The other members came out one by one, and were cheered to the echo, and at last Phil came out with Hodgson. He was rather pale, but had his back very straight. There was a dead silence, and, for the first time since he had been captain, Phil walked down the steps without a friendly cheer. I think even now the old school behaved itself very well--the fellows were not behind the scenes, and didn't see more than was before their eyes, but there was not a single word thrown out at Phil. Acton came out with Worcester, and the pity was that he didn't deserve the cheers he got.

[Ill.u.s.tration: PHIL WALKED DOWN THE STEPS WITHOUT A FRIENDLY CHEER.]

The week before the Carthusian match there was but one solitary player to be promoted. The position was back, and every fellow in the place knew that, bar Bourne himself, there wasn't another man that could hold a candle to Acton there. The committee doggedly, and with meaning, elected the only player there was to elect, and Acton signified that he was willing to play. Bourne, as usual, was there, and no one felt more than he the air of distrust and constraint which hung over the meeting. When Acton was unanimously elected for back Phil stolidly wrote out the list of the team and had it pinned up on the notice-board. He had carefully drawn the line in red ink above the last name--Acton's--which showed that the pride of Biffen's was not in the eleven yet.

Probably Acton on the next day played as well as even he had ever played in his life, for he was almost impa.s.sable, and the crowd of fellows cheered him till they were hoa.r.s.e. The minute the whistle blew, like one man the whole school swarmed round the pavilion. The question each asked himself and his chum was, "Would Acton get the last cap?" And the answer was, "Why, of course! Who else should have it?"

That afternoon to most of the fellows the eleven seemed an age getting into their sweaters and coats. When Acton appeared first, and it was seen that he was wearing the pink cap of Biffen's on his head there was more than astonishment, there was consternation. Whatever did it mean? Acton smiled good-naturedly at the school as they cheered him to the echo, and hurried unconcernedly along. The others of the eleven came out dejectedly, and filed up the hill in gloomy little groups. The whole school waited for Phil, and when he came out, pale and worried, they received him in icy silence. As he was coming down the steps one of Biffen's f.a.gs shouted shrilly, "Three cheers for Acton!"

Phil stalked through the shouting school, and as I joined him and we walked up together, he said, through his clenched teeth--

"I wish, old man, I had never seen that brute."

That evening Bourne wrote to Worcester offering him the remaining cap.

Worcester flew across to Acton's room, and said, "Bourne has offered me the place--the last cap. He must be stark, staring mad!"

"Take it," said Acton, coolly.

"No fear," said Worcester. "We have a stupid kind of prejudice here for having the best eleven we can get, and it isn't the best if you're out of it. Bourne has always been a most impartial fellow up to this date, so this little occurrence has thrown us off the rails. Before I go to protest, though, have you any idea what is the matter?"

"He does not consider me fit for the eleven," said Acton with a light laugh, but also with perfect truth.

"Rot!" said d.i.c.k, hurrying away.

He hunted up the other nine fellows, and said bluntly his business.

"I vote we all protest to Bourne. A round robin should meet the case."

"Good," said Mivart. "Draw one up, d.i.c.ky dear."

d.i.c.k in time produced the following:--

"We, the undersigned, think that the St. Amory eleven is incomplete without John Acton, of Biffen's house, and, consequently, that he ought to have the last cap; and we would beg the captain to offer it him unless there be very good reasons for not doing so. We would suggest that if John Acton isn't to have the cap he be told the reason. The undersigned do not wish in the smallest degree to prejudice the right of the captain to select members for the eleven, but think that in the present case the withholding of a cap from John Acton inexplicable."

"You're a ready scribe, d.i.c.k," said Chalmers. "We may all sign that, eh?"

"Yes," said Worcester. "I first, because I am undeservedly offered the cap, and the rest of you in order of membership."

No one saw any objection to signing d.i.c.k's memorandum, and forthwith, with all legal formality, the round robin was signed by the ten, and sent to Phil by d.i.c.k's f.a.g with orders to wait for an answer.

It came within five minutes.

"DEAR WORCESTER, I have no intention of offering John Acton a place in the St.

Amory's football eleven. There are good reasons for not doing so, and I have already told Acton the reasons. Please let me know whether you accept the vacant place I had the pleasure of offering you.

Yours sincerely, PHILIP BOURNE."

This was a thunderbolt among the fellows. Then Acton knew!

Worcester posted back to Acton, lost in amazement.

"Look at this, Acton!"

Acton carefully read Bourne's letter, and d.i.c.k, who was watching him anxiously, saw him bite his lips with rage; for Phil's icy contempt stood out in every word of the letter.

"He says you know why you are not in the eleven."

Acton knew that he would have to explain something, or else Bourne would win the day yet. So he said--

"That is true. He told me so at the beginning of the season, but, of course, I never bargained for his keeping his word; and when you hear the reason he gave me--if this is his reason--you'll gasp."

"Well," said d.i.c.k, "although I've no right to ask you, I'd like to hear the plain, unvarnished tale, for, speaking out, Phil Bourne has always pa.s.sed for a decent, level fellow. This business, somehow, doesn't seem his form at all, and it is only fair to him to say it."

"Did you see the match we had with Shannon's scratch team when the term began?"

"I did."

"Did you notice anything about my play?"

"You opened our eyes a bit, I remember."

"Did I play roughly?"

"No. Not quite that! You were not gentle; but you aren't that as a rule, though your game is fair enough."

"Not for Bourne. He doesn't like my game. I'm too rough. It's bad form, _pace_ Bourne, therefore I'm barred my place in the eleven."

"Is that the explanation?"

"Yes. Honour bright! Except"--Acton paused diplomatically for a moment--"except, I don't think he likes me."

"Then Phil is a fool, and he'll find out pretty speedily that we can't stand rot of this quality. I, of course, can't take the cap."

"My dear fellow, why in the world not? If you don't, some other house will get it. Biffen's deserves two fellows in the eleven this year."

"They do, by Jove!"

"Then let us have the satisfaction of keeping out another Corker fellow."

d.i.c.k told the other fellows plainly and without any gilding, his conversation with Acton, and they pressed him to go and see Phil personally; so d.i.c.k marched heavily to Bourne's quarters.

"Sorry, Worcester, but I cannot explain anything. Not even to you. But I do hope you'll come into the eleven."

d.i.c.k said shortly, "I think I shall, for Biffen's deserves the other cap, though the right fellow isn't getting it. By the way, Bourne, you'll not be very sweet to the school generally after this. They--the fellows--to a man, are no end cut up over Acton's treatment."

"I supposed they would be. I knew it would be so."