ed his passing of Acton
for the "footer" cap on the ground of "insufficient information" thereon.
Roberts and Baines and Vercoe were not a bad trio to have for friends
either. Acton was now in the Sixth, and a monitor.

His main idea was to keep Bourne in the bad books of the school until
such time as he could direct their ill-favour into channels favourable to
himself and unfavourable for Phil. A lucky chance seemed to open to him
an easy method of striking at Bourne, and Acton almost hugged himself
with joy at his windfall.

About a week after the holidays Acton had been skating on the Marsh, and
as he was returning he came across Jack Bourne engaged in a desperate
fight with a young yokel. There was a small crowd of loafers, who were
delighted at this little turn up, and were loud in their advice to the
fellow to give "the young swell a good hiding."

This little crowd, as I said, caught Acton's eye, and when he perceived
that one of the fighters was a St. Amory fellow, he hurried up to see
what was the little game.

Young Bourne was getting the worst of it. The yokel was a year or two
older, was taller, and stones heavier. It was an unequal fight. Bourne
was standing up to his man pluckily, and, thanks to the "agricultural"
style of the clodhopper, was not taking nearly so much harm as he should
have done. He was, however, pretty low down in the mouth, for there was
not a friendly eye to encourage him, nor a friendly shout to back him up.
On the contrary, the mob howled with delight as their man got "home," and
encouraged him: "Gow it, Dick! Knock the stuffin' out of 'im!"

Acton had not been noticed, but he thrust himself into the mob, and
said, "Stand back, you little beggars, or I'll massacre the lot of you.
Give the boy room, you filthy pigs!" The "pigs" scuttled back, and for
the first time Bourne really had fair play.

Acton took out his watch and assumed the direction of the fight.

"Time!" he shouted out. "You fellow, that's your corner, and if you stir
out of it before I give the word I'll thrash you within an inch of your
life. This will be ours, Bourne." He strode in between the two, and
pushed the yokel among his friends, whilst he dragged Bourne a little
apart.

"Thanks awfully, Acton. That beast knocked me off the path into the
snow-heap when he saw I was one of the school. I struck him, but he's a
big handful."

"Don't talk, Bourne," said Acton, grimly. "It's only wasting breath. Keep
cool,