The very next afternoon Tode was sent on an errand to the Hastings mansion. It wasn't often he got out in the daytime, so he made the most of his walk; and the voice was fresh and cheery which floated up to Pliny Hastings as he tossed wearily among the pillows in his mother's room.
"Is that Tode? Yes, it is, I hear his voice. Dora, ring the bell, I want to have him come up here."
"My son—" began Mrs. Hastings.
"Oh now, mother, do let a fellow breathe. I've staid poked up here until I'm ready to fly, and he's just as cute as he can be. Ring the bell, Dora."
Dora obeyed, and in a very few minutes thereafter Tode was ushered into the elegance of Mrs. Hastings' sitting-room.
"You sick," he said, pausing in his work of gazing eagerly about him to bestow a pitying glance on Pliny's pale face. "Jolly! that's awful stupid work, ain't it? What's the matter?"
"I should think it was," Pliny answered, laughing a little though at Tode's tone. "I've a confounded sick headache, that's what's the matter."
"Pliny!" Mrs. Hastings said, rebukingly.
"Oh bother, mother! Excruciating headache then, if that suits you better. Tode, have you seen Ben to-day?"
"Not a sign of him. Couldn't think what had become of you two. You're as thick as hops, ain't you?"