wo courses lay before him: one was to
make his escape from the house, enlist in the army, and in this way
fulfil the only vocation for which he felt any call; the other was to
enter the factory and work there like his brother. It was necessary to
make a decisive resolution, as became his inflexible and energetic
character; and in very truth our ex-cadet, with an energy that has few
examples in this degenerate epoch, promptly decided to work in the
candle factory.

This important point having been settled, he became calmer, and could
stop long enough to roll and smoke a cigarette.

One other thing, however, remained to be done, and this was one of great
importance: to wipe out the insult which the algebra professor had given
him during the examination. Utrilla argued in this way:--

If he remained in the army, the affront would not have been serious,
because, of course, discipline forbids the inferior to demand
satisfaction for insults from a superior; but once out of the corps and
transformed into a civilian, the matter put on a different
aspect--"Certainly very different!" he repeated, putting on a deep frown
that was very imposing. "To-morrow I will settle this point."

And in this desperate state of mind our cadet set himself to work to
indite the draft of a letter which he proposed to send to the algebra
teacher.

"MY DEAR SIR:--

"If you have any delicacy (which I have reason to doubt) you will
perfectly understand that after the coarse insult which you took
pains to give me yesterday, enjoying the advantage of your
position, it is absolutely necessary that one or the other of us
should vanish from the earth. As for the proper remedy, you will be
kind enough to come to an understanding with my two friends
Senor---- and Senor---- (_Here will be two blanks for the names of
my seconds, for I have not yet decided who they will be_). I
remain, Sir, at your command, etc."

After reading this letter three or four times, it seemed to him that it
was not forcible enough. He tore it up, and at one breath wrote this
one:--

"SIR: You are a scoundrel. If this intentional insult is not
sufficient to bring your seconds, I shall have the pleasure of
flinging it in your face. Your servant, who subscribes his name,

"JACOBO UTRILLA."

Perfectly satisfied with the content and form of this last missive, the
heroic lad copied it off with particular care