Poulett, "Jack carries Acton's notes to some yellow-haired
dolly down at Westcote. She gives him milk whilst he's waiting for the
answer."

"Go and poach eggs, Poulett."

"Don't do anything too mean, dear Jack, so that you'll make us blush for
you."

"Keep Acton out of mischief, Jack, remember he's only a poor forsaken
monitor. Show him the ropes."

"Good-bye, you chaps," said Jack, hopping on his bike, "here's Acton
coming." The two would then pedal the well-known road to the Lodestone,
and the elevating company of the Coon and Raffles.

"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."

"No," said Jack. "I've had the fun, and I'll pay, of course. Let's have a
last dozen pigeons at the twenty-five yards' rise."

Secretly, Jack was rather glad that Raffles' _role_ of entertainer