"
"How?"
"Why, borrow it, of course. Ask your chum, Mr. Acting. _He_ 'as money.
No end of brass, the Coon says."
"I can't do that," said Jack, in utter despair.
"Orl right," said Raffles, seeing his shot had told. "I see you ain't
got the money on you now, and I don't want to be too 'ard on you. I'll
give you a chance. I'll give you till Saturday to turn it over. My
advice is to borrow from Mr. Acting. He'll lend it you, I should think;
anyhow, I can't stand shilly-shallying here all night, no more than I
can stand the loss of that grand gun, so I'm off. Have the money by
Saturday at three, or I blow the gaff and you can be hung up or cut up
for all I care. I'm not going to be more beastly friendly nor more
chummy than that."
Raffles lurched off with a savage leer, and Jack staggered back to St.
Amory's.
Jack's life was a burden to him for the next few hours, his head nearly
split with the hatching of impossible plans with loopholes to escape the
weasel on his track, but the end was as Acton had foreseen. Acton got a
note through Grim.
"DEAR ACTON,
"Could you give me ten minutes in your study to-night?--Yours,
"J. BOURNE."
"DEAR BOURNE,
"Twenty, if you like.--Yours,
"J. ACTON."
Jack went, and when Acton put him into the easy-chair and noticed his
white, fagged face, he felt genuinely sorry for him.
"You look seedy, young 'un."
"I hope I don't look as seedy as I feel, that's all."
"What's the matter?"
Jack boggled over what he'd come to say, but finally blurted out:
"Acton, would you lend me seven pounds? I'm in a hole, the deuce of a
hole; in fact, I'm pretty well hopelessly stumped.
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