Well, the upshot of the business was that Simon Agricola had to go back and bring life to the woman again, or the cook would thump him and Babo both with the rolling-pin. And, what was more, Babo had to pay back the two hundred pennies that the cook had given him for curing his wife.
The wise man made a cross upon the woman’s forehead, and up she sat, as well—but no better—as before.
“And now be off,” said the cook, “or I will call the servants and give you both a drubbing for a pair of scamps.”
Simon Agricola said never a word until they had gotten out of the town. There his anger boiled over, like water into the fire. “Look,” said he to Babo: “Born a fool, live a fool, die a fool.’ I want no more of you. Here are two roads; you take one, and I will take the other.”
“What!” said Babo, “am I to travel the rest of the way alone? And then, besides, how about the fortune you promised me?”
“Never mind that,” said Simon Agricola; “I have not made my own fortune yet.”
“Well, at least pay me something for my wages,” said Babo.
“How shall I pay you?” said Simon Agricola. “I have not a single groat in the world.”
“What!” said Babo, “have you nothing to give me?”
“I can give you a piece of advice.”