And oh, Tom was angry! Angry--he was furious; but he was mastered. For it happened that on the very day that he and Johnnie had gone with Charles to Seven Dials, he had asked Charles all about the alarm bell, by means of which trains may be stopped if necessary, and Charles had explained the matter in a clear and lucid way peculiar to himself--a talent which made him especially valuable in a home where there were boys. "Why, Master Tom," he exclaimed, "you see that’s a indicator. If you wants to storp the trayin you just pulls that knob, and it rings a bell on the engine somewhere, and the driver storps the trayin at once." "Let’s stop it," suggested Tom, in high glee at the prospect of a walk through a dark and dangerous tunnel. It must be admitted that Charles’s heart fairly stood still at the thought of what his explanation had suggested. "Master Tom," said he, with a face of horror which was so expressive that Tom was greatly impressed by it, "don’t you go for to do nothing of the kind! It’s almost a ’anging matter is storping of trayins--useless like. If you was took ill, or ’ad a fit, or somebody was a-murdering of you, why, it would be all right; but to storp a trayin when there’s naught wrong, is--well, I believe, as a matter of fact, it’s seven years." "Seven years--seven years what?" Tom asked, thinking the whole thing a grand joke. "Prison," returned Charles laconically; "that is, if it was me. If it was you, Master Tom, it would mean reformatory school, with plenty of stick and no meat, nor no ’olidays. No, I wouldn’t go for to storp no trayins if I was you, Master Tom." "But we needn’t say it was us that rang," pleaded Tom, whose fingers were just itching to ring that bell. Charles laughed. "Lor! Master Tom, they’re up to that game!" he answered. "Bless you! they ’ave a lot of numbers, and they’d know in a minute which carriage it was that rang. No, Master Tom, don’t you go for to ring no bells and storp no trayins. I lived servant with a young fellow once as had had five years of a reformatory school, and the tales he used to tell of what went on there was enough to make your blood curdle and your very ’air stand on end--mine did many a time!" "Which--your blood or your hair, Charles?" Tom inquired, with keen interest. "Both!" returned Charles, in a tone which carried conviction with it. Thus Tom had no further resource, when May vowed to ring the bell and stop the train if he touched her, but to sit down and bear his aches and his defeat in silence. But, oh, he was angry! To be beaten and beaten again by a girl! It was too humiliating, too lowering to bear. Yet poor Tom had to bear it--that was the worst of it. So they eventually got to Brighton in safety. CHAPTER XI AUNT GEORGE