While they were on their way: “Well, comrade,” said Gans to Blaeskaek, “what is thy opinion of this apothecary?”
“A dog of a heretic!” said Blaeskaek, “a heathen, a despiser of all good and all virtue. For ’twas treasonable and wicked counsel he gave us.”
“True, my good friend, true. And is it not besides a great heresy to dare tell us that this deviling on his cask is he who invented beer, wine, and ale, when we have heard it preached every Sunday in our church that St. Noah, under the instruction of Our Lord Jesus Christ”—here both crossed themselves—“invented these things.”
“For my part,” said Blaeskaek, “I know I have heard that preached above a hundred times.”
Here, seating themselves on the grass, they began to refresh themselves with a fine Ghent sausage, brought by Pieter Gans against such time as they should feel hungry.
“There, there,” said he, “let us not forget the Benedicite, my friend. So, perhaps, we may escape burning. For ’tis to God we owe this meat: may he deign to keep us always in his holy faith.”
“Amen,” said Blaeskaek; “but, my master, between us we must certainly break up this wicked statue.”
“He who has no sheep fears no wolves. ’Tis easy enough for thee to talk comfortably of breaking up this deviling.”
“’Twould be a deed much to our credit.”
“But if he come back again to wail each night so piteously: ’Drink! Drink!’ And if he turn angry with me and cast spells on my beer and my wine, and make me as poor as Job! Nay, better follow the advice of the apothecary.”