CONCERNING TODD AND COTTON
Knowing Acton's pride--his overwhelming pride--I never expected to see
him back at St. Amory's. I expected that he would almost have moved
heaven and earth and got himself taken off the school books and gone to
complete his education somewhere else rather than come back to the old
place where he had had such a signal thrashing. But, of course, he knew
jolly well that we four had our tongues tied, and that the knowledge of
his defeat was, so to speak, strictly private property; and that is why,
I am pretty sure, he turned up again.
He strolled up and down the High, arm-in-arm with Worcester, in high
good humour, on the day we returned; but when I turned the corner and
came upon him _vis-à-vis_ he gave me a long, level, steady look of
hatred, which told me that he had nursed his wrath to keep it warm. His
look made me thoughtful. Young Jack Bourne, too, came sailing along--a
breezy miniature copy of Phil, his brother--but when he caught sight of
his former patron he blushed like a girl and scuttled into the first
available yard.
[Illustration: HE GAVE ME A LONG, STEADY LOOK OF HATRED.]
He was not particularly anxious to meet Acton, for Phil, in the
holidays, had given Jack a pretty correct inkling of Acton's character,
and he began to see--in fact, he did see--that Raffles and the shooting
and the billiards, and the hocus pocus of "hedging on Grape Shot," and
the trip to London, etc., was only one involved, elaborate plot to
strike at Phil. Jack now fully realized that he had played a very
innocent fly to Acton's consummate spider, and he now, when there wasn't
any very pressing necessity, determined to give the spider's parlour a
very wide berth indeed. Acton saw Jack's little manoeuvre, and smiled
gently. He was genuinely fond of Jack, but young Bourne had served his
purpose; and now, thought Acton, philosophically, "Jack looks upon me as
a monster of iniquity, and he won't cultivate my acquaintance." And
Phil? Well, Phil regarded the incident as "closed," and paid no heed to
his enemy's bitter looks, but divided his attention between his books
and cricket, keeping, perhaps unnecessarily, a bright outlook upon
Master Jack.
Todd had come back to St. Amory's in a very different frame of mind from
that in which he had returned after the Perry fiasco. His three weeks'
holiday had been no end enjoyable; and now, besides a coin or two in his
pocket, he had a clean, crisp note in his purse. As he stepped out of
the train at the station, the burly figure of Jim Cotton hove in sight,
and an eleven-inch palm clapped Gus on the back.
"Hallo! old man. How goes it?"
"Oh!" said Gus, coughing; "I'm all right, Jim, and your biceps seem in
their usual working order."
"They are, Gus. I've got a cab out here; we'll go on together."
"Rather! I must find some one to see to the traps, though."
"I've commandeered young Grim," said Jim, "and he'll see to them."
"Provident beggar! Here you are, Grim. Put mine into Taylor's cart, and
here's a shilling for you."
Grim, who felt rather injured at being lagged by Cotton so early in the
term, just at the moment, too, when he had caught sight of Wilson
staggering along with a heavy hat-box, etc., seized Jim's and Gus's
effects. Todd's modest _douceur_, however, took off the rough edge of
his displeasure.
After tea, Cotton and Todd strolled about, and finally came to anchor
behind the nets, where some of the Sixth were already at practice.
"Phil Bourne's good for a hundred at Lord's," said Jim, critically,
watching Phil's clean, crisp cutting with interest.
"There's Acton out, too."
"Raw," said Jim. "Biffen's beauty has never been taught to hold his bat,
that is evident. Footer is more his line, I take it."
"Are you going to have a try for the eleven, Jim, this year?"
"I'll see how things shape. If Phil Bourne gives me the hint that I have
a chance, I'll take it, of course."
"Will he give Acton the hint, think you?"
"I shouldn't say so," said Jim, as Acton's stumps waltzed out of the
ground for the fourth time. "He can't play slows for toffee."
"Rum affair about the footer cap," said Gus.
"Rather so. But I believe Phil Bourne is as straight as a die. I'm not
so sure of Acton, though. I fancy there's something to be explained
about the cap. By the way, Gus, are you going to loaf about this term as
usual? Taylor's house side really does want bigger fellows than it's
got."
"No!" said Gus. "I'm no good at cricket, nor croquet, nor any other
game; nor do I really care a song about them. All the same, I'm not
going to loaf."
"What is the idea?" said Jim, curiously.
"I'm going to have a shot for the history medal, and I mean to crawl up
into the first three in the Fifth."
"And you'll do 'em, Toddy," said Jim, admiringly. "You're not quite such
an ass as you once were."
"Well, I'll work evenly and regularly, and, perhaps, pull off one or
other of them."
"I go, you know, at midsummer. Then I'm to cram somewhere for the Army.
Taylor's been advising a treble dose of mathematics, and I think I'll
oblige him this time."
"Taylor's not half a bad fellow," said Gus.
"Oh, you're a monomaniac on that subject, Gus! Once you felt ill if you
met Taylor or Corker on your pavement."
Jim Cotton was right. Gus was now a vastly different fellow from the
shiftless, lazy, elusive Gus of old; he worked evenly and steadily
onward, and, in consequence, his name danced delightfully near the top
of the weekly form-lists of the Fifth Form. He, however, did not sap
everlastingly, but on half holidays lounged luxuriantly on the school
benches, watching the cricket going on in the bright sunshine, or he
would take his rod and have an afternoon among the perch in the
Lodestone, that apology for a stream. Fishing was Gus's ideal of
athleticism; the exercise was gentle, and you sometimes had half a dozen
perch for your trouble. Gus argued there was nothing to show for an
eight hours' fag at cricket in a broiling sun.