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Hornung, E. W. (Ernest William), 1866-1921

"The Amateur Cracksman"

Raffles continued to
pace the rich carpet that was of a piece with everything else in
his rooms. There was no variation in his soft and even
footfalls.
"You used to be a literary little cuss," he said at length;
"didn't you edit the mag. before you left? Anyway I recollect
fagging you to do my verses; and literature of all sorts is the
very thing nowadays; any fool can make a living at it."
I shook my head. "Any fool couldn't write off my debts," said I.
"Then you have a flat somewhere?" he went on.
"Yes, in Mount Street."
"Well, what about the furniture?"
I laughed aloud in my misery. "There's been a bill of sale on
every stick for months!"
And at that Raffles stood still, with raised eyebrows and stern
eyes that I could meet the better now that he knew the worst;
then, with a shrug, he resumed his walk, and for some minutes
neither of us spoke. But in his handsome, unmoved face I read my
fate and death-warrant; and with every breath I cursed my folly
and my cowardice in coming to him at all. Because he had been
kind to me at school, when he was captain of the eleven, and I
his fag, I had dared to look for kindness from him now; because I
was ruined, and he rich enough to play cricket all the summer,
and do nothing for the rest of the year, I had fatuously counted
on his mercy, his sympathy, his help! Yes, I had relied on him
in my heart, for all my outward diffidence and humility; and I
was rightly served.


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