Acton's Feud: A Public School Story

CHAPTER XVII

RAFFLES' BILL

It was with hearty thankfulness at the idea of being finally rid of Raffles that Jack walked over to the "Lodestone" by himself on the Thursday, jingling his last few shillings in his pockets. Raffles was waiting for him in the stables, and he was very friendly and familiar, which always annoyed Jack immensely.

"Glad you're in time, sir, and to 'ear the dibs a-rattlin' in your pockets."

"Because they'll rattle in yours, soon, I suppose. I make out I owe you about ten shillings, Raffles."

"'Ow do you make that out, Mr. Bourne?"

"Rabbits, cartridges, and dummy pigeons. I'm about right, I fancy?"

"Right as far as they go."

"As far as they go, of course—not farther. Then here you are."

"And the gun," said Raffles, calmly, looking into vacancy, and not seeing Jack's coins—"leastwise, wot was a gun."

"Am I to pay for that filthy article?" said Jack, angrily. "Why, it nearly blew my brains out!"

"'As'e to pay for that breech-loader gun?" said Raffles, laughing softly as at some good joke. "Why, of course you have."

"My opinion is, Raffles, that that gun was rotten. It wasn't worth a sovereign. I don't believe it was ever fit to shoot with, now."

"Of course, now," said Raffles, with a sneer. "Now, when you've got to pay for it."

"I don't know so much about 'have got to pay for it' at all. That grin of yours doesn't improve your looks, Raffles," said Jack, who was rather nettled by Raffles' sneer.

"Well, my bantam cock," said Raffles, savagely, "I only 'opes as this 'ere bill won't spoil yours. And let me tell you, young shaver, I want the money."

Jack calmly took the piece of note-paper which Raffles hurriedly fished out of his pocket, and flourished dramatically before Bourne. There was a touching simplicity about Raffles' bill-making that would in ordinary times have made Jack split with laughter, but, naturally, at the present time he did not feel in a very jovial frame of mind. Hence he read through the farrago with only one very strong desire—to kick Raffles neck and crop out of the stable. This was the bill:—

"Now, Raffles," said Jack, in a white heat, "what do you mean by this rotten foolery?"

"There's no foolery about it," said Raffles, sulkily. "That's my bill."

"Why, you unspeakable rascal, did you fancy I'd pay it?"

"I did, and I do."

Something in the fellow's tone made Jack a trifle uneasy, and he considered within himself for a moment what he had better do. That the rascal had made up his mind to be nasty was evident, and when Jack thought that the gun, poor as it was, was destroyed, though through no fault of his own, he thought perhaps he might give his old jackal something as a solatium.

"All right, Raffles! I'll pay you for what I owe you now, and I'll give you a sovereign for the gun. I'll send you that in a day or two. I've no more money with me now."

"That ain't the bill. I want this 'ere bill paid."

"'This 'ere bill' is sheer rot!" retorted Jack.

"Rot or not, it's what I want from you. You pay up that seven odd, or it will be the worse for you. What is seven odd to a young gent like you? Aren't you all millionaires at St. Amory's?"

"Not by a long chalk."

"Well, I don't want to be unpleasant, my buck, but if you won't pay over I'll show you up."

"Show me up, you beast—what do you mean?"

"I'll write to Corker and blow the gaff."

"If you did that," said Bourne, grimly, "I'd kill you first day I could do it."

CHAPTER XVIII

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."

CHAPTER XIX

HOW THEY "'ELPED THE PORE FELLER"

As a rule, the laboratory was empty on half-holidays, and Gus used to work through his tables in solitude, when he tried a little "bottle-washing" as a change from the refereeing, but one afternoon he found no less a person than W.E. Grim, the prize fag of Biffen's, doing something very seriously with a green powder.

"Hullo, young 'un! What are you footling round here for?"

"Lancaster has given me this salt to analyze, Todd. I think there's copper in it."

"What have you been up to, that Lancaster has run you in? Half-holiday, too!"

"He hasn't run me in," said Grim, sulkily. "As a special favour he's let me come in here to work a little myself. I did a ripping chemistry paper last week, and—"

"Oh, I see. Are you going to give Biffen's another leg up, too?"

"Just as soon as you give Taylor's one," said Grim, who, in common with all the juniors, did not fear the easy-going Todd.

"No cheek!" said Gus. "If I mixed up coal-dust and brick-dust, how'd you separate 'em?"

"Ask my grandmother for a telescope, and look out the mix through the butt end."

"Quite so," said Todd, chuckling. "I suppose you've given me a specimen of Biffen's latest brand of wit. Well, don't make too big a row in hunting for your copper, and then I'll not chuck you out."

Grim murmured something disparaging Todd's authority for chucking out, but Gus languidly sidled off to his own particular bench, where, out of sight of Grim, he prepared to do an afternoon's quiet work.

Meanwhile Grim's particular cronies, Wilson, Rogers, Sharpe, Poulett, and young Bourne, arrayed in all the glory of mud-stained footer-togs, after vainly waiting outside Biffen's, were seeking high and low for the copper-hunting chemist, who, for many reasons, had kept his afternoon's plan very dark. He knew only too well that his beloved chums would not hear of an afternoon's work, and would head him off either to footer or a run round the Bender. Therefore, immediately after dinner, he had made an unostentatious exit, and reached the laboratory in safety.

"Where is Grimmy?" said Sharpe.

"Dunno," said Wilson.

"Did he know of our six-a-side against Merishall's lot?"

"Rather! Said he hoped we'd win."

"We! Why, is he backing out, then?"

"Well, we've waited for him half an hour, and there's no sign of him yet—look's like it."

"What is up with him, I wonder?" said Poulett.

"Seemed rather mysterious this morning—rather stand-offish to my idea. Perhaps, though, he's only guzzling buns or swilling coffee somewhere. Let's see."

The quintette thereupon spread themselves out, but every shop was drawn blank.

"Rum!" said Rogers. "Where can the ass be?"

"If we knew, Solomon, would we try to find out?" said Sharpe.

"I say, you fellows—I've got an idea about Grimmy. Didn't Lancaster give him a leg-up for his chemistry the other day? Permission to footle in the lab. on half-holidays, and all the rest of it? Grim was no end cocky over that."

"Grimmy waste a 'halfer' bottle-washing! Rot! That isn't his form, Wilson."

"If," said Poulett, impressively, "he has sunk so low, we must give him an 'elpin' 'and, pore feller!"

"Rather. If Lancaster has put the cover over old Grimmy we must get him out somehow. Let's adjourn to see."

The honourable five forthwith moved over to the laboratory, and Grim received his beloved cronies with hot blushes and a rather nervous manner.

"I say, you chaps, what do you want?"

"What did we want?" said Bourne, as though he'd forgotten it. "What was it, Rogers?"

"A fellow, formerly Grimmy, not a nasty bottle-washer," said Rogers, more in sorrow than in anger.

"But yesterday and Grimmy was an average back, and now he's holding up some filthy brew to the sunlight to see how muddy it is. Oh, my great aunt!" chimed in Wilson.

"How are the mighty fallen!" gasped Sharpe.

"Look here, you fellows—" began Grim, with still more vivid blushes mantling his noble face.

"'Ear, 'ear! speech! speech! withdraw! apologize!"

"I'm not ashamed of being here and doing a little chemistry for my own amusement, so there; and you fellows had better cut before Lancaster comes and runs you all in."

"That is all right, Grimmy. Lancaster's sporting a silk tile, so he's off to town. To think of your cutting our six-a-side to puff down a dirty blow-pipe! Come out, you idiot, and get into your footer togs!" said Sharpe.

"I'm not coming, I tell you."

"Insanity in the family, evidently," observed Poulett, judicially.

"Aren't you coming, really?"

"No, I'm not; do get out and leave me alone!"

"Never!" said Poulett. "We'll stay with him and see him through the fit, eh?"

"Rather! We'll never desert you, Grimmy!"

"We'll let the six-a-side slide for this afternoon, and we'll help Grimmy with his salt," suggested the egg-poacher, brilliantly; and any amount of hidden meaning was in the word "help."

"We will! we will!" cried the rest, spotting Poulett's idea instanter, with enthusiastic joy; and despite Grim's frenzied declamation and eloquence they all "helped."

For two hours—as lively a couple of hours as ever were passed within the laboratory—Gus lay low behind the far bench and enjoyed the afternoon's performance far more than Grim. The green powder underwent some weird experiments, each of the quintette availing himself of Grim's knowledge and test-tubes and acid-bottles with the utmost freedom. The analysis of Lancaster's mixture gave various results, but when Rogers "found" rhubarb and black-lead this was held the correct find, and after this verdict the generous five put up the test-tubes in the rack. They all said Rogers had settled the matter, and anyway they had had a jolly time.

"Understand," observed Poulett, as he washed away some acid stains from his bare knees, "that Grimmy is not ashamed of his black-lead and rhubarb hunt."

"Why those vivid blushes, then?"

"We never bargained that old Grim would copy that Fifth Form ass, Todd, and chum up with Lancaster, did we?"

"What did you say about Todd?" inquired Grim, suavely.

"Said he was an ass."

"A what?"

"An ass, a jackass, a howling jackass!" cried Poulett, crescendo.

"How?"

"Remember Corker pitching into him? Said he wasn't fit for a decent nursery, and Toddy had his mouth open all the time."

CHAPTER XX

ACTON'S TRUMP CARD

On the Saturday before we should go home Acton was due at Aldershot, and would return the same night, as the fellows hoped, with his laurels thick upon him. Bourne and Vercoe were staying at school a week later than we, for the rackets did not come off until our holidays had commenced. Toby had begged for this almost with tears in his eyes, for he had a mortal dread of the relaxing process of a week at home.

"You'd have no 'ands, Mr. Bourne, no spring, no eyes, when you toed the mark at Kensington. I'll send you fit if I have you here."

So Vercoe and Phil agreed to stay.

And now Acton determined to put into operation his long-thought-of scheme for the paying off of the score against Phil. It was subtle, and founded on a perfect knowledge of Bourne's character, and a perfect disregard of the consequences to any one—even including himself. Acton would have willingly martyred himself, if he could have inflicted a little of the torments on Bourne too.

There was one rule from which Dr. Moore never swerved a hair's breadth. Compared to this particular law the stringency of the Old Game regulation for Thursday was lax indeed. He never had departed from it, and he never would depart from it. If any fellow took it into his head to slip out of his house after lights out at ten on any pretence whatever he was expelled. There was some legend in connection with this severity, what exactly none of us rightly knew, but according to the tale the escapade of two fellows years ago, when Corker was new to the place, had resulted in one of the fellows being shot. Twice had he expelled fellows while I was at school—Remington and Cunningham—and I cannot ever forget the old man's deathlike face as he told them to go. Some fellows broke out and were not found out, for Corker wasn't going to have any barred windows as in some places. Any one could break out any night he liked, but he knew what he might expect if he were caught. There was no help. Remington had been found out, and though there had been Remingtons in the school since Anne's reign, Corker was inexorable. He was expelled.

In a word, Acton determined to go to London and to take young Bourne with him, and so risk certain expulsion for both, supposing they were discovered. He had no intention of being expelled, though; for he liked the life at St. Amory's, where incense floated round him all day long, but he meant, when he had accomplished the ruin of Jack, to let Bourne senior know it. Acton gloated in advance over Phil's anger, shame, and consternation, and—this was the cream of the joke—his utter inability to do anything except keep silence and chew the bitter cud of hopeless rage against him—the man to whom he would not give the footer cap. Acton never thought of Jack's share in the matter at all, and yet he was genuinely fond of him; all he thought of was what would be Philip's hopeless rage.

Phil, of course, could say nothing to Corker, for he knew it would be hopeless. And Acton knew that Phil's pride could never bear the idea of Jack—a Bourne—being expelled from the old place. Therefore he would keep silence. I don't think I used the wrong adjective when I said it was subtle. The only question was—could he so manage that Jack would go? And Acton for good reasons was pretty certain that he could.

Jack was staidly taking a turn up and down the pavement with Grim when, on passing by Biffen's house, he heard a whistle from one of the windows, and, on looking up, he saw Acton.

"I want you, Bourne, for five minutes—if you can spare them."

"Of course he can," said Grim, sotto voce. "Aren't you a monitor? Jack, my boy, Acton wants to knight you—or something. You'll find his boots in the bottom cupboard, if you want to black 'em very much. I suppose, being only a common or garden fag, my feelings aren't to be considered for a moment. When you were—for once—talking sensibly for a Corker fag, you are called away to——"

"Cork all that frivol, old man, till you see me at tea," said Jack, moving into Biffen's yard.

When Jack was comfortably installed in a chair, Acton bolted his door, and, somewhat to young Bourne's surprise, seemed rather in a fix how to start what he had to say. The locking of the door was unusual, and this, combined with Acton's grave face and hesitating manner, made Jack a trifle uneasy. Whatever was coming?

"I say, Bourne," at last said his friend, "do you know anything about betting?"

"Betting!" said Jack, with a vivid blush. "About as much as most of the fellows know of it. Not more."

"Well, do you mind reading this?" He handed Jack a slip of paper which contained such cryptic sentences as: "Grape Shot gone wrong, though he will run. Pocket Book is the tip. If you're on Grape Shot, hedge on best terms you can get," etc.

"I understand that," said Jack, "you've—if this means you—you've backed the wrong horse."

"Exactly," said Acton. "I backed Grape Shot for the Lincolnshire Handicap, and he hasn't a ghost of a chance now. Gone wrong."

"I see," said Jack, absolutely staggered that Acton, a monitor, should tell him, a fag, that he was betting on horse-racing.

"I see, young 'un, that you seem surprised at my little flutter, but, by Jove! this will have to be my last. Do you know, Bourne, I'm in an awful hole."

"I'm very sorry to hear it," said Jack, with no end of concern.

"You see, if Pocket Book pulls the handicap off before I've time to trim my sails, I lose a lot."

"Much," said Jack, "for you?"

"Thirty pounds."

"Whew!" whistled Bourne.

"I get a good allowance from home, Bourne, but I'm bound to say thirty pounds would cripple me."

"Rather," said Jack, with a gasp.

"Of course, if the worst did come to the worst, I'd have to apply to home; but there would be, as you might guess, no end of a row about it."

"Then you must hedge," said Jack.

"That is it, exactly. I must back Pocket Book for first place. This is a sure tip—I can depend upon it."

"Then send to the fellow you bet with, and let him put you on Pocket Book."

"That is just it, Jack—the bookmaker wouldn't take a bet from me."

"Why ever not?" said Jack, mystified.

"Because I'm a minor—I'm under age."

"Then how do you manage?" said Jack.

"Why, I bet through another man."

"I see," said Jack, for this was but another edition of his own little adventures. "And that man——"

"Is Raffles," said Acton, quietly.

Jack bounced out of his chair as if he had been stung. "That beast!" he gasped.

"Raffles?" said Acton, with a slow smile. "I didn't know he was a beast."

"He is the meanest skunk alive," said Jack. He added fervently, "Acton, have no dealings with that fellow. He is an abominable sharper."

"Thanks," said Acton, with a slight grimace at Jack's advice. "But, all the same, I have to deal through Raffles."

"Then write to the fellow."

"I don't know—I've forgotten his address."

"Well, I'm hanged if I understand it!" said Jack, lost in astonishment. "If you don't know it, and your bookmaker will only bet through Raffles, you are in a hole—a marvellously deep one."

"There's only one way out—find Raffles."

"And that you can't do."

"And that I think I can do by going to London."

"Well, we're off for the holidays on Tuesday, and you can find Raffles then."

"I should be hopelessly too late if I waited till then. It would be almost ruinous to be put on to Pocket Book in a day's time. I must hedge to-night."

"To-night?" said Jack, in a complete fog. "And you haven't found Raffles!"

"No, but I think I know where to find him to-night. You know the Coon is having a match with the Battersea Beauty at the Universal Sporting Club, and Raffles is pretty sure to be there, and I must see him then."

"But that means going to London, Acton."

"Certainly."

"And Corker would expel you—even you."

"Without a doubt—if he finds out."

"There's a chance that he may."

"Certainly, but it's a mighty slender one, and in any case I mean to—I must—risk it."

"I'm awfully sorry for you."

"Now, Jack, I want you to listen to me," said Acton, very gravely, and his voice showed his genuine anxiety. "The Coon's match does not commence until eleven o'clock at night, because an awful lot of the Universal Sporters are actors and they cannot get away before that time at earliest. Now, there are two entrances for the members into the club, one in Pelican Street and the other in Ridge Street. Raffles must enter by one or the other, and there must be some one at each doorway to give him my note. I can take the one, and the question is—who will take the second doorway?"

"Not I, Acton," said Jack, in a blue funk. "Please, Acton, don't ask me."

"Jack, believe me, you were the last person I wanted to ask. I would have asked Worcester or Chalmers if it had been any good, but they would not know Raffles from Adam. It is ten thousand pities, but you are the only fellow who knows Raffles here. No one else has ever set eyes on him."

"Acton, it means expulsion," said Jack, hoarsely.

"Certainly for me if I'm caught, but, of course, I've no idea of being caught. Jack, I'm not going to ask you to come with me. I shall think no worse of you if you say you won't come, and I cannot take advantage over you to force you against your own wish, because I lent you money. Don't think so meanly of me."

"Acton," said Jack, sweating drops of terror, "it is expulsion if we're caught."

"Jack," said Acton, "have you ever known me to fail yet in anything I undertake?"

"No."

"Well, I will not fail here. If you like I'll give you my word of honour we shall not be caught, and, if by a miracle of ill-luck we should be, I shall see you through. I'll take every iota of blame on my own shoulders. You'll find yourself captain of the school one day yet."

"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.

At six young Bourne left his friend Grim among a waste of empty teacups, plates, and jam-pots, and went to Acton's room.

"I've arranged all," said that worthy. "I've seen the proprietor of the hotel down at Bring, and he's going to have a smart dog-cart and a smarter horse to do the dozen miles between here and Charing Cross ready for us at nine. He says we shall be rattled into town within the hour. So if we aren't in time to spot Raffles we are down on our luck with a vengeance. Your room is on the ground floor, isn't it?"

"Yes," said Jack, "overlooking Corker's flowerbeds."

"Well, pull up the window after supper as quietly as you can, and slip into the garden. Then scoot through the field, and you'll find me waiting for you in the hotel stables. You can pass the word to your chums in Corker's that you aren't going to be on show after supper, and then they won't be routing you out."

"My chums are mostly in Biffen's," said Jack. "Grim and Rogers, etc."

"Good omen," said Acton. "Leave your window so that you can easily shove it up when you come back, and leave your school cap behind, and bring a tweed instead. Got such an article?"

"Yes."

"How's your room lighted?"

"Oh, we have the electric. It is switched off at ten, so that the light will not give any trouble, Acton."

"Well, bolt your door, too. It seems as though the fates were fighting for us, eh, young 'un?"