“Sir,” exclaimed he, in a vibrating and acrid voice: “May I know what this means? Where am I? Why was I brought here.”
“Ah, you haven’t gone yet; I am very glad, for I had forgotten something.” And pulling his memorandum-book out of his pocket, the saint moistened the point of the pencil between his lips and asked—
“Your name?”
“I am Doctor Pertinax, author of the book stereotyped in its twentieth edition, called ‘Philosophia Ultima.’...”
St. Peter was not a quick writer, and of all this had only put down Pertinax....
“Well, Pertinax of what?”
“Of what? Oh, I see, you mean from where? just as they say: Thales of Miletus, Parmenides of Elea....”
“Exactly, Quixote of la Mancha....”
“Write down, Pertinax of Torrelodones. And now, may I know what this farce means?”
“This farce?”