nd 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