His
football museum had but one equal, that of Mr Jacob Dodson, of
Manchester. Between them the two had cornered, at enormous expense, the
curio market of the game. It was Rackstraw who had secured the
authentic pair of boots in which Bloomer had first played for England;
but it was Dodson who possessed the painted india-rubber ball used by
Meredith when a boy--probably the first thing except a nurse ever
kicked by that talented foot. The two men were friends, as far as rival
connoisseurs can be friends; and Mr Dodson, when at leisure, would
frequently pay a visit to Mr Rackstraw's country house, where he would
spend hours gazing wistfully at the Bloomer boots, buoyed up only by
the thoughts of the Meredith ball at home.
Isabel saw little of Clarence during the winter months, except from a
distance. She contented herself with clipping photographs of him from
the sporting papers. Each was a little more unlike him than the last,
and this lent variety to the collection. Her father marked her new-born
enthusiasm for the game with approval. It had been secretly a great
grief to the old gentleman that his only child did not know the
difference between a linesman and an inside right, and, more, did not
seem to care to know. He felt himself drawn closer to her. An
understanding, as pleasant as it was new and strange, began to spring
up between parent and child.
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