“Where are they?”
“There are some in England; a lot of them, on my mother’s side, in Ireland—and oh, yes, I’ve a cousin and his family in New York.”
“Do you know the address of any of them?”
“I really don’t. You know I’ve been at Clermont Academy, a boarding school in New York State, since I was eleven, and I’ve lost track of all of them pretty much.”
“What about your cousin in New York City?”
“I do not even know where he lives. You see, he just came to this country from Ireland a month ago. He brought his family along, and they were still looking for a house when I last saw them three weeks ago.”
“Anyhow, they’re in New York City?”
“I think that’s pretty certain.”
“Very good,” said the Rector, taking out a small memorandum book and making a note.
“Well, let’s have that story,” cried the big Infirmarian, as he re-entered. He was eager as a small boy waiting his turn for the pie to come down the table.