e fancy articles?"

"A thrashing for first course, and _et ceteras_ which you wouldn't
understand."

"Well, he's earned 'em. We couldn't do any betting on the horses, since
the Lincolnshire Handicap is not in sight yet, but he fluttered a little
on the Sporting Club matches; and he was lucky--more than ordinary."

"You didn't wing him there, then?"

"Nothing to speak of. He may have dropped half a sov. altogether, but I
doubt it."

"Then, Raffles, you're a fool. Do you think I brought you down here to be
moral instructor to young Bourne, you grey old badger? Couldn't you bag
an innocent of sixteen or so? Besides, what the deuce do you mean by
tipping me the wink as Bourne and I used to get on our 'bikes'? You
always did it, and I thought you were winding up the youngster hand over
hand."

"Them winks," said Raffles, diplomatically, "was meant to show that I was
moving--moving slow, but sure. You've observed, Mr. Acting, yourself, as
'ow the young shaver had a head on 'is shoulders."

"Yes, but I didn't bargain for yours being off your shoulders."

"Well, what with bunnies, cartridges, and the Blue Cow, and the other
extras, he is about cleaned out now."

"Cleaned out!" said Acton, with intense irritation. "That's not what I
wanted. I told you distinctly that I must have him five pounds deep at
the least. How can I engineer my schemes if my sharpers can't cut? You'll
look blue, Raffles, when I settle your account, take my word for it."

"Not quite so quick off the mark, Mr. Acting. What do you value this
piece of ironmongery at?"

Raffles fished up the gun which had burst in Jack's hands that afternoon
from behind the corn-chest, and held it up to the light.

"A burst gun!" said Acton. "It's worth throwing away; no more."

"It was worth this morning, say fifteen bob, before Bourne blew its ribs
out."

"Jove!" said Acton, "let me handle the thing." He looked at the torn
breech, and whistled with involuntary horror. "Much of a squeak,
Raffles?"

"Touch and go, sir. He'll never be nearer pegging out than he was this
afternoon; for he scraped the gates of his family buryin'-place, in a
manner of speakin.' It went clean through his hat--rim and crown."

"Did he know his luck?"

"Nobody better."

"He looked more than average queer as we trotted home. I thought he was
digesting your little bill, Raffles."

"No; he only owes me a matter of shillin's. But I could say that I
ticketed the gun at L5 or L6, w