for your decision at three o’clock tomorrow.”
He withdrew, leaving a gap in the atmosphere about ten feet by six.
When this had closed in, I sat up.
“What was that?” I said.
I was startled to observe poor old Sippy apparently go off his onion. He raised his hands over his head, clutched his hair, wrenched it about for a while, kicked a table with great violence, and then flung himself into his chair.
“Curse him!” said Sippy. “May he tread on a banana-skin on his way to chapel and sprain both ankles!”
“Who was he?”
“May he get frog-in-the-throat and be unable to deliver the end-of-term sermon!”
“Yes, but