Newman led his usual life, made acquaintances, took his ease in the galleries and churches, spent an unconscionable amount of time in strolling in the Piazza San Marco, bought a great many bad pictures, and for a fortnight enjoyed Venice grossly.

One evening, coming back to his inn, he found Babcock waiting for him in the little garden beside it.

The young man walked up to him, looking very dismal, thrust out his hand, and said with solemnity that he was afraid they must part.

Newman expressed his surprise and regret, and asked why a parting had became necessary.
"Don't be afraid I'm tired of you," he said.
"You are not tired of me ?" demanded Babcock, fixing him with his clear gray eye.
"Why the deuce should I be?
You are a very plucky fellow.

Besides, I don't grow tired of things." "We don't understand each other," said the young minister.
"Don't I understand you ?" cried Newman.