“Where is Tompkinton—he of the long legs and the army cape?”
“Settled somewhere near you, I hear; over across the Cape. He has a fine parish. He’s to have two thousand—that’s doing well for a man of his stamp.”
“I don’t think Tompkinton is the kind of man to think much about the salary,” observed Bayard gravely. “He struck me as the other sort of fellow. What’s become of Bent?”
“Graduates this summer, I suppose. I hear he’s called to Roxbury. He always aimed at a Boston parish. He’s sure to boom.”
“And that brakeman—Holt? He who admired Huxley’s ‘Descent of Man’?”
“Oh, he is slumming in New York city. They say he is really very useful. He has some sort of mission work, there, at the Five Points. I’m told he makes a specialty of converted burglars.”
“I haven’t been able to follow any of the boys,” said Bayard, coughing. “I can’t very well—as I am situated. It does me good to hear something about somebody. Where’s that round fellow—Jaynes? With the round glasses? I remember he always ate two Baldwins, two entire Baldwin apples.”
“Gone West, I believe. He’s admirably adapted to the West,” replied Fenton, settling his chair in his old comfortable way.
“What an assorted lot we were!” said Bayard dreamily. “And what a medley we were taught! I haven’t opened one of my note-books since I came here.”