A Dog with a Bad Name
Jeffreys' brow darkened. He glanced down at his own shabby garments, and then at Scarfe's neat suit.
"I've got flannels," he said.
"Flannels! Why don't you play, then? Do you think you won't look well in flannels? He would, wouldn't he, Scarfe?"
"I don't see how he could look better than he does now," replied Scarfe, looking at the figure before him. Then noticing the black looks on his enemy's face, he added--
"Forrester and I were having a little practice at kicking, Jeff. You may as well join us, whether you play in the match or not."
"Why, are you going to play?" asked Jeffreys, not heeding the invitation. "Frampton has no right to make us do it."
"Why not? He's head-master. Besides, you can get a doctor's certificate if you like."
"No, I can't; I'm not ill."
"Then you'll have to play, of course. Everybody will, and you'd better come and practise with us now. Do you know how to play?"