[Roger Ingleton, Minor by Talbot Baines Reed]@TWC D-Link book
Roger Ingleton, Minor

CHAPTER FIFTEEN
10/17

The housekeeper, who since Mrs Ingleton's death had assumed the moral direction of the young lady, had expostulated with her in no mild terms on the iniquity of young ladies playing football, even of a funereal order, and she felt it very treacherous on the part of the faithless Tom to divulge her ill-doings now.
She felt reassured, however, when Mr Armstrong smiled grimly.
"Nobody could see," said she; "and Tom _did_ want a game so dreadfully." "We played Association," said Tom.

"Jill got two goals and I got fifty- six." "No, I got three," said Jill.
"Oh, that first wasn't a goal," said Tom.

"You see, she got past me with a neat bit of dribbling; but she ran, and the rule was only to walk, you know, because of being in mourning." "I really didn't run, I only walked very fast," said Jill.
"I should think you might allow her the goal," said Mr Armstrong.
Mr Armstrong was always coming to Jill's rescue; and if any of her heart had been left to win, he would have won it now.

Tom gave in, and said he supposed he would have to let her count it; and was vastly consoled for his self-denial by Roger's proposal to join him in a game that very day.
Before that important function came off, however, Roger and his tutor had a somewhat uncomfortable talk in the library.
"You are feeling out of sorts, old fellow," said the latter when they were left alone.
"I've had a letter," said Roger.
"Another ?" "Read it, please." "If you wish it, I will.

Last time, however, it wasn't a success consulting me." "I want you to read this." The tutor took the letter and turned to the signature.
His brow knitted as he did so, and the lines grew deeper and more scornful as he turned to the beginning and read through.
"If I were you," said he, returning it, "I would frame this letter as a good specimen of a barefaced fraud." It irritated Roger considerably, in his present over-wrought frame of mind--and particularly after the memorable inward struggle of that morning--to have what seemed so serious a matter to him regarded by any one else as a jest.


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