Acton saw Jack's little manoeuvre, and smiled
gently. He was genuinely fond of Jack, but young Bourne had served his
purpose; and now, thought Acton, philosophically, "Jack looks upon me as
a monster of iniquity, and he won't cultivate my acquaintance." And
Phil? Well, Phil regarded the incident as "closed," and paid no heed to
his enemy's bitter looks, but divided his attention between his books
and cricket, keeping, perhaps unnecessarily, a bright outlook upon
Master Jack.
Todd had come back to St. Amory's in a very different frame of mind from
that in which he had returned after the Perry fiasco. His three weeks'
holiday had been no end enjoyable; and now, besides a coin or two in his
pocket, he had a clean, crisp note in his purse. As he stepped out of
the train at the station, the burly figure of Jim Cotton hove in sight,
and an eleven-inch palm clapped Gus on the back.
"Hallo! old man. How goes it?"
"Oh!" said Gus, coughing; "I'm all right, Jim, and your biceps seem in
their usual working order."
"They are, Gus. I've got a cab out here; we'll go on together."
"Rather! I must find some one to see to the traps, though."
"I've commandeered young Grim," said Jim, "and he'll see to them."
"Provident beggar! Here you are, Grim. Put mine into Taylor's cart, and
here's a shilling for you."
Grim, who felt rather injured at being lagged by Cotton so early in the
term, just at the moment, too, when he had caught sight of Wilson
staggering along with a heavy hat-box, etc.
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