If crammers' hearts _could_ be broken, Jim, I should say, will
accomplish the feat. But if ever James Cotton _does_ get into the Army
he will never disgrace his regiment.
CHAPTER XXX
THE END OF THE FEUD
Thoroughly satisfied with himself and all the world, Acton had on the
last Saturday of the term--the election for the captaincy was to be held
that night--left the cricket field to the enthusiasts, and turned his
feet towards the old Lodestone Farm, the road he knew so well. He wanted
to be alone with his happy thoughts. He was more than satisfied with
himself, and, as he walked along, he mowed down with his ash-plant
thistles and nettles in sheer joyfulness of heart. His long feud with
Bourne would come to a joyful end that night. Mivart's election was
certain, and Mivart's election would pay for all--for the loss of the
"footer" cap, and for that terrible half-hour after Bourne had knocked
him out, when he felt himself almost going mad from hatred, rage,
disgust, and defeat. He had engineered his schemes beautifully; his
revenge would be as perfect. The loss of the captaincy would be a
bitter, bitter pill for Bourne to swallow.
Whilst he strode on, engrossed with these pleasant thoughts, he fancied
he heard shouts and cries somewhere in the distance behind him. He
turned round, and down the long stretch of white road he saw a cloud of
dust rolling with terrific speed towards him. For one moment he wondered
whatever was the matter, but out of the dust he could see the flashing
of carriage-wheels, the glitter of harness, and the shining coats of a
couple of horses.
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