“Ah, yes,” said Morris hastily; “so I should suppose; but—er—you will excuse me?” And he glanced at his watch. “I am afraid I must be back at the college. It is close upon dinner-time.”
The Professor sighed and inadvertently sniffed as poor boys sniff who are passing cookshops.
“In a moment, my dear friend. I will not detain you; but I will walk with you as far as the college. It will be in my way. You see, just when one wants them most, important letters—important pecuniary letters—have such a bad habit of being delayed.”
Morris coughed.
“Now, nothing could have happened better for me than that I should have met you, a brother-student; though we follow divergent lines, you for the attainment of mathematical precision, I for the diffusion of Eastern lore, you of all men seem to have extended towards me a kindly interest.”
“Oh, well, that was perfectly natural,” said Morris feebly, as, inadvertently he thrust his right hand into his pocket, started, coloured, and withdrew it quickly.
“Now,” continued the Professor, “I want you to give me your advice about seeing the Doctor again.”
Morris shook his head.
“Ah, I see what you are thinking; but that was for a permanent post. Now, don’t you think he might accept my services, say, for a non-resident and three days a week?”
“No,” said Morris, “I am sure he wouldn’t. Your coming made Rampson dreadfully jealous, and he told me afterwards that the Doctor assured him that he should make no change.”