"
"If I were expelled, Acton," said Jack, with intense conviction, "the
pater would kill me first, and die himself afterwards; and as for
Phil----"
"Jack," said Acton, "I must see the business through myself. You can't
do it, I see. I must lose the L30."
Jack got up and walked up and down the room in agony.
For five minutes Acton watched his wretched prey torn to pieces by his
conflicting fears--his shame of leaving Acton in the lurch, and his
dread of discovery.
"Acton," said Jack at length, "I can't leave you in the lurch. I'll go
with you to London."
Acton clasped Jack's hand, and said, "Jack, you are a brick. I can only
say I thank you." He had landed his fish, as he knew he would.
Half an hour afterwards Jack said, almost cheerfully, for Acton had
been doing his best to smooth poor Bourne's ruffled feathers--
"But how are we to go to town?"
"I've got a plan," said Acton; "but I must turn it over in my mind
first. If you'll look in, young 'un, after tea, I'll tell you how we do
it. I'm going to see about it now. Once again, Jack, I thank you. You do
stand by a fellow when he's down on his luck."
Acton and Jack went out--the monitor to make arrangements for the
escapade, and Jack to Grim's quarters, where he was due for tea, which
he demolished with comparative cheerfulness, for Jack's confidence in
Acton was illimitable. After he had taken the jump he was not--is not
now--the kind of boy to look back.
At six young Bourne left his friend Grim among a waste of empty teacups,
plates, and jam-pots, and went to Acton's room.
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