Chapter 23

BOURNE _v._ ACTON

Jack had gone to London with his patron on Thursday. On Saturday morning Acton went to Aldershot, carrying with him the hopes and good wishes of the whole of St. Amory's, and at night the school band had met him at the station. They (the band) struggled bravely--it was very windy--with "See, the Conquering Hero comes!" in front of the returned hero, who was "chaired" by frenzied Biffenites. The expected had happened. Acton had annihilated Rossal, Shrewsbury, and Harrow, and in the final had met the redoubtable Jarvis, from "Henry's holy shade." The delightful news circulated round St. Amory's that Acton had "made mincemeat" of Jarvis. He had not, but after a close battle had scrambled home first; he had won, and that was the main thing.

As Acton walked into chapel on Sunday morning with Worcester, Corker got scant attention to his sermon; the fags to a man were thinking of Acton's terrible left. The gladiator lived in an atmosphere of incense for a whole day.

As Phil Bourne was finishing breakfast on Monday morning his fag brought him his letters, and, after reading his usual one from home, he turned his attention to another one, whose envelope was dirty, and whose writing was laboriously and painfully bad amateur work.

"Rotherhithe," said Phil, looking at the post-mark. "Who are my friends from that beauty spot?"

I give the letter in all its fascinating simplicity.

"Rotherhithe, Sunday.

"Dear Sir, "I was sory as how I did not see you on thursday night when you came with Acting to Covent garden to do a small hedging in the linkinsheer handicap. I think since you did a fare settle about the gunn and pade up my little bill like a mann you would deserve the show at the "Kindumm" and the blow out at that swell tuck shop as Mister Acting said he was going to treat you to for coming with him to london. I hopes you enjoyed em and As how that stiff necked old corker your beak--won't never find out. "As you gave him the Propper slip and no Errer your beastly Chummy "Daniel Raffles."

The letter had evidently been meant for Jack, but had naturally reached Phil, since the envelope was directed to "Mr. Bourne."

Bourne, when he had struggled to the end of this literary gem, dropped the letter like a red-hot coal. Was it a hoax, or had Jack really gone up to town, as the letter said?

The "Mister Acting" made Phil's heart sink with dire forebodings.

"Go and find young Bourne, Hinton, and tell him to come here to my study at once, or as soon as he's finished breakfast."

Jack came in whistling a jolly tune; he was in full bloom, for had he not now left all his cares behind him?

"You can cut, Hinton; and, Jack, take a chair and give me an explanation of this letter."

Jack read Raffles' letter through to the bitter end, and wished he had never been born. Phil eyed his young brother, who had turned deathly white, with the horrible certainty that Jack had gone up to London.

"Then it's true?" he said.

No answer.

"Jack, I know you could speak the truth once. Look at me. Did you go to London on Thursday night?"

"Yes," said Jack, faintly.

"Did Acton take you?"

"Yes."

"You know that if Dr. Moore hears of it he will expel you."

"Yes."

"You went to oblige Acton?"

"Yes."

"Did you ever think what pater would think if he heard about this?"

Jack, as a matter of course, had thought many a time of what his father would think about the business, and when Phil in that level voice of his recalled him to this terrible point he broke down.

"Phil, do not tell pater; he'd never forgive me! Nor Corker. Cut me into ribbons if you like, only don't let me be expelled."

"Here," said Phil, "I don't want any snivelling in my room. Cut, you miserable puppy, to your own quarters, and when school is over keep to them till I come. You're a contemptible little puppy."

Jack hurried out, crunching Raffles' letter in his fist. He went straight to Acton's room, and, bursting in whilst Acton was drinking his last cup of coffee, blurted out the dismal news. Jack was almost hysterical in his rage against Raffles.

"Acton, I believe that filthy blackmailer meant Phil to get that letter: he wanted to round on me and get me into trouble. Oh!" said Jack, in a very explosion of futile rage, "if I could only pound his ugly face into a jelly."

"Well, perhaps you'll have that pleasure one day, Jack. I hope so, anyhow. Now, straight, Jack, you need not be frightened of your brother saying a word. He could never risk Corker hearing of it, for he could not bear the chance of expulsion, so he'll lie low as far as Corker is concerned, take my word for it. He may hand you over to your father, but that, too, I doubt. He may give you a thrashing himself, which I fancy he will."

"I don't mind that," said Jack. "I deserve something."

"No, you don't, old man; and I'm fearfully sorry that I've got you into this hole. But your brother will certainly interview me."

"I suppose so," said Jack, thoughtfully, even in his rage and shame. "I hope there is no row between you;" for the idea of an open quarrel between Phil and Acton made Jack rather qualmish.

"You'd better cut now, Jack, and lie low till you find out when the hurricane is going to commence."

Jack went away, and as the door closed softly behind him Acton smiled sweetly.

"Well, Raffles has managed it nicely, and carried out my orders to the strokings of the t's. He is quite a genius in a low kind of way. And now I'm ready for Philip Bourne, Esq. I bet I'm a sight more comfortable than he is." Which was very true.

I, of course, knew nothing of all these occurrences at the time, and the first intimation I had that anything was wrong was when Phil Bourne came into my room and gave me a plain unvarnished account, _sans_ comment, of Acton's and young Bourne's foolery in London.

"I'm awfully glad, old man, that I am able to tell you this, because, although you're Captain of the school, you can't do anything, since Acton is a monitor."

(It is an unwritten law at St. Amory's that one monitor can never, under any circumstances, "peach" upon another.)

"Well, I'm jolly glad too, Bourne, since your brother's in it."

"What has to be done to Acton? Jack, of course, was only a tool in his hands."

"Oh, of course. It is perfectly certain that our friend engineered the whole business up to and including the letter, which _was_ meant for you."

"Do you really think that?" said Phil.

"I'm as certain of it as I can be of anything that I don't actually know to be true."

"Why did he do it?"

"Do you feel anything about this, old man?"

"I feel in the bluest funk that I can remember."

"Then, that's why."

"You see, I cannot put my ringer on the brute."

"He has you in a cleft stick. Who knows that better than Acton?"

"I'm going to thrash Jack, the little idiot. I distinctly told him to give Acton a wide berth."

"Jack, of course, is an idiot; but Acton is the fellow that wants the thrashing."

Phil pondered over this for fully five minutes.

"You're right, old man, and I'll give--I'll try to give--him the thrashing he deserves."

"Big biz," said I. "You say you aren't as good as Hodgson; Hodgson isn't in the same street as Acton; _ergo_, you aren't in the same parish."

"That's your beastly logic, Carr. Does a good cause count for nothing?"

"Not for much, when you're dealing with sharps."

"I see _you've_ inherited your pater's law books. The school goes home to-morrow, doesn't it? Well, my Lord Chief Justice, in what relation do you stand towards the school to-morrow? Are you Captain?"

"No," said I, in my best legal manner. "There is no school to-morrow--_ergo_, there cannot be a captain of a non-existent thing. To-morrow is a _dies non_ as far as I'm concerned. Why this thirst for knowledge, Phil?"

"Because I want you to be my second against Acton, and I didn't want your captaincy to aid or abet me in a thing which is against rules."

"I see," said I, warmly, "and I will sink the rules and all the rest, and trust to a little rough justice being done on an arrant scamp."

"Thanks," said Phil. "With you as second and a good cause, I ought to teach Acton a little genuine lesson."

"I'd rather trust in a good straight left."

"All right, then. I'll see Acton now, and bring him to the point."

"Do, and let me have the result."

Phil swung off in that cool, level-headed fashion which is peculiarly his own. He had thought the matter out thoroughly in that five minutes' brown study, and now that he had put his hand to the plough he would not look back. I liked the set shoulders and his even step down the corridor. Surely something must reach Acton now! He walked down the street, turned in at Biffen's yard, and mounted up to Acton's room. He knocked firmly on the partly open door, and when he heard Acton's "Come in," walked solidly in.

Acton smiled amiably when he saw his visitor, and, with his half-foreign politeness, drew out a chair.

"No, thanks," said Phil, icily; "but, if you've no objection, I'd like to close your door. May I?"

"By all means."

"My opinion of you, Acton----"

"Why trouble about that, Bourne; I know it.".

----"is that you're an unmitigated cad."

"Gently, friend, gently," said Acton, half getting up.

"You, by your foul play, have disfigured poor Aspinall for life----"

"Bourne, you're a monomaniac on that subject. I've had the pleasure of telling you once before that you were a liar."

"And you did not get your 'footer' cap for it, which seems such a paltry punishment for so villainous a crime."

"That is stale, stale," said Acton, coolly.

"You entice my brother to London, which means expulsion for him if it is found out by Dr. Moore."

"I believe that's the rule."

"The expulsion of Jack would bring disgrace on an honest name in the school and give pain to an honest gentleman----"

"The pity o' 't," said Acton, with a sneer.

"And so, since you, by a kind of malicious fate, seem to escape all proper punishment----"

"You should be a parson, Bourne."

"I'm going to try to give you your deserts myself."

"An avenging angel. Oh, ye gods!"

"Do you mind turning out at the old milling ground at seven sharp to-morrow morning?"

"The mornings are chilly," said Acton, with a snigger. "Besides, I don't really see what pressing obligation I'm under to turn out at that time for the poor pleasure of knocking you down."

"I never thought you were a coward."

"How charitable!"

"But we must bring you to book somehow. Will you fight--now?"

Before he had time to avoid the blow Phil had struck him lightly on the face. For one half second a veritable devil peeped out of Acton's eyes as he sprung at Phil. But Phil quickly backed, and said coolly, "No--no, sir! Let us do the thing decently and in order. You can try to do all you wish to-morrow morning very much at your ease. I apologize for striking you in your own room, but necessity, you know----"

"Bourne, you'll regret that blow!"

"Never," said Phil, emphatically, and with cutting contempt. "I have asked Carr to second me. I dare say Vercoe would do the same for you. He has the merit of being a perfectly straightforward fellow, and since he does not go home like the rest to-morrow----"

"Thanks. Vercoe will do excellently. He is a friend of yours, too!"

"I'm glad to say he is."

"Well, you may now be pretty certain there will be no foul play, whatever else may follow. I'll teach you wisdom on your front teeth."

"I dare say," said Phil, as he coolly stalked out, and left Acton curled up on his chair, like a cobra balancing for its stroke.