Tod answered with a torrent of words. The chief burden of them was—that if he chose to walk into the brimstone, it was not Mr. Brandon who should keep him out of it.
“Is it not?” retorted Mr. Brandon—and though he was very firm and hard, he gave no sign of losing his temper. “We’ll see that. I am in this town to strive to save you, Joseph Todhetley; and if I can’t do it by easy means, I’ll do it by hard ones. I got you out of one scrape, thanks to Johnny here, and now I’m going to get you out of another.”
Tod held his peace. That past obligation was often on his conscience.
“You ought to take shame to yourself, sir,” continued old Brandon. “You were placed at Oxford to study, to learn to be a man and a gentleman, to prepare yourself to fight well the battle of life, not to waste the talents God has given you, and fritter away your best days in sin.”
“In sin?” retorted Tod, jerking his head fiercely.
“Yes, sir, in sin. What else do you call it—this idleness that you are indulging in? The short space of time that young men spend at the University must be used, not abused. Once it has passed, it can never again be laid hold of. What sort of example are you setting my ward here, who is as your younger brother? Stay where you are, Johnny Ludlow. I choose that you shall be present at this.”
“Johnny need not fret himself that he’ll catch much harm from my iniquities,” said Tod with a sneer.
“Now listen to me, young man,” spoke Mr. Brandon. “If you persist in this insane conduct and refuse to hear reason, I’ll keep you out of danger by putting you in prison.”
Tod stared.
“You owe me a hundred pounds.”