Acton was standing on the hearthrug
with his back to the fire, and on seeing us he politely offered us chairs
with the air of a gentleman and a something of grace, which was a trifle
foreign.
I saw that Acton's polite cordiality nettled Bourne more than a little,
but he solemnly took a chair, and in his blunt, downright fashion, plunged
headlong into the business.
"Only came to say a word or two, Acton, about Thursday's match."
"A very good one," he remarked, with what Corker calls "detached
interest." "Aspinall's accident was more than unfortunate."
"The fact is," said Bourne, bluntly, "neither Carr nor I believe it was an
accident."
"No? What was it, then? Every one else thought it was, though."
"We know better. We know that you deliberately fouled him, and----"
Acton paled, and his eyes glittered viciously, though he said calmly,
"That is a lie."
"And," continued Bourne, "though there is not a fellow even a respectable
second to you at 'footer,' I shall not give you your cap as long as I am
captain of the eleven. That is all I came to say."
Acton said quite calmly (why was he so uncommonly cool, I asked
myself?)--though his face was red and white alternately: "Then listen
carefully to what I say. I particularly wanted to have my footer cap--why,
does not concern any one but myself--and I don't fancy losing it because a
couple of fellows see something that a hundred others couldn't see, for the
sufficient reason that there wasn't anything to see.
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