wrong, just as he is exasperated when he has not deserved
it. Is theirs a just desire? Then grant
it! Let’s give them all the schools they
want, until they are tired of them. Youth is lazy,
and what urges them to activity is our opposition.
Our bond of prestige, Padre Sibyla, is about worn
out, so let’s prepare another, the bond of gratitude,
for example. Let’s not be fools, let’s
do as the crafty Jesuits—”
“Padre Fernandez!” Anything could be tolerated
by Padre Sibyla except to propose the Jesuits to him
as a model. Pale and trembling, he broke out
into bitter recrimination. “A Franciscan
first! Anything before a Jesuit!” He was
beside himself.
“Oh, oh!”
“Eh, Padre—”
A general discussion broke out, regardless of the
Captain-General. All talked at once, they yelled,
they misunderstood and contradicted one another.
Ben-Zayb and Padre Camorra shook their fists in each
other’s faces, one talking of simpletons and
the other of ink-slingers, Padre Sibyla kept harping
on the Capitulum, and Padre Fernandez on the
Summa of St. Thomas, until the curate of Los
Banos entered to announce that breakfast was served.
His Excellency arose and so ended the discussion.
“Well, gentlemen,” he said, “we’ve
worked like niggers and yet we’re on a vacation.
Some one has said that grave matters should he considered
at dessert. I’m entirely of that opinion.”
“We might get indigestion,” remarked the
secretary, alluding to the heat of the discussion.
“Then we’ll lay it aside until tomorrow.”
As they rose the high official whispered to the General,
“Your Excellency, the daughter of Cabesang Tales
has been here again begging for the release of her
sick grandfather, who was arrested in place of her
father.”
His Excellency looked at him with an expression of
impatience and rubbed his hand across his broad forehead.
“Carambas! Can’t one be left
to eat his breakfast in peace?”
“This is the third day she has come. She’s
a poor girl—”
“Oh, the devil!” exclaimed Padre Camorra.
“I’ve just thought of it. I have
something to say to the General about that—that’s
what I came over for—to support that girl’s
petition.”
The General scratched the back of his ear and said,
“Oh, go along! Have the secretary make
out an order to the lieutenant of the Civil Guard
for the old man’s release. They sha’n’t
say that we’re not clement and merciful.”
He looked at Ben-Zayb. The journalist winked.
PLACIDO PENITENTE
Reluctantly, and almost with tearful eyes, Placido
Penitente was going along the Escolta on his way to
the University of Santo Tomas. It had hardly
been a week since he had come from his town, yet he
had already written to his mother twice, reiterating
his desire to abandon his studies and go back there
to work. His mother answered that he should have
patience, that at the least he must be graduated as
a bachelor of arts, since it would be unwise to desert
his books after four years of expense and sacrifices
on both their parts.
