They brought up a hastily prepared dinner: and very good it was. But I could scarcely eat for sorrow. Old Brandon, nursing himself at the opposite end of the table, the yellow handkerchief on his head, looked at me all the while. "Johnny Ludlow, do you know what I think--that you'd give away your head if it were loose. It's a good thing you have me to take care of you." "No, sir, I should not. If you would let me have this hundred pounds--it is really only ninety-two, though--I would repay it with two hundred when I came of age." "Like the simpleton you are." "I think I would give half my money, Mr. Brandon, to serve Todhetley in this strait. We are as brothers." "No doubt you would: but you've not got it to give, Johnny. You can let him fight his own battles." "And I would if he were able to fight them: but he is not able; it's an exceptional case. I must go back to London, and try there." Old Brandon opened his eyes. "How?" "I think perhaps Miss Deveen would let me have the money. She is rich and generous--and I will tell her the whole truth. It is a turning-point in Todhetley's life, sir: help would save him." "How do you know but he'd return to the mire? Let him have this money, and he might go on gambling and lose another hundred. Perhaps hundreds at the back of it." "No, sir, that he never would. He may go deeper into the mire if he does not get it. Enlist, or something." "Are you going already, Johnny?" "Yes, sir. I must catch the next train, and it's a good way to the station." "You can take a fly. Wait a few minutes." He went into his bedroom, on the same floor. When he came back, he held a piece of paper in his hand. "There, Johnny. But it is my loan; not yours." It was a cheque for a hundred pounds. He had listened, after all! The surprise was so great that I am afraid my eyes were dim. "The loan is mine, Johnny," he repeated. "I am not going to risk your money, and prove myself a false trustee. When Todhetley can repay it, it will be to me, not to you. But now--understand: unless he gives you a solemn promise never to play with that 'Honourable' again, or with either of the Pells, _you will not use the cheque_, but return it to me." "Oh, Mr. Brandon, there will be no difficulty. He only wants to be quit of them." "Get his promise, I say. If he gives it, present this cheque at Robarts's in Lombard Street to-morrow, and they'll pay you the money over the counter." "It is made out to my order!" I said, looking at the cheque: "not to Crayton!" "To Crayton!" retorted Mr. Brandon. "I wouldn't let a cheque of mine, uncrossed, fall into _his_ hands. He might add an ought or two to the figures. I drew it out for an even hundred, you see: the odd money may be wanted. You'll have to sign your name at the back: do it at the bank. And now, do you know why I have let you have this?" I looked at him in doubt.