"Nothing at all," snarled his luck.
"Very well," said Hans, "we will see about that."
So he carried it home with him, and threw sack and all into a nasty pot where Catherine cast the scrapings of the dishes—the fat and what not that she boiled down into soap now and then. There he left his luck to stay until the next day, and then he went to it again. "What will you do for me if I will let you out now?" said he.
"Nothing at all," snarled his luck.
"Very well," said Hans, "we will see about that." So he let him stay where he was for another day. And so the fiddle played; every day Hans Hecklemann went to his luck and asked it what it would give him if he would let
it out, and every day his luck said nothing; and so a week or more passed.
"Hans finds his Luck"
At last Hans's luck gave in.