“I can’t. I’m summoned to St. James’ Hall. There’s a large audience, and the professor has been in convulsions seven minutes.”
I tried to grasp his hand in thanks. “If you want another,” he said, “you must go through the course—the full course. There’s no other way. Let this be a lesson to you.” And with this parting remark he disintegrated.
The rajah lit a cigar, and I, lighter at heart than I had been for many days, followed his example.
“It was wrong of me,” said the rajah; “I won’t do it again.”
“It’s a pity it turned out so badly,” I remarked; “it was quite a comfort at first.”
“They’re all like that, unless you keep a tight hand on them. Shall you take the course?”
“Not I. I’ve had enough of it.”
“Perhaps you’re right. Excuse me; I have to go to the Deccan on business.”
He fell back on the sofa, apparently in a trance, and I went off to the dean’s lecture. It makes all the difference whether you know how to do a thing or not.