Yes, Tom is a great institution. Who can estimate how much we owe tohim for the circulation of that lively interest in one another'swell-being which characterises the little station? Tom comes, likethe Pundit, in the afternoon, but he is different from the Pundit andwe welcome him. He is not a shadow of the black examination-cloudwhich lowers over us. There is no flavour of grammars anddictionaries about him. Even if he finds you still in bed,conscience gets no support from him. He does not awaken you, butslips in with noiseless tread, lifts the mosquito curtains, proceedswith his duty and departs, leaving no token but a gentle dream aboutthe feline which came and licked your cheeks and chin with its soft,warm tongue, and scratched you playfully with its claws, while a coldfrog, embracing your nose, looked on and smiled a froggy smile. Thebarber's hand IS cold and clammy. Chacun a son gout. I do not likehim. I grow my beard, and Tom looks at me as the Chaplain regardsdissenters.