CHAPTER XII
RAFFLES OF ROTHERHITHE
Twice a week, on half-holidays, Acton and Bourne ran over to the farm, tofind the Coon waiting for them in the stable, smoking an enormous cigaras usual, and reading sporting papers on the corn-chest. Young Hill, thefarmer's son, generally put in an appearance when the boxing was aboutover, and to Jack's utter disgust, plainly showed that he would ratherthat Jack was anywhere else than with Acton when the gloves had been laidaside. He seemed to have some business with Acton concerning which heevidently did not want Jack to hear a single syllable.
Jack did not quite see at first that he was one too many after the boxingwas over, and that Hill, at any rate, did not mean there should be afourth to the deliberations of himself, Acton, and the Coon. Jack,however, soon tumbled that he was _de trop_, and the minute youngHill came in Jack would stalk solemnly and formally out of the stable andkick up his heels in the farmyard until such time as Acton should beready for the run to school.
Jack certainly did not like this cavalier treatment, but found it rathera bore pottering about the yard, "looking at the beastly ducks;" butActon was so profusely apologetic when he did come out that Jackgenerally smoothed his ruffled plumes and pedalled home at peace withhimself and all the world.
"The fact is, Jack," said Acton, "young Hill has arranged for me to havethe stable for our practice, for old Hill himself was rather against it,and as he has a prejudice against St. Amory fellows generally, butespecially when they're of the Junior School--some of your tribe scuttledhis punt for him on the moat, didn't you?--I thought you would not mindhumouring the man's amiabilities. The Coon and he talk rot--sportingrot--and it would only bore you to listen to it."
Jack said, "It does not matter in the least. I'd as soon look at theducks as listen to Hill. It's a bit _infra dig._, though, that _he_should object."
As a matter of fact, young Hill received letters for Acton which dealtwith many things, the burden of most of them being "betting," and theother sweet things of the sporting shop. Acton was, as you will haveseen, not the very green innocent who would come to much harm in thislovely form of diversion.
A LITTLE YELLOW, EAR-TORN DOG BUSTLED OUT OF SOME SHED.]
About a fortnight after the visits to the Lodestone had commenced, theCoon brought down with him a long-legged, thin-faced, horsey-lookingindividual, who introduced himself to Bourne as Raffles of Rotherhithe,and who laid himself out to be excessively friendly to Jack. He took,evidently, quite a professional interest in the sparring, and told Actonthat "his left was quite a colourable imitation of the Coon's."
"Not colourable, anyhow," said Acton, with a wink at Jack.
"What do you think, sir, of Alabama's 'blind hook'?"
Jack, who had not the remotest idea what a "blind hook" was, said it "wassimply stunning."
"Exactly my idea, sir. I see you know above a bit about the noble art."
Raffles, as he would have said in his own special slang, worked the"friendly lay" so well upon Jack, that that young gentleman was capturedto the last gun; you can do an awful lot of execution by deferring to theopinion of a young man of sixteen, or thereabouts, as to the merit ofrelying exclusively on the left.
When the sparring was over, Raffles shuffled out with Jack into the yardand whistled. A little yellow, ear-torn dog bustled out of some shed andtrotted demurely by Mr. Raffles' right boot.
"See that dog, Mr. Bourne?"
"By the way, Raffles, how did you know my name was Bourne?" asked Jack.
"Mr. Acting mentioned that it was so. No offence, I hope, sir?"
"Oh no!" said Jack.
"Mr. Acting mentioned to me as how Warmint might amuse you."
"Warmint! What the deuce is that?"
"Why, the dawg."
"Well, it's a pretty ugly brute anyhow, Raffles."
"It is so; it's the colour--yellow is a mean colour. But he's a terror togo."
"Where?" said Jack, uncivilly; for the man's manner, a mixture offamiliarity and servility, had begun to pall on Jack's taste.
"Why, there ain't a better, quicker, neater dawg in all London after therats than Warmint. He holds the record south the Thames."
"Is there a record then for rat killing? How is it done?"
"Turn a sack o' long tails on to the floor and let the dawg among them.He works against time, of course."
"Have the rats any chance of getting away?"
"No fear."
"Ugh!" said Jack, looking at the mongrel with intense disgust.
"Is time for twenty--but I say, Mr. Bourne, if you like I'll bring a bago' rats down, and you can see for yourself. While the other gentleman,Mr. Acting, is with the Coon, we can bring it off in the barn."
"Man alive, no!" said Jack, with another spasm of disgust; "but if you'veany other plans, Raffles, of killing an hour or so whilst Hill makesspeeches, trot 'em out. I'm sick of pottering round his yard like anidiot. Are you coming with the Coon again?"
"Pretty well every time. What do you say to a little game of billiards?"
"Where?" said Jack.
"Nice little 'ouse near 'ere, I know."
"No fear! That's clean against the rules. Besides, who wants to knockballs about with a sticky cue on a torn billiard cloth, where the wholeplace reeks of beer and stale tobacco? No, thanks!"
"Young gents used not to set so much store by rules when I was a lad."
"We've changed since then, Raffles," said Jack, drily.
"A little shooting?"
"What?"
"Sparrers?" suggested Raffles, off-hand.
"Rot!"
"Bunnies?"
"That's better, Raffles. If you can get me half an hour with Hill'srabbits, I'd risk that. Of course, there'd be a row if it was known.Acton won't inquire, I fancy, who's shooting?"
"Mr. Acton won't, Mr. Bourne; he's a gentleman."
"He's a monitor, though, Raffles, which is a different sort of animal."
Raffles of Rotherhithe did not appear to think that Acton's being amonitor was a clinching argument barring young Bourne's sport. Perhaps hehad private reasons for his opinions. Anyhow, he glibly promised to havea breech-loader and a ferret for young Bourne on the morrow.
"And old Hill? They're his rabbits, you know."
"That will be all right. Take Dan Raffles' word for it."
"Now look here, Raffles; I'll give you sixpence for every rabbit I shoot,and I'll pay you for the cartridges. You'll keep all the rabbits, but youwill lend me the gun."
"Very good, sir," said Raffles, smartly.
"And, Raffles," said Jack, eyeing over that individual with a curiousmixture of amusement and dislike, "you needn't be too beastly friendlyand chummy. I'm going to pay you for what you do, and don't fancy I'mgoing an inch further than I feel inclined. I'm paying the piper, and I'mgoing to choose all the tunes."
"Orl right," said Raffles, considerably taken aback by the ultimatum."I'll not be friendlier than I can 'elp."
"Don't," said Jack.