“I could not help it, sir. I’m sure I should never have mistrusted Captain Copperas.” But doubts had floated in my mind whether the linen had not gone away in those boxes of Miss Copperas, that I saw the grenadier packing.
Tod pulled a letter-case out of his breast-pocket, selected a paper, and handed it to Mr. Brandon. It was the cheque for one hundred pounds.
“I thought of you, sir, before I began upon the ducks and drakes. But you were not at home, and I could not give it you then. And I thank you very much indeed for what you did for me.”
Mr. Brandon read the cheque and nodded his head sagaciously.
“I’ll take it, Joseph Todhetley. If I don’t, the money will only go in folly.” By which I fancied he had not meant to have the money repaid to him.
“I think you are judging me rather hardly,” said Tod. “How was I to imagine that the man was not on the square? When the roses were here, the place was the prettiest place I ever saw. And it was dirt-cheap.”
“So was the furniture, to Copperas,” cynically observed Mr. Brandon.
“What is done is done,” growled Tod. “May I give you some raspberry pudding?”
“Some what? Raspberry pudding! Why, I should not digest it for a week. I want to know what you are going to do.”
“I don’t know, sir. Do you?”