“You only burn half a day for a quart too much. And I have ten thousand years of indulgence in my pouch. Who would like a hundred so as to be able to drown his belly without fear or favour?”
All cried out:
“What is your price for them?”
“A quart,” replied Claes, “but I will give a hundred and fifty for a muske conyn.”
Certain drinkers paid Claes, one a stoup, one a piece of ham, and he cut off a little strip of parchment for each of them. It was not Claes who ate and drank the price of the indulgence, but Lamme Goedzak, who ate until he was visibly a-swelling while Claes came and went through the tavern retailing his wares.
Grypstuiver, turning his sour face towards him:
“Have you a piece for ten days?” said he.
“No,” said Claes, “it’s too hard to cut.”
And everyone laughed, and Grypstuiver swallowed his rage. Then Claes went off to his cottage, followed by Lamme, walking as if his legs were made of wool.