Acton's Feud: A Public School Story Read online

  CHAPTER X

  THE YOUNG BROTHER

  When St. Amory's reassembled after the holidays Acton found himselffirmly established in the good graces of the fellows, and, indeed, he wasnot far from being the most popular fellow in the place, but poor Philwas looked coldly upon by those who had been his chiefest friends, and,by those who knew little of him, he passed for a jealous bounder. Actonplayed up to his cards in beautiful style, and acted the forgivinginnocent splendidly; but Phil, who was only a very honest fellow, did notplay anything to speak of. Those who gave him the cold shoulder oncenever had a second chance of showing it him, for Phil was no end proud;but he had still one or two friends, who condoned his passing of Actonfor the "footer" cap on the ground of "insufficient information" thereon.Roberts and Baines and Vercoe were not a bad trio to have for friendseither. Acton was now in the Sixth, and a monitor.

  His main idea was to keep Bourne in the bad books of the school untilsuch time as he could direct their ill-favour into channels favourable tohimself and unfavourable for Phil. A lucky chance seemed to open to himan easy method of striking at Bourne, and Acton almost hugged himselfwith joy at his windfall.

  About a week after the holidays Acton had been skating on the Marsh, andas he was returning he came across Jack Bourne engaged in a desperatefight with a young yokel. There was a small crowd of loafers, who weredelighted at this little turn up, and were loud in their advice to thefellow to give "the young swell a good hiding."

  This little crowd, as I said, caught Acton's eye, and when he perceivedthat one of the fighters was a St. Amory fellow, he hurried up to seewhat was the little game.

  Young Bourne was getting the worst of it. The yokel was a year or twoolder, was taller, and stones heavier. It was an unequal fight. Bournewas standing up to his man pluckily, and, thanks to the "agricultural"style of the clodhopper, was not taking nearly so much harm as he shouldhave done. He was, however, pretty low down in the mouth, for there wasnot a friendly eye to encourage him, nor a friendly shout to back him up.On the contrary, the mob howled with delight as their man got "home," andencouraged him: "Gow it, Dick! Knock the stuffin' out of 'im!"

  Acton had not been noticed, but he thrust himself into the mob, andsaid, "Stand back, you little beggars, or I'll massacre the lot of you.Give the boy room, you filthy pigs!" The "pigs" scuttled back, and forthe first time Bourne really had fair play.

  Acton took out his watch and assumed the direction of the fight.

  "Time!" he shouted out. "You fellow, that's your corner, and if you stirout of it before I give the word I'll thrash you within an inch of yourlife. This will be ours, Bourne." He strode in between the two, andpushed the yokel among his friends, whilst he dragged Bourne a littleapart.

  "Thanks awfully, Acton. That beast knocked me off the path into thesnow-heap when he saw I was one of the school. I struck him, but he's abig handful."

  "Don't talk, Bourne," said Acton, grimly. "It's only wasting breath. Keepcool, man, and you will pull it off yet."

  Thanks to Acton's encouragement, young Bourne worked along ever so muchbetter, so that when time was called he had taken no damage practically,but had scored a little on his own account.

  "Sit down on my coat. You're doing famously. Whatever you do, don't lethim swing you one in the face. You'll be snuffed out if you do. Keep himout at any cost, and try an upper cut after he swings. Waste no timeafter he's missed."

  But although young Bourne scored no end in the next few rounds byfollowing Acton's advice, his good efforts seemed wasted. The lout's facewas as hard as a butcher's block. Acton saw that Bourne was visiblytiring, and that it was an almost foregone conclusion that in the end hewould be beaten. He could hardly stall off the fellow's attack.

  After the seventh round Acton saw that he must put all to the touch, orBourne would lose. "Listen carefully, young 'un. You're jolly game, andthat's a fact, but there's no good hammering on the fool's face--he can'tfeel. You must try another trick. It's the last in your box, too, Bourne,so make no mistake. St. Amory's for ever! When he swings, duck. Don't tryto ward him off--he'll beat you down. Then, for all you're worth, drivehome with your left on the jaw. On the jaw for all you're worth. You'veseen the sergeant do it dozens of times in the gym. Keep cool, and lookwhen you hit--on the very peak. Understand?"

  "Rather!" said Jack, coolly but wearily.

  "Time!"

  The yokel came on in all the pride of his beefy strength, for ha knewthat he was going to finish the "swell" this round. He swung. Bourneducked, and then, quick as lightning, the lad closed in, and, with thelast ounce he had in him, drove his left on the jaw. He was true to ahair.

  "_Habet!_" shouted Acton. "Don't give him time, Jack. Send him downif you can."

  Bourne's "point" had the usual effect; the lout's head swam, he felt sickand sorry, and could not even ward off Jack's blows. He backed, Jackscoring like mad all the time, and when Acton finally called "time!" hedropped on to the ground blubbing. The fellow's eye was visibly swelling,his lips were cut, and his nose bled villainously.

  ACTON THREW HIM INTO THE SNOW-HEAP.]

  "The pig bleeds," said Acton, cheerfully. "You have him now, Bourne; he'stoo sick to have an ounce of fight left in him. Time!"

  The next round wasn't a round really; it was a procession, with Bourne,as fresh as paint from his success, following up the other blubbing withrage, pain, and sickness. Before Acton called, the fellow dropped to theground and howled dismally.

  "Get your coat, Jack, and then come here. He's done. Stand back, youothers."

  Jack came back.

  "Now, you pig, get up and apologize to this gentleman for having knockedhim into the snow-heap. I suppose your pig's eyes couldn't see he wasonly half your size." Acton got hold of the fellow by the collar andjerked him to his feet. "Apologize."

  The fellow would not understand; he snivelled obstinately, and struggledaimlessly in Acton's grasp.

  "Apologize."

  "I wown't."

  "Good," said Acton, grimly. With his flat hand he gave the fellow athundering cuff which sent him sprawling. Acton then caught him by thescruff of his neck and threw him headlong into the snow-heap.

  "Come along, Bourne," he said, with a smile. "You have fought a goodfight this day, and no mistake. That fellow will have a fit the next andevery time he sees the smallest St. Amory's fag's cap."

  "I say, Acton, you're an awful brick to back me up like that."

  "Don't mention it, Bourne. Come and have some tea with me, and I'll pouroil into your wounds, or at any rate, I'll paint 'em."

  So young Bourne had tea with Acton, and his host went out afterwards toDann's the chemist's and brought back a camel's-hair brush and somelotion. Thanks to this, Jack's scars appeared as very honourable woundsindeed.

  From that day Jack thought Acton the finest fellow in St. Amory's.

  "He did not spread-eagle that fool," he said to himself, "but let me havethe glory of pounding the ugly brute into jelly, and made me go in andwin when I was ready to give in to the cad. Why did not Phil give him hiscap? There's something rotten somewhere."

  As for Acton, as I said before, he regarded this little incident as atreasure trove upon which he could draw almost unlimitedly in hiscampaign against Bourne. "I'll strike at Bourne, senr., through his youngbrother. I'll train him up in the way he should go, and when ourunspeakable prig of a Philip sees what a beautiful article young Jackfinally emerges, he'll wish he'd left me alone. Jack, my boy, I'm sorry,but I'm going to make you a bad boy, just to give your elder brothersomething to think about. You're going to become a terrible monster ofiniquity, just to shock your reverend brother."

  Acton took not the smallest interest in the usual Easter Term games.Footer was only played occasionally, but there was one blessing, thefellows need not play the usual Thursday Old Game. As for cross-countryrunning, paper chases, _et hoc genus omne_, Acton refused to haveanything to do with them. "That sort," he said to Dick Worcester, "isn'tin the same street with footer."
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  "Why not try and lift the Public School Heavy at Aldershot?" suggestedWorcester.

  "There's Hodgson in for it, Dick."

  "A good man; but if you would only apply yourself seriously to thebusiness I'd back you. You're a good weight, and got a longer reach thanHodgson."

  "There's Bourne, too."

  "Personally, I believe Phil is only pacing Hodgson to take him alongquicker."

  "It's an awful fag, and I believe Eton have got the Heavy safe and surethis year. A cousin of mine there says that their pet, Jarvis, would walkright through the best man we've ever turned out."

  "Oh, that's their usual brag!"

  "Personally, I don't think so. They have got a young Bermondseyprofessor--who is up to all the latest dodges--to coach. Our sergeant isa bit old-fashioned--good, but old-fashioned. Does not do enough with hisright."

  "I'm quite an amateur," said Dick. "Don't understand the finer shades ofthe arts. Should have thought the sergeant good enough."

  "_Dubito!_ Anyhow, Dick, I'll think it over; and if I think I canmake a decent show I'll have a shot. When does it come off?"

  "At Aldershot? Oh!--last week in March."

  "That gives me nearly two months. One can turn round in two months; andif I'm satisfied as to my coaching I'll certainly try at Aldershot. Butwhat has a fellow to do on the half-holidays now? No footer, and onemight do enough practice after tea for the Heavy. I wish Kipling wouldwrite a book every week. He is the only fellow in England who can write."

  So Acton, on the half-holidays, prepared to read his novels by hisfireside. Not that he was particularly fond of toasting himself, butbecause, for him, it was all he could do.

  But Corker came to his rescue. The old man, after having had his back tothe wall for an age, consented to monitors being allowed to cycle bythemselves, and even to be _chaperon_ to any fags who cared to runwith them, and--important _proviso_--whom the monitors did notobject to. Otherwise the old rule of no cycling _sans_ house-masterwas in force.

  Acton thereupon invested in a swell machine, and he and young Bourne, orGrim, or Wilson on the hired article, would cover no end of countrybetween dinner and roll call.

  By-and-by Phil noticed that his brother was getting pretty thick withActon.

  "Rather thick with Acton, Jack? I don't think he'll do you any good."

  "He has, anyhow, Phil."

  "How?"

  Jack explained.

  "I'm glad you licked the animal, young 'un; but, all the same, I wishsome other fellow had seen you through."

  "I don't!" said Jack, hotly.

  "I wonder," said Phil, dryly, "what is the great attraction which a SixthForm fellow sees in a fag? Above all, a fag of the name of Bourne?"

  "Fact is, I don't see it myself," said Jack, shortly. "Better ask him."

  "No, I don't think I shall. All the same, I would not dog Acton'sfootsteps quite so much."

  "He's a monitor."

  "Who'll make you useful. Take my word for it."

  "We'll see."

  "Oh! Certainly we shall."

  Jack was thoroughly unhinged by his brother's dry bantering tone, andsaid hotly--

  "I cannot understand, Phil, why he didn't get his cap. He deserved it."

  "There's no need for you to understand it, young 'un."

  "My opinion is----"

  "Not worth the breath you're going to waste."

  "It's considered a shame pretty generally."

  "I've heard so; but, still, that does not alter matters. However, I didnot want to talk politics with you, Jack. Don't put your innocent littletoes into any scrape--that is all I wanted to tell you. Here is half acrown for you to buy butterscotch, and while you're sucking it think overwhat I've said. What! Little boys given up toffee? Then I'd better saygood night, Jack." Jack went out pretty sore.

  About a week or so after this, Acton and young Bourne sped down to theold Lodestone Farm, and as they pedalled in at the gate young Hill, thefarmer's son, said to Acton--

  "The man's been here since twelve, sir."

  "That's all right," said Acton. "Has he got the stable ready?"

  "He's been putting it to rights the last hour."

  "I say, Bourne," said Acton, turning to Jack, "ever heard of the AlabamaCoon?"

  "The fellow who won that fight in Holland? The prize-fighter?"

  "The very same."

  "Rather!"

  "Well, I've engaged him to give me a few lessons here. I'm going to tryfor the Heavy at Aldershot. Like to see the fun?"

  "Rather!"

  "Then come along."

  Together they went into the stable, and therein found "The Coon," acoal-black negro, busily shovelling sand upon the floor, smoking anenormous cigar the while.

  "Making ready the cockpit," said Acton to Jack, who was staring open-eyedat the worker. "Lusty looking animal, eh?"

  "My aunt!" said Jack.

  "Hallo, Coon, you're about ready!"

  "Yaas, sir," said the negro. "I'm almost through."

  "Brought the mittens with you, too?"

  "Yaas, sir, I have the feather beds."

  "Then when you've peeled we'll start."

  The Coon put down his spade and slipped behind a stall.

  "You see, young 'un, the sergeant at the gym is a good old hand, but heis an old hand, so to speak--hasn't got the polish. Seeing that atAldershot they tie us down to a very few rounds, if St. Amory's have tomake any show at all they must get all the points they can first round orso. That's why I've got the Coon down here. He is the most scientificboxer we have."

  "The figure will be pretty stiff, Acton, eh?"

  "No matter about that if I can beat Jarvis. By the way, Bourne, you neednot say anything about this to any one. I have particular reasons forkeeping this quiet."

  "All serene. I'm mum, of course."

  "Thanks. You watch the Coon, and you'll pick up no end of wrinkles."

  The Coon came out from behind the stall dressed in a vest, trousers, andthin boots; his black arms were bare, and he had exchanged his cigar fora straw, which he chewed vigorously. Acton changed his shoes and took offhis coat, and the lesson began.

  Acton's opinion of the Coon's knowledge was, in Jack's mind, absolutelycorroborated by the display. His marvellous parrying of Acton'sattentions; his short step inwards, which invariably followed a mis-hitby Acton; his baits to lure his opponent to deliver himself a gift intohis hands; his incredible ducking and lightning returns, held Bournefascinated. Everything was done so easily, so lithely, so lightly, and sosurely, that Jack gasped in admiration. Acton in the hands of the niggerwas a lamb indeed.

  "This is an eye-opener," said Jack. "I'll try that left feint on Rogers,the cocky ass!"

  The negro stopped now and then to show Acton where and how to availhimself of opportunities; and Acton, who was in grim earnest, appliedhimself whole-heartedly to the business in hand, and, in consequence, asJack afterwards told us, "you could almost hear old Acton travelling onthe right road."

  After about half an hour of instruction, Acton said--

  "That is enough of jawing for the afternoon, Coon. Let us have threerounds to finish up with. Take the time, young 'un."

  Jack, with immense pride, took out his watch and prepared to act astimekeeper.

  "Better take it easily first two, sir, and put in all you know for thelast. A little hurricane in the third round is my advice."

  Jack had an ecstatic ten minutes, the final round putting him in theseventh heaven of enjoyment.

  "All I could make out was Acton's white arms mixed with Alabama's blackones, and the sand flying in all directions. Stunning isn't the word forit!"

  As Acton and young Bourne pedalled leisurely home for roll call, Jacksaid--

  "I think Jarvis' chance of collaring the Heavy for his place is a trifle'rocky.'"

  "I hope so."

  "Crumbs! How Alabama does get home!"