III The Father’s Little Talk With His Boy
Father. My Tulliolus, I should like to have a talk with you soon.
Boy. Why, my father? For nothing more delightful could happen to me than to listen to you.
Father. Is thy Ruscio here an animal or a man?
Boy. An animal, as I think.
Father. What have you in you, why you should be a man and not he? You eat, drink, sleep, walk, run, play. So he does all these things also.
Boy. But I am a man.
Father. How do you know this? What have you now, more than a dog? But there is this difference that he cannot become a man. You can, if you will.
Boy. I beg of you, my father, bring this about as soon as possible.
Father. It will be done if you go where animals go, to come back men.
Boy. I will go, father, with all the pleasure in the world! But where is it?
Father. In the school.
Boy. There is no delay in me for such a great matter.
Father. Nor in me. Isabel, dear, do you hear, give him his breakfast in this little satchel.
Isabel. What shall it be?
Father. A piece of bread and butter, and dry figs, or pressed, not dried, grapes, as an additional dish—for fresh grapes besmear the fingers of boys and they spoil their clothes—unless he should prefer a few cherries, or golden and long plums. Hang the satchel on his little arm, so that it shall not fall off.