"If I were expelled, Acton," said Jack, with intense conviction, "the pater would kill me first, and die himself afterwards; and as for Phil——"
"Jack," said Acton, "I must see the business through myself. You can't do it, I see. I must lose the £30."
Jack got up and walked up and down the room in agony.
For five minutes Acton watched his wretched prey torn to pieces by his conflicting fears—his shame of leaving Acton in the lurch, and his dread of discovery.
"Acton," said Jack at length, "I can't leave you in the lurch. I'll go with you to London."
Acton clasped Jack's hand, and said, "Jack, you are a brick. I can only say I thank you." He had landed his fish, as he knew he would.
Half an hour afterwards Jack said, almost cheerfully, for Acton had been doing his best to smooth poor Bourne's ruffled feathers—
"But how are we to go to town?"
"I've got a plan," said Acton; "but I must turn it over in my mind first. If you'll look in, young 'un, after tea, I'll tell you how we do it. I'm going to see about it now. Once again, Jack, I thank you. You do stand by a fellow when he's down on his luck."
Acton and Jack went out—the monitor to make arrangements for the escapade, and Jack to Grim's quarters, where he was due for tea, which he demolished with comparative cheerfulness, for Jack's confidence in Acton was illimitable. After he had taken the jump he was not—is not now—the kind of boy to look back.