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With the net came the rest of the fishes, and the fogasch-king was among them a splendid specimen indeed, more than forty pounds weight, such as is only seen once in twenty years. He had really torn the net with his great head; but he had caught his prickly fins in the meshes, and could not get free.
The carp jump like water-rats, but no one notices they can not get away. The lazier fishes lie in heaps on both sides. "I said so," murmured old Galambos; "I knew we should have a good catch. Wherever our gracious master shows himself, luck comes with him. If only we could catch the fogasch-king." "If I am not mistaken, we've got him in there," said the man who was next him at the rope.
The dog-fish were knocked on the head, the net shook out many beautiful white fogasch and schille; but the fogasch-king would not show himself. "He has got away again," grumbled the old chief. "No, no; he is in the net still!" said the hauling-men, clinching their teeth. "I feel by my arms how he is pushing and fighting; if only he does not break the net."
Meanwhile the fishermen had finished carrying the fish into the ice-house. The joyous crowd dispersed on their homeward way, not without cheers for the feast-giver, the generous Baron von Levetinczy. Timar stayed till Galambos had packed the fogasch-king in a box, between ice and hay, and nailed the lid down.
These were the mortal remains of Michael Timar Levetinczy, who disappeared so suddenly after the memorable capture of the fogasch-king, and for whose return those at home had waited so long. On the body could be recognized clothes belonging to that gentleman his astrakhan pelisse, his studs, and his initials marked on the shirt.
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