“Dick, my boy,” he said cheerily one evening, after they had finished what he pronounced a sumptuous repast, “I have a presentiment that this month will witness a turning point in our career.  I believe you and I are going to become suburbanites.”

The boy’s sad eyes grew wide with wonder.

“What do you mean, John?”

“Well you see, Dick True, it is this way.  As soon as I get my degree—­earn the right to put M.D. after my name, you know,—­I am going to take two rubber bags, fill one with sunshine and one with pure air, full of the scent of rose leaves and clover and strawberries—­ah, Dick, you’d like to smell that, wouldn’t you?—­and carry one in each pocket; then, when my patients come to me for advice, the first dose I shall give them will be out of my rubber bags, and in six cases out of ten I believe they’ll get better without any drug at all.  You see, Dick True, the trouble is, our Father has given us a whole world full of air and sunlight to be happy in, and we poison the air with smoke and shut ourselves away from the sunshine in boxes of brick and mortar, only letting a stray beam come in occasionally through slits in the walls which we call windows.  It’s no wonder we are such poor, miserable concerns.  You can’t fancy an Indian suffering from nervous prostration, can you, Dick? and it doesn’t strike you as probable that Robinson Crusoe had any predisposition to lung trouble?  So you see, Dick True, as it is a poor doctor who is afraid of his own medicine, I am going to prescribe it first of all for ourselves, and we will go where unadulterated oxygen may be had for the smelling, and we can draw in sunshine with every breath.”

The pale face brightened.

“Oh, that will be lovely!  I do get so tired of these old streets.  But John,—­”

“Well, Dick?”

“Why do you keep calling me Dick True all the time?”

John laughed.  “Just to remind you that you must be a true boy before you can really be a True-man, Dick.  I want you to be in the best company.  Jesus Christ is the truth, you know, Dick.”

“Jesus Christ,” repeated the boy thoughtfully.  “I wish I knew him, John, as well as you do.”

“If you love, you will know,” said John, the light which the boy loved to watch creeping into his eyes.  “He is the best friend we will ever have, Dick, you and I.”

He opened several papers as he spoke and ran his eyes over the advertising columns.  “H’m, I don’t like the sound of these,” he said, “they promise too much.  Hot and cold water baths and gas and the advantages of a private family and city privileges.  Everyone seems to keep the ‘best table in the city.’  That’s curious, isn’t it, Dick?  And nearly everyone has the most convenient location.  Dick, my boy, it’s one thing to say we are going to do a thing, it’s another thing to do it.  I expect this suburban question is going to be a puzzle to you and me.”

And so it proved.  Day after day John searched the papers in vain, until it seemed as if a suburban residence was the one thing in life unattainable.  But the long lane of disappointment had its turning at length, and he hurried home to Dick, paper in hand.