached. The owner is a drunken good-for-nothing, and over head and ears in debt, but can, by realising the property, pay his debts, and still have something left. Leave the contract to me."
"Agreed then, uncle. The money question can soon be settled, as I have what will be necessary."
"So far, so good. But after, when you have your facts, who is going to be prosecutor?"
"I myself will be."
The old gentleman stroked his moustache doubtfully.
"Oho, my boy, that's a dangerous game. Do you know that the law won't allow you to do it anonymously? The prosecutor must act in his own name."
"I shall lodge my complaint openly so that the guilty can recognise me."
"Then be sure they will try and get rid of you."
"That is the fortune of war."
The old man smiled slily.
"It has just occurred to me you can't be prosecutor."
"Why not?"
"Why, pray, have you not studied law in Vienna? Docs not the decree of St. Stephen lay it down that the prosecutor must be a married man? If you are single, you are not qualified to make the depositions."
"All right, I'll marry."
His hearer fairly shook with laughter.
"My boy, I've heard many motives suggested for matrimony, but never one like yours. You are going to marry to help the people to their rights! Remember that—
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