BARCHESTER TOWERS
"What do you say, 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 his 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 not dead?" "No worse news, doctor, I trust?" "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 9.15 p.m. train. If any man can do anything Sir Omicron Pie will do it. But all that skill can do has been done."
"We are sure of that, Dr. Fillgrave," said the archdeacon; "we are quite sure of that. But yet you know"
"Oh! quite right," said the doctor, "quite right—I should have done just the same—I advised it at once. I said to Rerechild at once that with such a life and such a man, Sir Omicron should be summoned—of course I knew expense was nothing—so distinguished, you know, and so popular. Nevertheless, all that human skill can do has been done."
Just at this period Mrs. Grantly's carriage drove into the close, and the archdeacon went down to confirm the news which she had heard before.
By the 9.15 p.m. train Sir Omicron Pie did arrive. And in the course of the night a sort of consciousness returned to the poor old dean. Whether this was due to Sir Omicron Pie is a question on which it may be well not to offer an opinion. Dr. Fillgrave was very clear in his own mind, but
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