“Fifteen absences, fifteen absences,” repeated Placido in amazement. “I have never been absent more than four times, and, with to-day, perhaps five.” “Jesso, jesso, monseer,” [40] replied the professor, examining the youth over his gold eye-glasses. “You confess that you have missed five times, and God knows if you have missed oftener. Atqui, as I rarely call the roll, every time I catch any one I put five marks against him; ergo, how many are five times five? Have you forgotten the multiplication-table? Five times five?” “Twenty-five.” “Correct, correct! Thus you have still got away with ten, because I have caught you only three times. Huh, if I had caught you every time—Now how many are three times five?” “Fifteen.” “Fifteen, right you are!” concluded the professor, closing the register. “If you miss once more—out of doors with you, get out! Ha, now a mark for the failure in the daily lesson.” He again opened the register, sought out the name, and entered the mark. “Come, only one mark,” he said, “since you hadn’t any before.” “But, Padre,” exclaimed Placido, restraining himself, “if your Reverence puts a mark against me for failing in the lesson, your Reverence owes it to me to erase the one for absence that you have put against me for to-day.” His Reverence made no answer. First, he slowly entered the mark, then contemplated it with his head on one side—the mark must be artistic—closed the register, and asked with great sarcasm, “Abá, and why so, sir?” “Because I can’t conceive, Padre, how one can be absent from the class and at the same time recite the lesson in it. Your Reverence is saying that to be is not to be.” “Nakú, a metaphysician, but a rather premature one! So you can’t conceive of it, eh? Sed patet experientia and contra experientiam negantem, fusilibus est arguendum, do you understand? And can’t you conceive with your philosophical head that one can be absent from the class and not know the lesson at the same time? Is it a fact that absence necessarily implies knowledge? What do you say to that, philosophaster?” This last epithet was the drop of water that made the full cup overflow. Placido enjoyed among his friends the reputation of being a philosopher, so he lost his patience, threw down his book, arose, and faced the professor. “Enough, Padre, enough! Your Reverence can put all the marks against me that you wish, but you haven’t the right to insult me. Your Reverence may stay with the class; I can’t stand any more.” Without further farewell, he stalked away.