The porter came out with the lists, and W.G., striding to meet his fate like some Homeric hero, snatched the paper from his hands. He went very white as he read it. “Good God—” he said. “Well, I’m damned—” “Rotten luck if you’re down, W.G.,” said Maskew sympathetically. “Down? . . . I’m not down. I’m through.” He still looked bewildered. Edwin took the paper from his trembling hands. As he had expected Maskew was first, but he saw that he himself was second on the list. Martin had ambled through respectively somewhere about the middle. W.G. and Harrop were last and last but one. He pinned the list on the notice-board. It was an exhilarating moment in which he was conscious of the herculean, sweaty handgrip of W.G. who was muttering: “Well, I’m damned if we don’t all deserve it.” Talking and laughing together, they went out to lunch at Joey’s and caught the next train down to Evesham, where the coolness of the glassy Avon made the June heat more tolerable, and in the evening, blistered with rowing and sunshine, they came back to North Bromwich, dined together, and afterwards went to a music-hall. It was wonderful to Edwin to see the physical elation of W.G. The big man wanted to dance like a child, and it was with difficulty that Maskew restrained him from smashing a plate-glass window in Sackville Row. “You’re a cold-blooded swine, Maskew,” he said indignantly. “God, man, don’t you feel you want to do something? You must let off steam in some way, and it’s just as well to do it decently.” Next morning the Dean sent a message to Edwin and Maskew, asking them to call at his office during the morning. They went together, and were received with his usual urbane politeness. “Good-morning, Mr. Maskew . . . Mr. Ingleby. . . . You had better sit down. I am very pleased to see your names at the top of the list. Yes . . . very pleased. I’ve consulted Dr. Moon, and he approves your appointment as prosectors. It is an office that you will be very wise to undertake if you have any surgical ambitions, and I am very pleased to offer it to you. Perhaps you will let me know to-morrow? Thank you, gentlemen. . . . Good-morning.” “Shall you take it?” said Edwin, as soon as they were outside. “Of course I shall. I’m rather keen on Anatomy. It only means putting one back a year, and it’s worth it a hundred times over, if one gets the primary Fellowship. You’ll be a fool if you don’t do it. We should have a topping time together. No lectures . . . just a year of research work.” “I shall have to think about it,” said Edwin.