“How many operations? What is the total? And subtraction? And the answer? And the punctuation of decimals?”
All the masters were running about hither and thither, summoned in a hundred directions.
My father instantly took from my hand the rough copy, looked at it, and said, “That’s well.”
Beside us was the blacksmith, Precossi, who was also inspecting his son’s work, but rather uneasily, and not comprehending it. He turned to my father:—
“Will you do me the favor to tell me the total?”
My father read the number. The other gazed and reckoned. “Brave little one!” he exclaimed, in perfect content. And my father and he gazed at each other for a moment with a kindly smile, like two friends. My father offered his hand, and the other shook it; and they parted, saying, “Farewell until the oral examination.”
“Until the oral examination.”
After proceeding a few paces, we heard a falsetto voice which made us turn our heads. It was the blacksmith-ironmonger singing.