“How much is it?” asked Gerrit.
The conductor gave a look round, and then said, under his breath—
“Only ten stivers[[18]] each, sir. I can’t ask you for more.”
Meeuwsen gave him a florin, whereupon he asked whether the gentleman couldn’t spare him a trifle for himself!
This question was answered by the good-natured farmer thrusting a kwartje[[19]] into his hand; and the unscrupulous rascal drove away, laughing in his sleeve.
Gerrit, and Gijs with the carpet-bag on his back, stared for a long time at the fine house, with the gilt letters on the front; and at length ventured to go up the steps, though they could not make up their minds to venture in.
“What do you want?” politely asked a handsome young gentleman, in a snow-white waistcoat and a beautiful black jacket, who came out of the broad hall and walked up to them.
“Lodgings,” answered Gerrit.
“For yourself?” asked the young gentleman, who, seen at close quarters, seemed older than his jacket would have led one to suppose.
“I and my son Gijs,” said Gerrit.