"There's a man up at Overveen who has a new hybrid now, a sport of 'Schone Juffrouw'--the bulb has matured to perfection, he is putting it up for auction next week," said Mynheer van Zilcken. "It will fetch in the open market sixteen thousand at least," commented Mynheer van der Meer sententiously. "I would give that for it and more," rejoined the other, "if it is as perfect as the man declares it to be." "Too late," now interposed Mynheer Beresteyn with a curt laugh, "I purchased the bulb from the man at Overveen this afternoon. He did not exaggerate its merits. I never saw a finer bulb." "You bought it?" exclaimed the Burgomaster in tones that were anything but friendly toward his fellow councillor. "This very afternoon," replied the other. "I have it in the inner pocket of my doublet at this moment." And he pressed his hand to his side, making sure that the precious bulb still reposed next to his heart. "I gave the lout fifteen thousand florins for it," he added airily, "he was glad not to take the risks of an auction, and I equally glad to steal a march on my friends." The three men, who were leaning up against the wall of the Stadhuis, and who had overheard this conversation, declared subsequently that they learned then and there an entirely new and absolutely comprehensive string of oaths, the sound of which they had never even known of before, from the two solemn and sober town-councillors who found themselves baulked of a coveted prize. But this I do not altogether believe; for the three eavesdroppers had already forgotten more about swearing than all the burghers of Haarlem put together had ever known. In the meantime the town councillors had reached the foot of the steps: here they parted company and there was a marked coldness in the manner of some of them toward Mynheer Beresteyn, who still pressed his hand against his doublet, in the inner pocket of which reposed a bit of dormant vegetation for which he had that same afternoon paid no less a sum than fifteen thousand florins. "There goes a lucky devil," said a mocking voice in tones wherein ripples of laughter struggled for ever for mastery. It came from one of the three men who had listened to the conversation between the town-councillors on the subject of tulips and of tulip bulbs. "To think," he continued, "that I have never even seen as much as fifteen thousand florins all at once. By St. Bavon himself do I swear that for the mere handling of so much money I would be capable of the most heroic deeds ... such as killing my worst enemy ... or ... or ... knocking that obese and self-complacent councillor in the stomach." "Say but the word, good Diogenes," said a gruff voice in response, "the lucky devil ye speak of need not remain long in possession of that bulb. He hath name Beresteyn.... I think I know whereabouts he lives ... the hour is late ... the fog fairly dense in the narrow streets of the city ... say but the word...."