"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.