There was a renewed chorus of "Carried, carried," and the trustees rose from the table shaking hands with one another, and lighting fresh cigars as they passed out of the club into the night air.
"The only thing that I don't understand," said Mr. Newberry to Dr. Boomer as they went out from the club arm in arm (for they might now walk in that fashion with the same propriety as two of the principals in a distillery merger), "the only thing that I don't understand is why the Reverend Mr. Dumfarthing should be willing to consent to the amalgamation."
"Do you really not know?" said Dr. Boomer.
"No."
"You have heard nothing?"
"Not a word," said Mr. Newberry.
"Ah," rejoined the president, "I see that our men have kept it very quiet—naturally so, in view of the circumstances. The truth is that the Reverend Mr. Dumfarthing is leaving us."
"Leaving St. Osoph's!" exclaimed Mr. Newberry in utter astonishment.
"To our great regret. He has had a call—a most inviting field of work, he says, a splendid opportunity. They offered him ten thousand one hundred; we were only giving him ten thousand here, though of course that feature of the situation would not weigh at all with a man like Dumfarthing."
"Oh no, of course not," said Mr. Newberry.