And they began their flight through boundless space. Boundless? Pertinax thought it so, and said—
“Do you expect to show me all the Universe?”
“Certainly,” replied St. Thomas.
“But since the Universe—seemingly, of course—is infinite ... how can you conceive the limit of space?”
“Conceive it, with difficulty; but see it, easily. Aristoteles sees it every day, for he takes the most terrible walks with his disciples, and certainly he complained that the space for walking ended before the disputes of his peripatetics.”
“But how can space have an end? If there is a limit, it will have to be nothing; but as nothing does not exist, it cannot form a boundary; for a boundary is something, and something apart from what is bounded.”
St. Job, who was already growing impatient, cut him short—
“Enough, enough of conversation! but you had better bend your head so as not to knock it, for we have arrived at that limit of space which cannot be conceived, and if you take a step more, you will break your head against that nothing you are denying.”
And effectually; Pertinax saw there was nothing more beyond; wished to feel it, and bumped his head.
“But this can’t be!” he exclaimed, while St. Thomas applied to the bump one of those pieces of money which pagans take with them on their journey to the other world.