"Our library," said the president, "two hundred thousand volumes!"
"Aye," said the minister, "a powerful heap of rubbish, I'll be bound!"
"The photograph of our last year's graduating class," said the president.
"A poor lot, to judge by the faces of them," said the minister.
"This, Dr. Dumfarthing, is our new radiographic laboratory; Mr. Spiff, our demonstrator, is preparing slides which, I believe, actually show the movements of the atom itself, do they not, Mr. Spiff?"
"Ah," said the minister, piercing Mr. Spiff from beneath his dark brows, "it will not avail you, young man."
Dr. Boomer was delighted. "Poor McTeague," he said—"and by the way, Boyster, I hear that McTeague is trying to walk again; a great error, it shouldn't be allowed!—poor McTeague knew nothing of science."
The students themselves shared in the enthusiasm, especially after Dr. Dumfarthing had given them a Sunday afternoon talk in which he showed that their studies were absolutely futile. As soon as they knew this they went to work with a vigour that put new life into the college.
Meantime the handsome face of the Reverend Edward Fareforth Furlong began to wear a sad and weary look that had never been seen on it before. He watched the congregation drifting from St. Asaph's to St. Osoph's and was powerless to prevent it. His sadness reached its climax one bright afternoon in the late summer, when he noticed that even his episcopal blackbirds were leaving his elms and moving westward to the spruce trees of the manse.