"Well, Dick?"
"Why do you keep calling me Dick True all the time?"
John laughed. "Just to remind you that you must be a true 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."