HODGSON'S QUIETUS
Acton now felt pretty safe as regards young Bourne. He held him fast in the double bonds of indebtedness and of gratitude, and with Jack the gratitude was by far the greater. Acton had saved him from disgrace, from a lengthened stringing up, from the scorn of his brother, from the jeers and laughter of the rest of the fellows. Like others, he could have stood Corker's rage better than the jokes of his cronies. He was received back into the fold of his own particular set with more éclat than he felt he deserved.
"Here's old Bourne gone and sacked Acton," said Grim.
"Sure Acton hasn't sacked him?" suggested Rogers.
"Best fellow breathing," said Bourne, fervently.
"Still, he's Biffen's."
"I don't care whether he's a water-lily or not—he can't help that, you know, poor fellow."
"Why should he? Aren't we cock house?"
"Where would you have been if Acton hadn't lifted you out of your muddy pond, and let you see a little sunlight?"
"You should be his fag," said Grim.
"I'd jolly well like to," said Jack. "I'd black his boots almost."
"He's a dozen pairs," said Grim.
"Write a poem on his virtues," suggested Rogers.
"Shut up this rot," said Wilson. "Let's try a run round the Bender—last fellow stands tea at Hoopers."
"Carried, nem. con.," said Grim, who was pretty speedy.
And the reunited half-dozen cronies ran the three miles out and ditto home, Wilson subsequently standing tea, for, as he pathetically explained, "I was overhauling Rogers hand over hand when I slipped my shoe, else he'd have had to fork out." Thus Jack became again for a while the common or garden variety of school-boy, and he enjoyed the change.
Phil Bourne came into my room the same evening that saw Jack Bourne released from the toils of Raffles.
"Busy, old man?"
"Not at all," said I, pushing away my books. "Jolly glad you've come in."
"There's a bit of news for you. I've just been in the gym. I fancy the old school will pull off the 'Heavy' at Aldershot."
"Has Hodgson turned out so jolly well, then?"
"Hodgson! Oh no! Hodgson isn't going to be the school's representative this year, I fancy."
"Why, have you been in form to-night?"
"Look here, old man, you are quite out of it. You sit here reading up all that ancient lore about the cestus, and you could tell me the names of all Nero's gladiators, and yet here at this establishment we've got a gladiator who is going to make history, and you don't know it."
"I thought you were the only fellow who could show Hodgson anything."
"No," said Phil. "I never was as good as Hodgson. I always made a point of making him go all the way to win on principle, but he always had a pull more or less over me. You see, Hodgson is lazy, and he wanted some one to challenge the right to represent the school, or I don't fancy he'd have put in enough good work to stand much chance against the Eton man. Therefore I stepped into the breach, and, by sweating him, have made Hodgson from a very fair boxer into a good one—good, but nothing super-excellent."
"Then who's been lying low all this time?"
"Acton."
"Acton?" said I, in utter astonishment. "Why, didn't our dear Theodore dress him down once for losing his temper in the gym?"
"He did, my boy, and Acton repaid the compliment to-night—with interest. He opened our eyes for us. I'm telling the bare truth when I say that he simply played with Theodore, and at the third round he as good as knocked him out."
I stared into the fire for a minute or two, thinking out this news.
"Eureka!" said I. "I've found it!"
"What?"
"The reason Acton crops up here. He cannot forget an injury. Hodgson humbled him once, and so Acton must needs take away from Theodore his own peculiar pet ambition, which is to represent St. Amory's at Aldershot in the Heavy."
"I wish," said Phil, gloomily, "Biffen's Beauty's schemes always worked out so well for the school's honour. He'll represent St. Amory's without a doubt."
"Is he so very good, then?"
"Super-excellent, old fellow! Prodigious!" said Phil, with genuine admiration. "We'll all sleep with both ears on the pillow when the telegram comes from Aldershot. Such a left! He has a swinging, curly stroke which he uses after an artful little feint which would win the final by itself. Hodgson really seemed trying to catch quick-silver when he tried to get home on Acton. Where did Acton learn all this? The sergeant hasn't got that artful mis-hit in his bag of tricks."
"Don't speculate on Acton's doings or where he picks up what he knows. It's too intricate."
"What a pity one can't go and shake his hand as one would like to do. He is a marvel—this dark horse," said Phil, with genuine regret, as always when speaking of Acton.
"Our bête noir," said I, without winking.
"You heathen," said Phil, laughing. "That was almost a pun. But I'm afraid I'm a bit selfish in my joy about Acton. Since he's a certainty, I can devote all my mighty mind to rackets. I don't think there is a better pair in the place than Vercoe and self at present."
"Oh, thou modest one!"
"'Toby' always finishes up 'When you and Mr. Vercoe goes to Queen's Club, Mr. Bourne, I advise you, etc.' So, 'Toby' evidently has no doubt who's to go there."
"Toby" Tucker was our racket professional, and when he spotted a pair for the public-school rackets, Fenton, the master who finally chose the pair, never said "Nay." "Toby" was incorruptible. With both his little eyes fixed inexorably on merit, the greatest joys of his life were consummated when the St. Amory's pair brought the championship home.
"Congratulate you, old man. If Acton pulls off the Aldershot and you and Vercoe the rackets—"
"If I only felt as confident on our lifting that as I do of Acton bringing off his, I'd go straightway and smother 'Toby.' He almost works one to death."