I helped him up, and he said with his usual smile--who could mistake
it for a sneer?--"Thanks, old man. Yes, I do feel a bit seedy. That back
of yours is an animal, though." He tried hard to keep his senses; I saw
him battling against his faintness, but the pain and shock were too much
for him; he fell down again in a dead faint.
We improvised a hurdle and carried him up to the school. Acton, pale to
the lips, prepared to bear a hand, but Bourne unceremoniously took him by
the arm and said with concentration, "No thanks, Acton. We'll excuse
you--you beastly cad!" I heard Bourne's remark, though no one else saw or
heard. Acton's hand closed involuntarily, and he gave Bourne a vitriolic
look, but did nothing nor said anything. We took Aspinall up to
Merishall's--his old house--where he was staying, and left him there still
unconscious.
What astonished me was that no one save Bourne had noticed the trip, but
when I came to think it over the explanation was easy. Acton had, whether
from accident or of purpose, "covered" his man and blocked the view from
behind. I myself had not really _seen_ the trip, but it would have
been plainly visible for any one opposite on the touch-line, and luckily
there was no one opposite. The goal-keeper might have seen it, but Roberts
never attends to anything but the ball--the reason he's the fine keeper
that he is. Bourne had actually seen it, being practically with Acton, and
I knew by his pale face and scornful eyes that he would dearly have liked
to kick Acton on the spot.
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