Jack had stared at him, suddenly convinced that someone was mad. When he
had verified that it was really a fact; that Frank had placed himself
under instruction three months before, and had made his confession--(his
confession!)--on Friday, and had been conditionally baptized; when he
had certified himself of all these things, and had begun to find
coherent language once more, he had demanded why Frank had done this.

"Because it's the true religion," said Frank. "Are you coming to mass or
are you not?"

Jack had gone then, and had come away more bewildered than ever as to
what it was all about. He had attempted to make a few inquiries, but
Frank had waved his hands at him, and repeated that obviously the
Catholic religion was the true one, and that he couldn't be bothered.
And now here they were at tea in Jesus Lane for the last time.

* * * * *

Of course, there was a little suppressed excitement about Frank. He
drank three cups of tea and took the last (and the under) piece of
buttered bun without apologies, and he talked a good deal, rather fast.
It seemed that he had really no particular plans as to what he was going
to do after he had walked out of Cambridge with his carpet-bag early
next morning. He just meant, he said, to go along and see what happened.
He had had a belt made, which pleased him exceedingly, into which his
money could be put (it lay on the table between them during tea), and he
proposed, naturally, to spend as little of that money as possible....
No; he would not take one penny piece from Jack; it would be simply
scandalous if he--a public-school boy and an University man--couldn't
keep body and soul together by his own labor. There would be hay-making