'Nonsense,' said the chancellor. 'They couldn't do it. There were to be no exceptions but London and Durham.'
'And Canterbury and York,' said the vicar choral, modestly.
'What say you, Grantly?' said the meagre little doctor.
'Say about what?' said the archdeacon, who had been looking as though he were thinking about his friend the dean, but who had in reality been thinking about Mr Slope.
'What is the next dean to have, twelve or fifteen?'
'Twelve,' said the archdeacon authoritatively, thereby putting an end at once to all doubt and dispute among the subordinates as far as that subject was concerned.
'Well I certainly thought it was fifteen,' said the minor canon.
'Pooh!' said the burly chancellor. At this moment the door opened, and in came Dr Fillgrave.
'How is he?' 'Is he conscious?' 'Can he speak?' 'I hope, I trust, something better, doctor?' said half a dozen voices all at once, each in a tone of extremest anxiety. It was pleasant to see how popular the good old dean was among his clergy.
'No change, gentlemen; not the slightest change—but a telegraphic message has arrived,—Sir Omicron Pie will be here by the 9.15pm train. If any man can do anything Sir Omicron will do it. But all that skill can do has been done.'