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?"
[Illustration: "CUT, YOU MISERABLE PUPPY!"]
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.