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ACTON DROPPED TO THE GROUND LIKE A BLUDGEONED DOG.]
ACTON'S FEUD
A PUBLIC SCHOOL STORY
BY FREDERICK SWAINSON
1901
WITH TWELVE ILLUSTRATIONS
LONDON GEORGE NEWNES, LIMITED SOUTHAMPTON STREET, STRAND 1901
AD MATREM
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. THE FOUL 1
II. THE PENALTY 8
III. THE REGENERATION OF BIFFEN'S HOUSE 15
IV. BIFFEN'S PROGRESS 22
V. COTTON AND HIS JACKAL 27
VI. THE LAST CAP 36
VII. THANKS TO ACTON 49
VIII. BIFFEN'S CONCERT 57
IX. THE END OF TERM 65
X. THE YOUNG BROTHER 75
XI. TODD PAYS THE BILL 88
XII. RAFFLES OF ROTHERHITHE 93
XIII. "EASY IS THE DOWNWARD ROAD" 99
XIV. IN THE STABLE 106
XV. GRIM'S SUSPICIONS 112
XVI. TODD "FINDS HIMSELF" 119
XVII. RAFFLES' BILL 126
XVIII. HODGSON'S QUIETUS 133
XIX. HOW THEY "'ELPED THE PORE FELLER" 138
XX. ACTON'S TRUMP CARD 146
XXI. LONDON AND BACK 156
XXII. THE PENFOLD TABLET FUND 161
XXIII. BOURNE _v._ ACTON 170
XXIV. A RENEWED FRIENDSHIP 179
XXV. A LITTLE ROUGH JUSTICE 187
XXVI. THE MADNESS OF W.E. GRIM 194
XXVII. CONCERNING TODD AND COTTON 204
XXVIII. ACTON'S LAST MOVE 209
XXIX. WHY BIFFEN'S LOST 215
XXX. THE END OF THE FEUD 225
ACTON'S CHRISTMAS
I. SNOWED UP 237
II. OVER THE FELLS 248
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
ACTON DROPPED TO THE GROUND LIKE A BLUDGEONED DOG Frontispiece
PHIL WALKED DOWN THE STEPS WITHOUT A FRIENDLY CHEER 40
ACTON JUST REACHED IT WITH HIS HEAD 50
AS THE TRAIN MOVED, GRIM SAID, "THREE CHEERS!" 74
ACTON THREW HIM INTO THE SNOW-HEAP 78
A LITTLE YELLOW, EAR-TORN DOG BUSTLED OUT OF SOME SHED 94
"I'M GOING TO HAVE THE SEVEN TEN, OR SHOW YOU UP" 128
THE GREEN POWDER UNDERWENT SOME WEIRD EXPERIMENTS 142
HE PUSHED UP HIS WINDOW AND CRAWLED THROUGH 160
"CUT, YOU MISERABLE PUPPY" 172
HE GAVE ME A LONG, STEADY LOOK OF HATRED 204
AS THE HORSES WHIRLED PAST, HE CLUTCHED MADLY AT THE LOOSE REINS 226
CHAPTER I
THE FOUL
Shannon, the old Blue, had brought down a rattling eleven--twoInternationals among them--to give the school the first of its annual"Socker" matches. We have a particular code of football of our own, whichthe school has played time out of mind; but, ten years ago, theAssociation game was introduced, despite the murmuring of some of themasters, many of the parents--all old Amorians--and of Moore, the Head,who had yielded to varied pressures, but in his heart thought "Socker"vastly inferior to the old game. Association had flourished exceedingly;so much so that the Head made it a law that, on each Thursday in theMichaelmas term, the old game, and nothing but the old game, should beplayed, and woe betide any unauthorized "cutters" thereof. This was almostthe only rule that Corker never swerved a hair's breadth from, and bitterwere the regrets when Shannon had sent word to Bourne, our captain, thathe could bring down a really clinking team to put our eleven through theirpaces, if the match were played on Thursday. Saturday, on account of bigclub fixtures, was almost impossible. Corker consented to the elevenplaying the upstart code for this occasion only, but for the schoolgenerally the old game was to be _de rigueur_.
So on this Thursday pretty well the whole school was out in the Acres,where the old game was in full swing; and, though I fancy the players to aman would have liked to have lined up on the touch-line in the next fieldand given Shannon the "whisper" he deserves, O.G. claimed them thatafternoon for its own, and they were unwilling martyrs to old Corker'scast-iron conservatism. Consequently, when Bourne spun the coin andShannon decided to play with the wind, there would not be more thanseventy or eighty on the touch-line. Shannon asked me to referee, so Ifound a whistle, and the game started.
It was a game in which there seemed to be two or three players who servedas motive forces, and the rest were worked through. On one side Shannon atback, Amber the International at half, and Aspinall, the Internationalleft-winger, were head and shoulders above the others; on our side, Bourneand Acton dwarfed the rest.
Bourne played back, and Acton was his partner. Bourne I knew well, sincehe was in the Sixth, and I liked him immensely; but of Acton I knew only alittle by repute and nothing personally. He was in the Fifth, but, exceptin the ordinary way of school life, he did not come much into the circlewherein the Sixth moves. He was brilliantly clever, with that sort ofshowy brilliance which some fellows possess: in the exams, he would walkclean through a paper, or leave it untouched--no half measures. He was inBiffen's house and quite the most important fellow in it, and no endpopular with his own crowd, for they looked to him to give their house aleg up, both in the schools and in the fields, for Biffen's were theslackest house in St. Amory's. He played football with a dash and vim goodto see, and I know a good few of the eleven envied him his long, lungeingrush, which parted man and ball so cleanly, and his quick, sure kick thatdropped the ball unerringly to his forwards. He was not in the eleven; butthat he would be in before the term was over was a "moral." He wasgood-looking and rather tall, and had a certain foreign air, I thought;his dark face seemed to be hard and proud, and I had heard that his temperwas fiery.
Bourne had chosen him to play against Shannon's team, and as Acton bottledup the forwards on his wing Bourne felt that the school's future rightback would not be far to seek.
I soon saw that the school was not quite good enough for the others:Shannon was almost impassable, and Amber, the half, generally waltzedround our forwards, and when he secured he passed the ball on to Aspinall,who doubled like a hare along the touch-line. The question then was "CouldActon stop the flying International, who spun along like Bassetthimself?" And he did, generally; or, if he could not, he forced him topart with the ball, and either Baines, our half, lying back, nipped in andsecured, or Bourne cleared in the nick of time. Nine times out of ten,when Acton challenged Aspinall, the International would part with the ballto his inside partner; but twice he feinted, and before either of theschool backs could recover, the ball was shot into the net with a high andcatapultic cross shot. Again and again the game resolved itself into aduello between Acton and Aspinall, and Bourne, when he saw the dealingswith the International and hi
s wiles, smiled easily. He saw the school wasstronger than he thought.
The interval came with the score standing at two against us. When Istarted the game again I found that our fellows were pulling along muchbetter with the wind, and that some of Shannon's men were not quite sodangerous as before, for condition told. We quickly had one through, andwhen I found myself blowing the whistle for a second goal I began to thinkthat the school might pull through after all. Meanwhile Acton and Aspinallwere having their occasional tussles, though somewhat less often thanbefore, and three or four times the school back was overturned prettyheartily in the encounters.
Though there was not a suspicion of unfairness or temper on Aspinall'spart, I fancied that Acton was getting rather nettled at his frequentupsets. He was, I considered, heavier than Aspinall, and much taller, so Iwas both rather waxy and astonished to find that he was infusing a littletoo much vigour into his tackling, and, not to put too fine a point on it,was playing a trifle roughly. Aspinall was bundled over the touch-line agood half-dozen times, with no little animus behind the charge, andultimately Bourne noticed it. Now, Bourne loathed anything approaching badform, so he said sharply to Acton, though quietly, "Play the game, sir!Play the ball!" Acton flushed angrily, and I did not like the savage wayhe faced round to Bourne, who was particularly busy at that moment and didnot notice it. The game went on until within about five minutes from time.Amber had been feeding Aspinall assiduously for the last ten minutes, andActon had, despite his cleverness, more than he could really hold in theflying International. He stalled off the attack somehow, and Bourne alwayscovered his exertions, so that it seemed as if there would be a draw afterall. At last the ball was swung across, and Aspinall was off on a finalventure. Acton stuck to him like a leech, but the winger tipped the ballto his partner, and as Acton moved to intercept the inside, the latterquickly and wisely poked the ball back again to Aspinall. He was off againin his own inimitable style, and I saw him smile as he re-started his run.I rather fancy Acton saw it too, and accepted the smile as a sneeringchallenge; anyhow, he set his lips and I believe made up his mind that inany case Aspinall should not get the winning goal. How it exactly happenedI cannot say, but as Aspinall was steadying himself, when at top speed,for an almost point-blank delivery, I saw Acton break his own stride,shoot out his leg, and the next moment the International was stumblingforward, whilst the ball rolled harmlessly onward into our goal-keeper'shands. I could hardly believe my own eyes, but it was a deliberate trip,if ever there was one! Aspinall tried to recover himself, failed, and camewith a sickening crash against the goal-post. I blew the whistle andrushed to Aspinall; his cheek was bleeding villainously and he was deadlypale. I helped him up, and he said with his usual smile--who could mistakeit for a sneer?--"Thanks, old man. Yes, I do feel a bit seedy. That backof yours is an animal, though." He tried hard to keep his senses; I sawhim battling against his faintness, but the pain and shock were too muchfor him; he fell down again in a dead faint.
We improvised a hurdle and carried him up to the school. Acton, pale tothe lips, prepared to bear a hand, but Bourne unceremoniously took him bythe arm and said with concentration, "No thanks, Acton. We'll excuseyou--you beastly cad!" I heard Bourne's remark, though no one else saw orheard. Acton's hand closed involuntarily, and he gave Bourne a vitrioliclook, but did nothing nor said anything. We took Aspinall up toMerishall's--his old house--where he was staying, and left him there stillunconscious.
What astonished me was that no one save Bourne had noticed the trip, butwhen I came to think it over the explanation was easy. Acton had, whetherfrom accident or of purpose, "covered" his man and blocked the view frombehind. I myself had not really _seen_ the trip, but it would havebeen plainly visible for any one opposite on the touch-line, and luckilythere was no one opposite. The goal-keeper might have seen it, but Robertsnever attends to anything but the ball--the reason he's the fine keeperthat he is. Bourne had actually seen it, being practically with Acton, andI knew by his pale face and scornful eyes that he would dearly have likedto kick Acton on the spot.
I was, as you may guess, intensely pleased that no one had an idea of thefoul except Bourne and myself, for I could imagine vividly where therumour of this sort of "form" would spread to. We'd hear of it for yearsafter.
I mentally promised that Acton should have a little of my opinion on thematter on the first opportunity.