For thirty, then.
No; Master Jacob would not sell his goat for thirty dollars, either.
Well, they would give as much as forty.
No; forty dollars was not enough for such a goat as that.
So they bargained and bargained till the upshot of the matter was that they paid Master Jacob fifty dollars, and marched off with the goat as pleased as pleased could be.
Well, the three rogues were not long in finding out what a trick had been played upon them, I can tell you. So, in a day or two, whom should Master Jacob see coming down the road but the priest, the provost, and the master mayor, and anybody could see with half an eye that they were in an awful fume.
“Hi!” says Master Jacob, “there will be hot water boiling presently.” In he went to his good wife. “Here,” says he, “take this bladder of blood that we were going to make into pudding, and hide it under your apron, and then when I do this and that, you do thus and so.”
Presently in came the priest, the provost, and the mayor, bubbling and sizzling like water on slake lime. “What kind of a goat was that that you sold us?” bawled they, as soon as they could catch their breaths.
“My black goat,” says Master Jacob.
Then look! He would run on no errands, and would do nothing that it was told. It was of no more use about the house than five wheels to a wagon. Now Master Jacob might just go and put his hat on and come along with them, for they were about to take him away to prison.