Acton's Feud Part 24

"I'm not ashamed of being here and doing a little chemistry for my own amus.e.m.e.nt, so there; and you fellows had better cut before Lancaster comes and runs you all in."

"That is all right, Grimmy. Lancaster's sporting a silk tile, so he's off to town. To think of your cutting our six-a-side to puff down a dirty blow-pipe! Come out, you idiot, and get into your footer togs!"

said Sharpe.

"I'm not coming, I tell you."

"Insanity in the family, evidently," observed Poulett, judicially.

"Aren't you coming, really?"

"No, I'm not; do get out and leave me alone!"

"Never!" said Poulett. "We'll stay with him and see him through the fit, eh?"

"Rather! We'll never desert you, Grimmy!"

"We'll let the six-a-side slide for this afternoon, and we'll help Grimmy with his salt," suggested the egg-poacher, brilliantly; and any amount of hidden meaning was in the word "help."

"We will! we will!" cried the rest, spotting Poulett's idea instanter, with enthusiastic joy; and despite Grim's frenzied declamation and eloquence they all "helped."

For two hours--as lively a couple of hours as ever were pa.s.sed within the laboratory--Gus lay low behind the far bench and enjoyed the afternoon's performance far more than Grim. The green powder underwent some weird experiments, each of the quintette availing himself of Grim's knowledge and test-tubes and acid-bottles with the utmost freedom. The a.n.a.lysis of Lancaster's mixture gave various results, but when Rogers "found" rhubarb and black-lead this was held the correct find, and after this verdict the generous five put up the test-tubes in the rack. They all said Rogers had settled the matter, and anyway they had had a jolly time.

"Understand," observed Poulett, as he washed away some acid stains from his bare knees, "that Grimmy is not ashamed of his black-lead and rhubarb hunt."

"Why those vivid blushes, then?"

"We never bargained that old Grim would copy that Fifth Form a.s.s, Todd, and chum up with Lancaster, did we?"

"What did you say about Todd?" inquired Grim, suavely.

"Said he was an a.s.s."

"A what?"

"An a.s.s, a jacka.s.s, a howling jacka.s.s!" cried Poulett, _crescendo_.

"How?"

"Remember Corker pitching into him? Said he wasn't fit for a decent nursery, and Toddy had his mouth open all the time."

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE GREEN POWDER UNDERWENT SOME WEIRD EXPERIMENTS]

"Bully Cotton has given Toddy up. Toddy was too big an a.s.s even for Cotton," remarked Wilson.

"He looks fairly intelligent," observed Grim, in a gentle whisper.

"So did you, almost, till you started fooling like this."

Grim artistically kept the conversation on Todd, and Gus learned how like an a.s.s each individual of the quintette thought him. He smiled gently at Grim's astuteness in paying him out so neatly for his previous friendly remarks about chucking out. When the first stroke of the roll-call bell reached the laboratory he emerged solemnly and with state from his retreat, and stalked quietly through the knot of his outspoken critics, who were instantly besieged by a variety of emotions. He closed the laboratory door after him, and, when he saw the key outside, the temptation to repay the left-handed compliments of Poulett and Co. in their own coin was too strong. Gus gently turned the key, and was halfway down the corridor before the band arrived at the locked door.

"Let us out!" shrieked Rogers. "We'll apologize all of us--won't we, Poulett?"

"Yes!" yelled Poulett. "Anything! Oh, Todd, do let us out!"

But Todd went on his way, serenely ignoring the frantic appeals behind him, and turned out into the street with a sweet smile on his face.

"That beast, Todd, has gone, and Merishall will ladle us out three hundred of Virgil for missing call-over," moaned Bourne.

"It's four hundred, if Merishall takes it," said Rogers, with dire conviction.

"Not for me," said Grim, beaming cheerfully around; "I'm all right. I'll tell Merishall that the door was locked; but as for you five idiots, who oughtn't to be here at all--well! What the d.i.c.kens did you want to call old Toddy all those fancy names for, you silly cuckoos?"

"Oh, look here, Grim, you artful bounder," shouted Poulett, bitterly, "you've got us into this mess. Why didn't you say Todd was behind those back benches?"

"Yes, why?" shouted the rest of the raging f.a.gs. "We'll scrag you for this, darling. Cuckoos are we? Scrag him--put him in the scrum."

W.E. Grim had a very bad five minutes, but when he crawled out of the scrum, hot, damaged, and dusty, he said viciously--

"I hope Merishall gives you a thou., you beastly cads. You've mucked up my afternoon, and I'm hanged if I don't tell Lancaster."

Ten minutes after roll-call the janitor let them out, and shortly afterwards a wretched procession of five emerged from Merishall's room with two hundred lines from Virgil hanging over each head for a missed call-over without excuse. Grim worked an artistic revenge on his scrummagers by calling personally the next half-holiday to inquire if they would prefer to a.n.a.lyze a green salt or to play a six-a-side against Merishall's lot. In every instance a Virgil hurtled towards his head. Having done his duty to his friends, he left them to pious aeneas and the slope of Avernus, whilst he got another salt from the science-master, and, with Gus, possessed the laboratory in peace.

CHAPTER XX

ACTON'S TRUMP CARD

On the Sat.u.r.day before we should go home Acton was due at Aldershot, and would return the same night, as the fellows hoped, with his laurels thick upon him. Bourne and Vercoe were staying at school a week later than we, for the rackets did not come off until our holidays had commenced. Toby had begged for this almost with tears in his eyes, for he had a mortal dread of the relaxing process of a week at home.

"You'd have no 'ands, Mr. Bourne, no spring, no eyes, when you toed the mark at Kensington. I'll send you fit if I have you here."

So Vercoe and Phil agreed to stay.

And now Acton determined to put into operation his long-thought-of scheme for the paying off of the score against Phil. It was subtle, and founded on a perfect knowledge of Bourne's character, and a perfect disregard of the consequences to any one--even including himself. Acton would have willingly martyred himself, if he could have inflicted a little of the torments on Bourne too.

There was one rule from which Dr. Moore never swerved a hair's breadth.

Compared to this particular law the stringency of the Old Game regulation for Thursday was lax indeed. He never had departed from it, and he never would depart from it. If any fellow took it into his head to slip out of his house after lights out at ten on any pretence whatever he was expelled. There was some legend in connection with this severity, what exactly none of us rightly knew, but according to the tale the escapade of two fellows years ago, when Corker was new to the place, had resulted in one of the fellows being shot. Twice had he expelled fellows while I was at school--Remington and Cunningham--and I cannot ever forget the old man's deathlike face as he told them to go.

Some fellows broke out and were not found out, for Corker wasn't going to have any barred windows as in some places. Any one _could_ break out any night he liked, but he knew what he might expect if he were caught.

There was no help. Remington had been found out, and though there had been Remingtons in the school since Anne's reign, Corker was inexorable.

He was expelled.

In a word, Acton determined to go to London and 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.