Phillip named a small academy near Richmond, and Baker nodded his head politely.
“You live in Virginia?” he asked.
“Yes, at Melville Court House. It’s about fifty miles from Alexandria. This is the first time I have been so far north, except last spring when I came up for exams.”
“I knew you were a Southerner,” smiled Baker. “You say ‘Ah’ for I and ‘aboot’ for about. It’s great; I wish I could do it. I talk through my silly nose, like all Yankees.”
“I think you talk very nicely,” said Phillip. “I suppose I do pronounce things differently from folks up North here. Do you live in Boston?”
“Save us!” cried Baker. “No, I’m from Rutland, Vermont. When you meet a real, dyed-in-the-wool Bostonian you’ll see the difference. Do you know any folks in town?”
“No. I haven’t any acquaintances at all hereabouts except my adviser. You’re the first one,” he added with a smile.
“Really?” cried Baker. “Well, I know stacks of fellows and I’ll introduce you ’round. My chum’s a chap named Bassett. You’ll like Guy; he’s awfully jolly. We’ll have lots of fun. Only——” his face fell—“only the trouble is that Laurence is here.”
“Laurence?”