"Well," said Cotton, after a little awkward pause, "I don't want to clean you out quite, so pay half now and the rest next term. Would that suit you better, Gus?"

"Thanks, I don't mind," said Gus, airily. "Here's half, then."

Cotton left his friend's room considerably puzzled, but when he came next night with his books for his old jackal's attentions as before, he was more than puzzled, for Gus said--

"Can give you half an hour, Jim."

"We won't be able to screw up enough for Merishall in that time, old man."

"Then you'll have to do the rest yourself, Jim. I'm not going to piffle about any more."

"Oh, don't be an a.s.s, Gus! I've heard that footle before," said Cotton, with his heavy selfishness.

"Not quite, for this time I mean what I say."

"Oh no, you don't!"

"Oh yes, I do!"

"You wouldn't leave a fellow in the lurch like this, after all I--"

"I was left in the lurch last term, Jim, dear, and I'd rather you had a taste of it this go. Do you remember when old Corker was savaging me before all the school!"

The ghost of a smile flitted over Cotton's lips as he said--

"Rather!"

"The entire school, from the meanest f.a.g up to Carr, was laughing at me, and, by Jove! Jim, your laugh was the loudest and longest."

"It was your tips I was thinking of, and Corker's frothing through your list of names," said Cotton, apologetically.

"All right," said Todd, acidly. "If you had left me alone I wouldn't have wanted those tips, and as for my names, I did not christen myself. If you want half an hour to shake out your work roughly I'll do it, but I can't do more, Jim, honour bright."

"I don't want _that_!" said Cotton, angrily, gathering up his books.

"Am deucedly glad you don't. And here, Jim, is the other half of the money. Since I'm not obliging you in any way, why should you me?"

"You're logical, Todd, at any rate," said Jim, with half a sneer.

"Didn't know you could spot logic when you heard it, Cotton," said Gus, with an equal amount of acid, and yet good-naturedly too.

"I suppose I clean you out?"

"You do. I've got a shilling to look at when you've taken up that heap."

"Is that your last word?"

"It is, but there's no need to quarrel--we're as we were before I began to take your hire, Jim."

"Not quite," said Cotton, who was. .h.i.t by Gus's decision. "I'll leave you to your odd shilling and your forsaken tips."

He stumped off to his own room, and called Todd pet names till bedtime.

What made Cotton so angry was that, deep down in his own mind, he knew that Gus was about to do a sensible and a manly thing, and just because he himself was going to suffer by it he had not moral courage enough to speak out openly his better mind.

But Gus, smiling at Cotton's bad temper, took out his books, drew up a scheme for study, bolted his door, and commenced to work. He slacked off when the bell went half an hour before lights out, and spent the time left him in boring a hole in his solitary shilling. He then slipped it on his watch-guard, prepared boldly to face a term of ten weeks without a stiver.

CHAPTER XII

RAFFLES OF ROTHERHITHE

Twice a week, on half-holidays, Acton and Bourne ran over to the farm, to find the c.o.o.n waiting for them in the stable, smoking an enormous cigar as usual, and reading sporting papers on the corn-chest. Young Hill, the farmer's son, generally put in an appearance when the boxing was about over, and to Jack's utter disgust, plainly showed that he would rather that Jack was anywhere else than with Acton when the gloves had been laid aside. He seemed to have some business with Acton concerning which he evidently did not want Jack to hear a single syllable.

Jack did not quite see at first that he was one too many after the boxing was over, and that Hill, at any rate, did not mean there should be a fourth to the deliberations of himself, Acton, and the c.o.o.n. Jack, however, soon tumbled that he was _de trop_, and the minute young Hill came in Jack would stalk solemnly and formally out of the stable and kick up his heels in the farmyard until such time as Acton should be ready for the run to school.

Jack certainly did not like this cavalier treatment, but found it rather a bore pottering about the yard, "looking at the beastly ducks;" but Acton was so profusely apologetic when he did come out that Jack generally smoothed his ruffled plumes and pedalled home at peace with himself and all the world.

"The fact is, Jack," said Acton, "young Hill has arranged for me to have the stable for our practice, for old Hill himself was rather against it, and as he has a prejudice against St. Amory fellows generally, but especially when they're of the Junior School--some of your tribe scuttled his punt for him on the moat, didn't you?--I thought you would not mind humouring the man's amiabilities. The c.o.o.n and he talk rot--sporting rot--and it would only bore you to listen to it."

Jack said, "It does not matter in the least. I'd as soon look at the ducks as listen to Hill. It's a bit _infra dig._, though, that _he_ should object."

As a matter of fact, young Hill received letters for Acton which dealt with many things, the burden of most of them being "betting," and the other sweet things of the sporting shop. Acton was, as you will have seen, not the very green innocent who would come to much harm in this lovely form of diversion.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A LITTLE YELLOW, EAR-TORN DOG BUSTLED OUT OF SOME SHED.]

About a fortnight after the visits to the Lodestone had commenced, the c.o.o.n brought down with him a long-legged, thin-faced, horsey-looking individual, who introduced himself to Bourne as Raffles of Rotherhithe, and who laid himself out to be excessively friendly to Jack. He took, evidently, quite a professional interest in the sparring, and told Acton that "his left was quite a colourable imitation of the c.o.o.n's."

"Not colourable, anyhow," said Acton, with a wink at Jack.

"What do you think, sir, of Alabama's 'blind hook'?"

Jack, who had not the remotest idea what a "blind hook" was, said it "was simply stunning."

"Exactly my idea, sir. I see you know above a bit about the n.o.ble art."

Raffles, as he would have said in his own special slang, worked the "friendly lay" so well upon Jack, that that young gentleman was captured to the last gun; you can do an awful lot of execution by deferring to the opinion of a young man of sixteen, or thereabouts, as to the merit of relying exclusively on the left.

When the sparring was over, Raffles shuffled out with Jack into the yard and whistled. A little yellow, ear-torn dog bustled out of some shed and trotted demurely by Mr. Raffles' right boot.

"See that dog, Mr. Bourne?"

"By the way, Raffles, how did you know my name was Bourne?" asked Jack.

"Mr. Acting mentioned that it was so. No offence, I hope, sir?"

"Oh no!" said Jack.