"Because you have obeyed the injunctions I gave you--to bring any difficulty you might have to me. I certainly never expected it so soon, or that it would take this form. Don't you get tumbling into another. Let people take care of themselves. There: put it into your breast-pocket, and be off." I don't know how I got back to town. There was no accident, and we were not pitched into next week. If we had been, I'm not sure that I should have minded it; for that cheque in my pocket seemed a panacea for all human ills. The Pells were at dinner when I entered: and Tod was lying outside his bed, with one of his torturing headaches. He did not often have them: which was a good thing, for they were rattlers. Taking his hand from his head, he glanced at me. "Where have you been all day, Johnny?" he asked, hardly able to speak. "That was a short note of yours." "I've been to Brighton." Tod opened his eyes again with surprise. He did not believe it. "Why don't you say Bagdad, at once? Keep your counsel, if you choose, lad. I'm too ill to get it out of you." "But I don't want to keep it: and I have been to Brighton. Had dinner there, too. Tod, old fellow, the mouse has done his work. Here's a cheque for you for a hundred pounds." He looked at it as I held it out to him, saw it was true, and then sprang off the bed. I had seen glad emotion in my life, even at that early period of it, but hardly such as Tod's then. Never a word spoke he. "It is lent by Mr. Brandon to you, Tod. He bade me say it. I could not get any of mine out of him. The only condition is--that, before I cash it, you shall promise not to play again with Crayton or the Pells." "I'll promise it now. Glad to do it. Long live old Brandon! Johnny, my good brother, I'm too ill to thank you--my temples seem as if they were being split with a sledge-hammer--but you have _saved_ me." I was at Robarts's when it opened in the morning. And signed my name at the back of the cheque, and got the money. Fancy _me_ having a hundred pounds paid to me in notes and gold! The Squire would have thought the world was coming to an end. XXII. OUR STRIKE. It was September, and they were moving to Crabb Cot for a week or two's shooting. The shooting was not bad about there, and the Squire liked a turn with his gun yet. Being close on the Michaelmas holidays, Tod and I were with them. When the stay was going to be short, the carriages did not come over from Dyke Manor. On arriving at South Crabb station, there was a fly waiting. It would not take us all. Mr. and Mrs. Todhetley, the two children, and Hannah got into it, and some of the luggage was put on the top. "You two boys can walk," said the Pater. "It will stretch your legs." And a great deal rather walk, too, than be boxed up in a crawling fly!