“I must really eat, or I shall make the man furious.—Give me your spoon; but listen, I can tell you, if the noodles are not good, I shall be angry.” He took the plate and began to eat.
The soldiers all stopped, and looked eagerly at the king. When he had swallowed the first bite, Fritz Kober could no longer restrain his curiosity.
“Well, sire,” he said, triumphantly, “what do you say to it! Can’t Buschman prepare better noodles than your cleverest cook?”
“Verily,” said the king, smiling, “he never cooked such noodles for me, and I must say they are good, but, now I have had enough, and I am much obliged to you.”
He wished to return his plate to Fritz Kober, but Fritz shook his head violently.
“See here, your majesty, no one gets off from us with just a ‘thank you,’ and you, least of all, sire; every one must pay his part.”
“Well,” said the king, “how much is my share?”
“It cost each of us three groschen; the king may pay what he pleases.”
“Will you credit me, dragoon?” said the king, who searched his pockets in vain for money.
“Oh! yes, your majesty, I will credit you, but only until tomorrow morning, early; for, if a cannon-ball took my head off, I could not dun your majesty, and you would be my debtor to all eternity.”