"
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 Dick, 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 Dick, "although I've no right to ask you, I'd like to hear
the plain, unvarnished tale, for, speaking out, Phil Bourne has always
passed 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.
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