“In my hand.”
“Can you carry a live coal in your hand?”
“Oh yes!” said Babo; “I can do that easily enough.”
“Well, I should like to see you do it,” said Simon Agricola.
“Then I will show you,” said Babo. He spread a bed of cold, dead ashes upon his palm. “Now,” said he, “I will take the ember upon that.”
Agricola rolled up his eyes like a duck in a thunder-storm. “Well,” said he, “I have lived more than seventy years, and have read all the books in the world; I have practised magic and necromancy, and know all about algebra and geometry, and yet, wise as I am, I never thought of this little thing.”
That is the way with your wise man.
“Pooh!” said Babo; “that is nothing. I know how to do many more tricks than that.”
“Do you?” said Simon Agricola; “then listen: to-morrow I am going out into the world to make my fortune, for little or nothing is to be had in this town. If you will go along with me I will make your fortune also.”
“Very well,” said Babo, and the bargain was struck. So the next morning bright and early off they started upon their journey, cheek by jowl, the wise man and the simpleton, to make their fortunes in the wide world, and the two of them made a pair. On they jogged and on they jogged, and the way was none too smooth. By-and-by they came to a great field covered all over with round stones.