"No, old chap, it's impossible. Remember, I owe you money already. But for you, I should have starved days ago. No, I've got to make a fight for it, and I shall manage to fall on my feet. I know you can afford it, and I'm awfully grateful, but it isn't fair, and I'm not going to do it." He pushed the notes back again across the table. "But, Brian," urged Comethup, "just think for a moment. I shall be away three years at the least, and I shall have plenty of money--oh, I'm not boasting about it, but you know I shall have plenty--and I can't bear to think that you may be in straits while I'm having a good time. You say this'll keep you for a year; by that time you will probably be doing big things. If you don't like to take it, let it be a loan; if you want to pay me back, you can--when you're rich and famous." That point was apparently one which had escaped Brian. He pondered for a moment, half started forward, and drew back again, and finally stretched out his hand with a smile. "You're the finest fellow in the world, Comethup," he cried, "and, by Jove! I'll dedicate my first book to you. You're the only friend I've really got. Yes, I'll take the money--or stay, you'd better keep a fiver of it to pay for the lunch and to keep you swimming till you get another cheque. You don't know how happy you've made me, old boy." He was busily engaged with the notes, detaching one for five pounds and tossing it across to Comethup, while he pocketed the others in businesslike fashion. "I shall go home singing like a lark. By Jove! I'll be able to work now. The fear of getting up each morning without the prospect of a meal before you doesn't sharpen your wits, in spite of what people may say. Look here, I'll give you my address. You must write to me, dear old chap; and I'll write to you and let you know all that I'm doing. Besides, I may want to send you this money back; it won't be long before I repay it, I promise you. Keep me informed of your movements when you change from one place to another, and I'll write to you regularly." Comethup paid the bill, and they went out together. He had quite forgotten about the cab, and it was still waiting; Brian thrust him in, and stood on the pavement to say good-bye. "I won't try and thank you, old boy," he said, "because such a thing as this is too great for thanks. If ever you're desperately hard up, you'll know what I feel like at this moment. You've got my address; don't forget to write to me. Good-bye!" They gripped hands, and Brian walked rapidly away, with that curious half-swagger which was so like his father's step. Comethup drove home, beginning to wonder a little as to how he should account to his aunt for the disappearance of the money in the event of her questioning him.