“To No. 71 and 72,” said the garçon.
“I don’t care what number it is—number thousand, if you like—but I didn’t come here to climb up a tower!”
“We shall be there directly,” said Karel, still flying on ahead.
“Go on, then!” said Gerrit, taking courage; and on they went again, up stairs and more stairs—there was no end to it.
“Are we not there yet?” sighed Meeuwsen, when Gijs had counted the forty-fifth flight of steps, and they had come to an arched doorway.
“This way round!” cried Karel, and flew on, still higher.
“No! that’s too much; I give it up!” cried Gerrit, holding fast to the banisters. “It’s enough to drive a man crazy! I’ll go no farther.”
“Only a few more,” said Karel persuasively. At last, when Gijs had counted sixty-three, the two, panting and gasping, reached their goal—Nos. 71 and 72.
“Ici,” said Karel, throwing open both doors almost at the same moment.
“Ici or no ici” muttered the farmer, “what I say is that no decent man can be expected to do it!”