"
"Lucky! Yes," said Jack. "I suppose I'd better go. Let's have the thing.
An inch lower down, and I'd have had that piece of barrel in my head--or
through it. It wants thinking over."
"I suppose, sir, you're going to----"
"Oh, the cash you mean! Eh?"
"Yes, that was my meaning."
"Your cash will be all right, man. Come down for it on Friday--can't
you?"
"How if I can't, young shaver?" said Raffles of Rotherhithe.
"Then do without it! Anyhow, I'm going now--I'm too sick."
"All right," said Raffles, sulkily. "On Thursday."
Jack, without another word, stumbled across the fields into the farmyard,
and luckily found Acton ready for home. He shakily dropped into his
saddle; and, with a mind pretty busy, he tailed wearily after Acton to
St. Amory's.
CHAPTER XIV
IN THE STABLE
After tea that day Acton went down to the farm _solus_, not having,
as you will presently see, any need of Jack's company, even if Bourne had
felt any desire to accompany him, which he didn't.
The monitor tinkled his bell, and in answer to the ringing, Raffles
lounged out of a barn, the inseparable Warmint trotting at his master's
heels.
"Suppose we'd better go into the stable, Raffles."
The odour of the Coon's afternoon cigar still hung about the place, and
the stable was half dark, but as Acton had an idea that his conversation
with Raffles would not be a short one, and the night was rather cold,
they went in.
"Fire away, Raffles.
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