RAFFLES' BILL
It was with hearty thankfulness at the idea of being finally rid of
Raffles that Jack walked over to the "Lodestone" by himself on the
Thursday, jingling his last few shillings in his pockets. Raffles was
waiting for him in the stables, and he was very friendly and familiar,
which always annoyed Jack immensely.
"Glad you're in time, sir, and to 'ear the dibs a-rattlin' in your
pockets."
"Because they'll rattle in yours, soon, I suppose. I make out I owe you
about ten shillings, Raffles."
"'Ow do you make that out, Mr. Bourne?"
"Rabbits, cartridges, and dummy pigeons. I'm about right, I fancy?"
"Right as far as they go."
"As far as they go, of course--not farther. Then here you are."
"And the gun," said Raffles, calmly, looking into vacancy, and not
seeing Jack's coins--"leastwise, wot was a gun."
"Am I to pay for that filthy article?" said Jack, angrily. "Why, it
nearly blew my brains out!"
"'As'e to pay for that breech-loader gun?" said Raffles, laughing
softly as at some good joke. "Why, of course you have."
"My opinion is, Raffles, that that gun was rotten. It wasn't worth a
sovereign. I don't believe it was ever fit to shoot with, now."
"Of course, _now_," said Raffles, with a sneer. "_Now_, when you've got
to pay for it."
"I don't know so much about 'have got to pay for it' at all. That grin
of yours doesn't improve your looks, Raffles," said Jack, who was rather
nettled by Raffles' sneer.
"Well, my bantam cock," said Raffles, savagely, "I only 'opes as this
'ere bill won't spoil yours. And let me tell you, young shaver, I want
the money."
Jack calmly took the piece of note-paper which Raffles hurriedly fished
out of his pocket, and flourished dramatically before Bourne. There was
a touching simplicity about Raffles' bill-making that would in ordinary
times have made Jack split with laughter, but, naturally, at the present
time he did not feel in a very jovial frame of mind. Hence he read
through the farrago with only one very strong desire--to kick Raffles
neck and crop out of the stable. This was the bill:--
Mr. burn owes me daniel raffles this money.
To bunneys at sixpence each... 2 0
To 50 cartrigges...... 6 6
To pidgins......... 1 6
1 gunn breech loder...... £7 0 0
_______
totel £7 10 0
"Now, Raffles," said Jack, in a white heat, "what do you mean by this
rotten foolery?"
"There's no foolery about it," said Raffles, sulkily. "That's my bill."
"Why, you unspeakable rascal, did you fancy I'd pay it?"
"I did, and I do."
Something in the fellow's tone made Jack a trifle uneasy, and he
considered within himself for a moment what he had better do. That the
rascal had made up his mind to be nasty was evident, and when Jack
thought that the gun, poor as it was, was destroyed, though through no
fault of his own, he thought perhaps he might give his old jackal
something as a solatium.
"All right, Raffles! I'll pay you for what I owe you now, and I'll give
you a sovereign for the gun. I'll send you that in a day or two. I've no
more money with me now."
"That ain't the bill. I want this 'ere bill paid."
"'This 'ere bill' is sheer rot!" retorted Jack.
"Rot or not, it's what I want from you. You pay up that seven odd, or it
will be the worse for you. What is seven odd to a young gent like you?
Aren't you all millionaires at St. Amory's?"
"Not by a long chalk."
"Well, I don't want to be unpleasant, my buck, but if you won't pay over
I'll show you up."
"Show me up, you beast--what do you mean?"
"I'll write to Corker and blow the gaff."
"If you did that," said Bourne, grimly, "I'd kill you first day I could
do it."
[Illustration: "I'M GOING TO HAVE THE SEVEN TEN, OR SHOW YOU UP."]
"Or I'd write to your brother."
"And he'd do it now, you skunk!"
"No names, young gent. That won't pay my bill. You don't seem to imagine
I mean what I say."
"No, I don't, for you wouldn't be any _nearer_ getting the money."
"But then you say you aren't going to pay anyhow, so I may as well touch
you up a bit. You've most every time told me not to be so beastly
friendly, and I ain't going to be. I'm going to have the seven ten or
show you up. That's straight."
"Show me up," repeated Jack, blankly. "You miserable blackmailer!"
Bourne felt then the beautiful feelings of being in the grasp of a
low-bred cad who could play with him as a cat with a mouse. He sat
staring in front of him livid with rage, and Raffles, who was watching
him covertly, and with no small anxiety, could see he was digesting the
whole situation. Jack would indeed then and there have let Raffles do
his worst, and would have stood the racket from Corker--and his
brother--rather than be blackmailed by the villain by his side, but he
said hopelessly to himself, "How can I do it without bringing Acton into
it? When this comes out all his training with the Coon must come out
too; perhaps he'll lose his monitorship for not keeping his hand on me,
and Phil's done him a bad enough turn already. I can't round on him.
Heavens! I can't do that."
This reads rather pitiful, doesn't it, under the circumstances?
Jack at the end of his resources tried a desperate bluff.
"I'll put Acton on your track, my beauty, and perhaps he'll make you
see--or feel--reason."
"That game's no good, young shaver. I don't want to see Mr. Acting no
more than you want to tell him of your little blow-outs. Look here, are
you going to pay? Yes or no?"
"I haven't got the money," said Jack, at his wits' end.
"Ho! that's very likely," said Raffles, with a sneer; "anyhow, you could
mighty soon get it if you wanted to."
"How?"
"Why, borrow it, of course. Ask your chum, Mr. Acting. _He_ 'as money.
No end of brass, the Coon says."
"I can't do that," said Jack, in utter despair.
"Orl right," said Raffles, seeing his shot had told. "I see you ain't
got the money on you now, and I don't want to be too 'ard on you. I'll
give you a chance. I'll give you till Saturday to turn it over. My
advice is to borrow from Mr. Acting. He'll lend it you, I should think;
anyhow, I can't stand shilly-shallying here all night, no more than I
can stand the loss of that grand gun, so I'm off. Have the money by
Saturday at three, or I blow the gaff and you can be hung up or cut up
for all I care. I'm not going to be more beastly friendly nor more
chummy than that."
Raffles lurched off with a savage leer, and Jack staggered back to St.
Amory's.
Jack's life was a burden to him for the next few hours, his head nearly
split with the hatching of impossible plans with loopholes to escape the
weasel on his track, but the end was as Acton had foreseen. Acton got a
note through Grim.
"DEAR ACTON,
"Could you give me ten minutes in your study to-night?--Yours,
"J. BOURNE."
"DEAR BOURNE,
"Twenty, if you like.--Yours,
"J. ACTON."
Jack went, and when Acton put him into the easy-chair and noticed his
white, fagged face, he felt genuinely sorry for him.
"You look seedy, young 'un."
"I hope I don't look as seedy as I feel, that's all."
"What's the matter?"
Jack boggled over what he'd come to say, but finally blurted out:
"Acton, would you lend me seven pounds? I'm in a hole, the deuce of a
hole; in fact, I'm pretty well hopelessly stumped. I'll tell you why if
you ask me, but I hope you won't. I've been an ass, but I've collared
some awful luck, and I'm not quite the black sheep I seem. I don't want
to ask Phil--in fact, I couldn't, simply couldn't ask him for this. I'll
pay you back beginning of next term if I can raise as much, and if not,
as much as I can then, and the rest later."
"Oh, you're straight enough, young 'un, and I'll lend you the money,"
said Acton.
Jack blubbed in his thanks, for he was really run down.
"Keep up your pecker, Bourne. Borrowing isn't a crime, quite. When do
you want the cash?"
"By to-morrow, please," said Jack.
"Call in for it, then, before afternoon school, and you can pay me back
as you say. I suppose the sharks have got hold of you."
"Yes," said Jack, with perfect truth, though he only knew of one, and he
went to bed that night blessing Acton. His gorge rose when he thought of
his fleecing, and at this he almost blubbed with rage as he blubbed with
gratitude to Acton.
That interesting Shylock, Raffles, was at the farm confidently waiting
young Bourne and his coins, and when he saw the young innocent bowling
furiously down the road, he sighed with satisfaction. His dream was
true.
"Write out the receipt."
"I've already done it, Mr. Bourne."
"Then here's your blackmail."
"Correct to the figure, sir, and I think it's a settle, nice and
comfortable for all parties."
"If it's any comfort for you to know you're an utter blackguard you can
hear it. A fellow like you isn't on the same level as your filthy
mongrel."
"I never said we was," murmured Raffles, as he shuffled away.