CHAPTER XXV
A LITTLE ROUGH JUSTICE
Quietly and without any fuss the few details were arranged, and nextmorning four of us filtered down to the old milling ground, on whosegreen sod so many wrongs had been righted in the old times, and where Isincerely hoped Phil would yet redress, however imperfectly, another.
Of course, we all know fisticuffs are not what they were; for everystrenuous mill of to-day there used to be fifty in the old days, and thegreen turf which formerly was the scene of terrific combats betweenfellows of the Upper School now only quaked under the martial hoof of,say, Rogers, the prize fag of Biffen's, and Poulett, the champion eggpoacher of Corker's, and other humble followers of the "fancy." Millingas an institution in the schools may write up "Ichabod" above its gates.
I tossed with Vercoe for corners, and when I won, I chose the favouritecorner, the one King had when he fought Sellers with a broken wrist, andbeat him, too; which Cooper had when he stood up to Miller for one wholehalf-holiday, and though beaten three or four times over, never knew it,and won in the end, which mills and the causes thereof, if some onewould write about them, would make capital reading. Anyhow, it is alucky corner, from the legends connected with it, and I thought weshould need any luck that might be knocking about so early in themorning.
Phil was as cool and calm as though he were going to gently tund a smallfag for shirking. Acton was outwardly calm, but inwardly seething withhate, rage, and blood-thirstiness. His proud soul lusted for theopportunity to repay the flick on the face he had received from Phil,with interest. I watched the sparkling fire in his eye, the unaffectedeagerness for the fray in his pose, and thought that even Acton had notquite the skill to cater for such a large and lusty appetite. Vercoe andI set our watches, and agreed to call time together, and then we movedeach to our corner. Phil peeled as quietly as though he were going tobed, Acton with feverish haste, which perhaps was his foreign bloodworking out; beside Acton's swift, impulsive movements Phil's leisurelyarrangements seemed sluggish indeed.
"Time!" said Vercoe and I in chorus, and I added in an undertone to myman, "Go in and win."
It was obvious from the start that Phil was not as good a man as Actonas far as skill was concerned, but when it came to well-knit strengththere was no doubt that Phil had the pull. Acton's eagerness was adisadvantage against one so cool as Bourne. In the very first round,Acton, in his overwhelming desire to knock Phil out in as short a spaceas possible, neglected every ordinary precaution, and, after a spiritedrally, Phil broke through Acton's slovenly guard, and sent him spinninginto Vercoe's arms. We called time together, and to my intensesatisfaction the first round resulted in our favour.
After that, thoroughly steadied by Phil's gentle reminder, Acton droppedall looseness, and began to treat Phil with the greatest respect, nevertaking any risks, but working in a scientific fashion, which poor Philfound hard enough to parry, and when he could not do that, hard enoughto bear. But he never faltered; he took all that Acton could give him inimperturbable good temper, working in his dogged fashion as though hewere absolutely confident of winning in the long run, and asdisregarding present inconveniences because they were expected, andbecause the ultimate reward would repay all a hundred-fold.
There was also something else I noticed. Acton did not do so much damageas he ought to have done, and I found him constantly "short," but whenPhil did score there was the unmistakable ring of a telling blow. I waspuzzled in my mind why Acton was so "short," but I think now it wasbecause he had never done anything but with gloves on, and fisticuffs,which were more or less familiar with Phil, were unknown to him. Theydon't fight, I believe, in France or Germany with Nature's weapons, butoccasional turn-ups with the farmers' sons and the canal men had, ofcourse, fallen to Phil's share.
On each occasion that Phil got home, Acton answered with a viciousspurt which did not do much good, but only tired him, and at the end ofthe seventh round I was astonished to think that Phil had stood theracket so well. Phil's lips were puffy, and one eye was visiblyswelling, and he had other minor marks of Acton's attention, but he wasin excellent condition still. Acton was damaged above a bit, and Phil'sfirst-round reminder showed plainly on his cheek.
Acton began to think that unless he could make Phil dance to a quickertune pretty soon, he himself would be limping round the corner ofdefeat, for he was very tired. When we called them up for the eighthround, he had evidently determined to force the fighting. Much as Idisliked Acton, I could not but admire his splendid skill; he bottled upPhil time and again, feinted, ducked, rallied, swung out in the nick oftime, planted hard telling blows, and was withal as hard to corner as asunbeam. As I sponged Phil at the end of the eighth I felt that threemore rounds as per last sample would shake even him, so I said, "Try,old man, for one straight drive if he gives you a ghost of a chance.Don't try tapping."
Acton came up smiling; in a twinkling he had Phil at sea by histrickiness, and was scoring furiously. Then, for the first time, Philbacked, shortly and sharply. Acton sprang forward for victory, and ahuge lunge should have given Phil his quietus, but it was dreadfullyshort, and stung rather than hurt. Phil recovered the next moment, andwas on the watch again cool and cautious as ever. Then Acton, followingan artless feint which drew Phil as easily as a child, ducked the blowand darted beneath his guard. I gave Phil up for lost. How it happened,though I was watching carefully, I cannot say, but Acton seemed toslither or stumble on the turf as he rushed in, and for one second hewas at Phil's mercy.
At that very instant Phil's arm flashed out, and with a blow which wouldhave felled an ox, he caught Acton between the eyes. Acton dropped tothe ground like a bludgeoned dog.
Phil, like a gentleman, backed a yard or so away, waiting for Acton toget up again, but he made no sign. Vercoe and I then counted him outwith all due formality, and Phil had won at the very moment he was aboutto be beaten. We did our best for Acton, who was unconscious, and, justwhen we began to despair of bringing him round, he opened his eyes withthe usual vacant stare. In a minute he recovered his thoughts, and saideagerly, "Then I've won."
"Not quite," said Vercoe, grimly. "You've jolly well lost."
Acton tottered to his feet blind with rage--diabolic rage--but hate andfury couldn't give him strength to stand. Vercoe gently caught him, andlaid him quietly on his back, and sponged his face where the awful forceof Phil's blow was becoming plainer every moment.
He compressed his lips with rage and pain, and looked at Phil with sucha look of deadly hatred that Vercoe was disgusted.
"Now come, Acton. You've fought well, and, by Jove! you ought to losewell. Bourne fought like a gentleman, and you've been beaten fairly.What is the good of bearing any malice?"
"Look here, Acton," said Phil, "I'm jolly glad I've thrashed you, butall is over now. Here's my hand, and we'll let bygones be bygones."
"Never!" said Acton. "I'll get even with you yet."
"So be it," said Bourne; and he turned away, and got into his coat,leaving Vercoe and Acton on the field of battle. "Don't care to mentionit, old man," he said to me as we got to his room, "all the same, Ithought I was a gone coon just when I knocked the fellow out."
I went for my holidays that morning, and Acton, escorted by Vercoe, gotinto the same train. He was white and almost scared looking at hisdefeat, but there was on his face still that unfading expression ofunsatisfied hate and lust for revenge. I buried my face in my paper inutter disgust.
So you see Acton departed from St. Amory's at the beginning of theEaster holidays in a slightly different mood from that which he enjoyedat Christmas, when the young Biffenites had cheered him till they werehoarse and he was out of hearing.
Toby was almost beside himself with consternation when Bourne and Vercoeturned up at the Courts in the afternoon.
"Your 'ands, Mr. Bourne, and your eye! What have you been a-doing of?"
"I have had the painful necessity to thrash a cad, Toby."
"But you did thrash him, sir?"
"I fanc
y so," said Bourne, grimly.
Jack went home in the evening a sadder and wiser boy. When he saw hisbrother's closed eye and swollen lip, and the angry patches on hischeeks, he was cut to the heart; he took his thrashing like a man, and,when all was over, felt he loved and respected his brother more thanever. "What a beastly little pig I've been," he said to himself.
Vercoe and Bourne were the victorious finalists at Kensington in therackets. It was, as the papers aptly remarked, "Quite a coincidence thatBourne's right eye was beautifully and variously decorated in honour ofthe occasion."
I don't expect many finalists, at rackets anyhow, turn up with blackeyes.