Phil murmured almost inarticulate words of gratitude; but Acton, more than a trifle disturbed at his own thoughts, interrupted hastily-- "Say no more about it, please, Bourne. You'd have done as much for any one." "Your hands are bleeding," said Phil, with immense concern. "Nothing at all. I think the reins cut them." Mrs. Bourne _would_ bind them. "Of course!" said she. "How blind of me not to see that this gentleman is one of your schoolfellows, Phil." "Mother," said Phil, "this is John Acton." "I've heard Phil talk about your wonderful win at Aldershot. I suppose you're great friends?" The "great friends" looked on the ground rather guiltily, but Phil cut in with-- "I say, Acton, you must come and have tea with mother and me in my den. Can you?" Acton said quietly, "All right, Bourne. Thanks, awfully." Then he added under his breath to Phil, "If I can come as a friend?" "On that condition," said Phil, "I'd like you to come." The trio walked back along the road--a happy trio they were, too--and a melancholy procession of injured horses and an angry coachman closed their rear. The tea in Bourne's room was very successful, and I should fancy that Hinton did more hard thinking and hard staring when he saw Acton amicably seated with his feet under Bourne's table than he ever did before. The minute he had permission, he flew down the corridor, and exploded bombshell after bombshell among wondering Amorians. "Acton and Bourne teaing together like two birds on a bough!" he gasped. "That would be a funny sight," said Cherry. "Birds don't take tea." "Write an epilogue, Fruity. Teaing together as friendly as Grim and I might." "Only that," said W.E. Grim, with a genial wink, "my opinion is, that Hinton's been on the drink, and seen double." Incredulity and wonder were the dominant notes among Amorians for the next two hours. Acton and Phil walked to the station with Mrs. Bourne, and when she had gone to town, and the pair were returning schoolwards, Acton said thoughtfully-- "Look here, Bourne. Don't know quite what it was that made me feel so cheap when you rushed to thank me for helping your mater. I felt very small." "If that's so, you'll feel cheaper and smaller when pater sees you. I'd have those hands cured first." "Bourne," said Acton, very seriously, "I've been an arrant cad since I've come to St. Amory's, and if those horses hadn't bolted with your mater I should never have seen in you anything but a strait-laced prig, as I've all along thought you. I have, really. But that's all changed now, and I'm going to dry up. I suppose you know you aren't popular among the fellows generally?" "Rather!" said Phil, gloomily. "And you know that you owe all this to me?" "Only too well, Acton." "Well, I'm going to make what amends I can. Have you any objection to my proposing you as captain to-night?" "Acton, you are a brick," said Phil, "but you're too late now. I don't stand a ghost of a chance against Mivart."