Laz. You don’t disturb me, father. I was thinking of nothing important. My imagination was wandering, and I was wandering after it.
Juan. If you wish to work—to write—to read—and I trouble you I shall go. Ha, I shall go. (Rising.) Do you want me to go? for here I am going.
Laz. No, father, good gracious! You disturb me!
Juan (sitting down again). The fact is, as you see, that which I do can be done anywhere. It is in substance nothing. Well, for the performance of nothing any point of space is good. (Laughing.) Of space! There are your philosophical offshoots taking root in me. The father in space, the son in the fifth heaven. That’s why I say if I disturb——
Laz. No, father, don’t go away; and let us talk of what you please.
Juan. Much good you’d get by talking with me. To your great books, to your papers, to those things which astound by their greatness and are admired for their beauty! Continue—continue! I shall see you at work. I, too, shall busy myself with something. (Pulls the bell.)
Laz. As you like. [Sits down and writes fitfully.
Enter Teresa.
Juan. Little Teresa—(looking at his son and correcting himself.) Teresa, bring me a glass of sherry and a few biscuits; I also have to busy myself with something. And bring me the French newspapers; no, nothing but Figaro and Gil Blas. (To his son.) And so we shall both be at work. (To Teresa.) Listen—by the way, bring me that novel which is in my room. You can read, can’t you?
Ter. Yes, señor.