“Little Glipper, tell me, for how many pieces of silver did Judas sell the Saviour?”
Young Matanesse Van Wibisma made an indignant gesture, but controlled himself until Jan Mulder stepped in front of him, holding his little cloth cap, into which he had thrust a hen’s feather, under his chin like a beggar, and saying humbly:
“Give me a little shrove-money for our tom-cat, Sir Grandee; he stole a leg of veal from the butcher yesterday.”
“Out of my way!” said the youth in a haughty, resolute tone, trying to push Mulder aside with the back of his hand.
“Hands off, Glipper!” cried the school-boys, raising their clenched hands threateningly.
“Then let me alone,” replied Wibisma, “I want no quarrel, least of all with you.”
“Why not with us?” asked Adrian Van der Werff, irritated by the supercilious, arrogant tone of the last words.
The youth shrugged his shoulders, but Adrian cried: “Because you like your Spanish costume better than our doublets of Leyden cloth.”
Here he paused, for Jan Mulder stole behind Wibisma, struck his hat down on his head with a book, and while Nicolas Van Wibisma was trying to free his eyes from the covering that shaded them, exclaimed:
“There, Sir Grandee, now the little hat sits firm! You can keep it on, even before the king.”