boy before you
can really be a True-man, Dick. I want you to be in the best company.
Jesus Christ is the truth, you know, Dick."

"Jesus Christ," repeated the boy thoughtfully. "I wish I knew him, John,
as well as you do."

"If you love, you will know," said John, the light which the boy loved
to watch creeping into his eyes. "He is the best friend we will ever
have, Dick, you and I."

He opened several papers as he spoke and ran his eyes over the
advertising columns. "H'm, I don't like the sound of these," he said,
"they promise too much. Hot and cold water baths and gas and the
advantages of a private family and city privileges. Everyone seems to
keep the 'best table in the city.' That's curious, isn't it, Dick? And
nearly everyone has the most convenient location. Dick, my boy, it's one
thing to say we are going to do a thing, it's another thing to do it. I
expect this suburban question is going to be a puzzle to you and me."

And so it proved. Day after day John searched the papers in vain, until
it seemed as if a suburban residence was the one thing in life
unattainable. But the long lane of disappointment had its turning at
length, and he hurried home to Dick, paper in hand.

"Dick, Dick True, we've found it at last! Listen:

"Two gentlemen can be pleasantly accommodated at 'The Willows.' Address
Miss Chillingworth, University P.O. Box 123.

"The University Post Office is just near the College, you know, Dick, so
it is in a good location. Two gentlemen--that means you and me, Dick;
and 'The Willows' means running brooks, or ought to, if they are any
sort of respectable trees."

The boy clapped his hands. "When can we go, John?"

John laughed. "Not so fast, Dick. There may be other gentlemen in
Marlborough on the lookout for a suburban residence. I addressed Miss
Chillingworth on paper this morning, telling her I should give myself
the pleasure of addressing her in person to-morrow. It is a half
holiday, you know, Dick. I like the ring of this advertisement. There is
no fuss and feathers about it. She doesn't offer city privileges and
promise ice cream with every meal."

"But, John," said the boy, ruefully, "we're not gentlemen. You don't
wear a silk hat, you know, and I have no white shirts--nothing but these
paper fronts. I hate paper fronts! They're such shams!

"Oh, ho! Dick, so you're pining for frills, eh? Well, if it will make
you feel more comfortable, we'll go down to Stewart's and get fitted