He flung himself heavily upon the old carpet-covered lounge. Fenton drew up the wooden rocking-chair to the cylinder stove, in which a low fire glimmered, and put his feet on top of the stove, after the manner of Cesarea and Galilee Hall. “Well,” he began, in his own comfortable way, “I’ve accepted the call.” “I supposed you would,” replied Bayard, “when I heard it was under way. I am glad of it!” he said cordially. “The First Church is a fine old church. You’re just the man for them. They’ll ordain you as easily as they swallow their native chowders. You came right over from their evening service to our place to-night? You must have hurried.” “I did,” said the guest, with a certain air of condescension. “I wanted to hear you, you know--once, at least.” “When you are settled, you can’t come, of course,” observed Bayard quickly. “I understand that.” “Well--you see--I shall be--you know--in a very delicate position, when I become the pastor of that church.” Fenton’s natural complacency forsook him for the instant, and something like embarrassment rested upon his easy face; he showed it by the way he handled Mrs. Granite’s poker. “It’s 72° in this room already,” suggested Bayard, smiling. “Would you poke that fire any more?... Oh, come, Fenton! I understand. Don’t bother your head about me, or how I may feel. A man doesn’t choose to be where I am, to waste life in considering his feelings; those are the least important items in his natural history. Just stick to your subject, man. It’s _you_ I want to hear about.” “Well,” replied the guest, warming to the theme with natural enthusiasm, “the call was unanimous. Perfectly so.” “That must be delightful.” “Why, so it is--it is, as you say, delightful. And the salary--they’ve raised the salary to get me, Bayard. You see it had got out that I had refused--ah--hum--several calls. And they’d been without a man so long, I fancy they’re tired of it. Anyhow, I’m to have three thousand dollars.” “That is delightful too,” said Bayard cordially. He turned over on his old lounge, coughing, and doubled the thin, cretonne pillow under his head; he watched his classmate with a half-quizzical smile; his eyes and brow were perfectly serene. “I shall be ordained immediately,” continued Fenton eagerly, “and bring my wife. They are refitting the parsonage. I went in last night to see that the carpets and papers and all that were what they should be. I am going to be married--Bayard, I am going to be married next week.” “And that is best of all,” said Bayard in a low voice. “She is really a lovely girl,” observed Fenton, “though somewhat limited in her experience. I’ve known her all my life--where I came from, in the western part of the State. But I think these gentle, country girls make the best ministers’ wives. They educate up to the position rapidly.”