“I wish you would go to your room, and get on with it.”
“Is the deliberative subjunctive going to kill you so soon as that? Well, I’ve often warned you. Good-bye, Teddy. You’re not sociable this morning.”
Tom departed, whistling loudly, and out of tune.
The Fellowship elections took place in March, and as the days drew near, Markham, finding himself unable to work, and fretting because he could not, very wisely determined to go away from Cambridge for the last week, having made Tom promise to telegraph the result to him. Tom was just returning from the telegraph office, having performed what was a thoroughly pleasing and satisfactory duty, and was crossing the court in the gathering dusk, when he saw a figure standing on the path near the Hall, where the announcement was posted. A sociable curiosity made him tack off a little and see who it was, and to his astonishment he found Markham standing there.
“Why, Teddy, I’ve just telegraphed to you!” he cried.
Markham turned round to him.
“Quick! tell me quick!” he said.
“You may walk across the grass,” said Tom solemnly; this being one of the Fellows’ privileges “And you may set to work to become a fossil as soon as you please. Well, I congratulate you, I suppose, though I’m not sure it’s the best thing for you.”
Markham caught hold of Tom’s arm.
“I think,” he said, very slowly and deliberately, “I think I’ve been making a fool of myself. This morning I found I couldn’t stop away, and I came back about a quarter of an hour ago. Since then I have been standing here, not daring to go in and see. Tom, I’m going to chapel.”