"What's the good of sweating away at the nets, Dick? I'll not get my
flannels in any case."
"Oh yes, you will. Bourne has said he's got nothing against your
cricket."
"And you believe that, Dick?" said Acton, with a whistle of contemptuous
incredulity.
"I do," said Dick. "But you are not exactly quite the flier at cricket
that you are at 'footer,' so you can't afford to slack up now."
"I've got private knowledge," said Acton, with a filthy lie, "that I
won't get 'em in any case, so I shall not try."
Dick was considerably upset by this, and Acton's sudden stoppage of
practice after an intense beginning made his lie seem a good imitation
of truth, and gave Worcester food for bitter thoughts against Phil.
Acton worked "the-no-good-to-try" dodge carefully and artistically; he
never actually said his lie openly, or Phil would have nailed it to the
counter, but, like a second Iago, he dropped little barbed insinuations
here, little double-edged sayings there, until Biffenites to a man
believed there would be a repetition of the "footer" cap over again, and
the school generally drifted back to aloofness as far as Phil was
concerned.
Acton laid himself out to be excessively friendly with the monitors, and
just as he entered into their good graces, Phil drifted out of them--in
fact, to be friendly with Acton was the same thing as being cool towards
Bourne. Phil made splendid scores Saturday after Saturday, but the
enthusiasm which his fine play should have called out was wanting.
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