“Must I take a yard stick?” said she.
“Take mine,” replied Ulenspiegel.
She laughed, but he must needs be gone.
LVI
Lamme Goedzak, in these days, came once more to live in Damme, the country of Liège being far from tranquil on account of heresy. His wife followed him with a good will, because the Liège people, good mockers by nature, made game of her husband’s easy meekness.
Lamme often visited Claes, who since he had his inheritance, haunted the tavern of the Blauwe Torre and had chosen out a table there for himself and his boon companions. At the next table there sat, meanly drinking his pint pot, Josse Grypstuiver, the miserly dean of the fishmongers, a scurvy fellow, niggard, living on red herrings, loving money more than his soul’s salvation. Claes had put in his pouch the piece of parchment on which were marked his ten thousand years of indulgence.
One night when he was at the Blauwe Torre in the company of Lamme Goedzak, Jan van Roosebekke, and Mathys van Assche, Josse Grypstuiver being present, Claes made good play with the pot, and Jan Roosebekke said to him:
“’Tis a sin to drink so much!”
Claes replied: