“Look here, sir,” says the guard, after giving a sharp toot-toot; “there’s two on ’em; out-and-out runners they be.  They comes out about twice or three times a week, and spirts a mile alongside of us.”

And as they came up, sure enough, away went two boys along the footpath, keeping up with the horses—­the first a light, clean-made fellow going on springs; the other stout and round-shouldered, labouring in his pace, but going as dogged as a bull-terrier.

Old Blow-hard looked on admiringly.  “See how beautiful that there un holds hisself together, and goes from his hips, sir,” said he; “he’s a ‘mazin’ fine runner.  Now many coachmen as drives a first-rate team’d put it on, and try and pass ’em.  But Bob, sir, bless you, he’s tender-hearted; he’d sooner pull in a bit if he see’d ’em a-gettin’ beat.  I do b’lieve, too, as that there un’d sooner break his heart than let us go by him afore next milestone.”

At the second milestone the boys pulled up short, and waved their hats to the guard, who had his watch out and shouted “4.56,” thereby indicating that the mile had been done in four seconds under the five minutes.  They passed several more parties of boys, all of them objects of the deepest interest to Tom, and came in sight of the town at ten minutes before twelve.  Tom fetched a long breath, and thought he had never spent a pleasanter day.  Before he went to bed he had quite settled that it must be the greatest day he should ever spend, and didn’t alter his opinion for many a long year—­if he has yet.

CHAPTER V—­RUGBY AND FOOTBALL.

     “Foot and eye opposed
     In dubious strife.”—­Scott.

“And so here’s Rugby, sir, at last, and you’ll be in plenty of time for dinner at the School-house, as I telled you,” said the old guard, pulling his horn out of its case and tootle-tooing away, while the coachman shook up his horses, and carried them along the side of the school close, round Dead-man’s corner, past the school-gates, and down the High Street to the Spread Eagle, the wheelers in a spanking trot, and leaders cantering, in a style which would not have disgraced “Cherry Bob,” “ramping, stamping, tearing, swearing Billy Harwood,” or any other of the old coaching heroes.

Tom’s heart beat quick as he passed the great schoolfield or close, with its noble elms, in which several games at football were going on, and tried to take in at once the long line of gray buildings, beginning with the chapel, and ending with the School-house, the residence of the head-master, where the great flag was lazily waving from the highest round tower.  And he began already to be proud of being a Rugby boy, as he passed the schoolgates, with the oriel window above, and saw the boys standing there, looking as if the town belonged to them, and nodding in a familiar manner to the coachman, as if any one of them would be quite equal to getting on the box, and working the team down street as well as he.