"Don't let Raffles bore you, young 'un," said Acton to Bourne one day as the owner of Warmint hove in sight. "Make him useful, but keep out of mischief."
Jack, had he thought about the matter, might have reasonably asked Acton how he could make Raffles useful and yet keep out of mischief, but the Coon appearing at the stable-door in all the glory of a fur-lined coat, with a foot of fur round the collar and half a foot round the sleeves, and a bigger cigar than ever in his mouth, drove Jack's thoughts in another direction.
Acton had really made marvellous progress under the Coon's coaching, and as Jack watched the usual concluding three rounds, he was puzzled in his own mind as to who could hold a candle up to his friend. This particular afternoon was to be the final appearance of the Coon, who was going to figure shortly as principal in some contest at Covent Garden, and Jack determined to miss no opportunity of catching the last wrinkles of the great professor's skill. Therefore, instead of sallying out as usual halfway through the performance in the stable, he sat on the corn-chest until Hill came in.
"Good-bye, Coon! Hope you come off all right in your turn-up."
"Good-bye, sir! Hope I'll train you when you start for the Heavy."
"I'll give you the chance if I do. Come along, Raffles."
When they were outside, Jack said, "By the way, Raffles, this will be your last appearance down here too, eh?"
"I suppose so," said Raffles, "unless you make it worth my while to come down entirely on your account."
"H'm, no," said Jack. "I'm deucedly short now, and when I've paid for the last fifty cartridges, and the last rabbits, I'll be still shorter."
"Let it stand over, sir."