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 "I think, my dear boy, this is perfectly uninteresting," said his mother, fixing her spectacles and examining the photograph sternly. "This is a stupid pursuit, not only a waste of time, but also a waste of money. It has been the ruin of many young men. One of these days it might even prove to be the ruin of England."

"All work and no play, my dear," said her son, "makes Jack a dull boy, you know. Personally I would suggest that a game like football is a rare training for the character."

"I think football is a fine and manly game, Henry," said the girl, with a little air of defiance. "I shall never forget seeing you come home with your twisted knee."

"The doctor's bill was thirty pounds," said Mrs. Northcote simply.

These words, spoken in a manner that was almost childlike, came upon Northcote with the force of a blow. He was perfectly accustomed to his mother's voice and manner, that voice and manner which were so direct and so unqualified. But for the first time they had driven a deep flush of shame to his cheek. This dauntless unimaginative creature, who measured spoonfuls of tea, who counted pennies, whose staff of life was hard facts, what had she not performed at the call of her religion? What lions had she not removed from the path of this one ewe lamb of hers, in order that one day he should win his way to the kingdom she had designed for him? Night and day, year after year, had she labored with this object in view. He was her only son, and material greatness was to be his destiny. He recalled the unflinching figure of this