“Well, say one day a week.”
Morris shook his head again and looked down the road, as if hoping that some one would come and rescue him from his position.
“Don’t speak in haste,” said the Professor, taking him with finger and thumb by the plaited guard of silk, as if he had intentions upon the watch—not to know the time.
“I am obliged to speak in haste,” replied Morris. “You see, it is so near—”
“Exactly—dinner-time. But for Sanskrit, a lesson a week—”
“The Doctor declared he should not introduce Sanskrit in the curriculum of study.”
“Dear, dear! And with that young Eastern Prince in the establishment, and his companion the son of that magnificent old Colonel with the wondrous moustache!” And as he spoke the Professor passed his hand over his closely shaven upper lip. “Well, well, the Doctor knows his own business best; but I must confess that I am disappointed, my dear friend.”
“I am very, very sorry,” said Morris, drawing back a little; and as the guard tightened, and the watch began to rise out of his pocket, he gave way again and the watch sank down.
So did its owner’s spirits, for the Professor continued:
“Don’t you think I might go back with you to the college and call upon the Doctor once more?”