I turned round. They had finished, and were leaving. In looking for me, Tod saw Mr. Brandon. He came up to shake hands with him, and told me they were going.
“Come in and see me to-morrow morning, Johnny Ludlow,” said Mr. Brandon, in a tone of command. “Eleven o’clock.”
“Yes, sir. Where are you staying?”
“The Tavistock; Covent Garden.”
“Johnny, what the mischief brings him here?” whispered Tod, as we went downstairs.
“I don’t know. I thought it must be his ghost at first.”
From the billiard-rooms we went on to Gusty’s chambers, and found him at home with some friends. He served out wine, with cold brandy-and-water for Crayton—who despised anything less. They sat down to cards—loo. Tod did not play. Complaining of a racking headache, he sat apart in a corner. I stood in another, for all the chairs were occupied. Altogether the party seemed to want life, and broke up soon.
“Was it an excuse to avoid playing, Tod?” I asked, as we walked home.
“Was what an excuse?”
“Your headache.”