A fellow like you isn't on the same level as your filthy
mongrel."
"I never said we was," murmured Raffles, as he shuffled away.
CHAPTER XVIII
HODGSON'S QUIETUS
Acton now felt pretty safe as regards young Bourne. He held him fast in
the double bonds of indebtedness and of gratitude, and with Jack the
gratitude was by far the greater. Acton had saved him from disgrace,
from a lengthened stringing up, from the scorn of his brother, from the
jeers and laughter of the rest of the fellows. Like others, he could
have stood Corker's rage better than the jokes of his cronies. He was
received back into the fold of his own particular set with more _eclat_
than he felt he deserved.
"Here's old Bourne gone and sacked Acton," said Grim.
"Sure Acton hasn't sacked him?" suggested Rogers.
"Best fellow breathing," said Bourne, fervently.
"Still, he's Biffen's."
"I don't care whether he's a water-lily or not--he can't help that, you
know, poor fellow."
"Why should he? Aren't we cock house?"
"Where would you have been if Acton hadn't lifted you out of your muddy
pond, and let you see a little sunlight?"
"You should be his fag," said Grim.
"I'd jolly well like to," said Jack. "I'd black his boots almost."
"He's a dozen pairs," said Grim.
"Write a poem on his virtues," suggested Rogers.
"Shut up this rot," said Wilson. "Let's try a run round the Bender--last
fellow stands tea at Hoopers."
"Carried, _nem. con_.
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