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By the time that the calling-over bell rang, Tom and his new comrades were all down, dressed in their best clothes, and he had the satisfaction of answering "here" to his name for the first time, the prepostor of the week having put it in at the bottom of his list.
"Hold that noise up in the corner," called out the prepostor, sitting up and looking round his curtains; and the Tadpole and young Green sank down into their disordered beds; and then, looking at his watch, added, "Hullo! past eight. Whose turn for hot water?" "East's and Tadpole's," answered the senior fag, who kept the rota. "I can't go," said East; "I'm dead lame."
"No one goes near New Row," said he, "so you may just as well stop here and do your verses, and then we'll have some more talk. We'll be no end quiet. Besides, no prepostor comes here now. We haven't been visited once this half." So the table was cleared, the cloth restored, and the three fell to work with Gradus and dictionary upon the morning's vulgus.
It is Tom Brown, grown into a young man nineteen years old, a prepostor and captain of the eleven, spending his last day as a Rugby boy, and, let us hope, as much wiser as he is bigger, since we last had the pleasure of coming across him. And at their feet on the warm, dry ground, similarly dressed, sits Arthur, Turkish fashion, with his bat across his knees.
"Jones the prepostor has the study at the fire end, and he has rigged up an iron rod and green baize curtain across the passage, which he draws at night, and sits there with his door open; so he gets all the fire, and hears if we come out of our studies after eight, or make a noise.
And besides this night-work, each prepostor had three or four fags specially allotted to him, of whom he was supposed to be the guide, philosopher, and friend, and who in return for these good offices had to clean out his study every morning by turns, directly after first lesson and before he returned from breakfast.
There stands the School-house prepostor, safest of goal-keepers, and Tom Brown by his side, who has learned his trade by this time. Now is your time, Tom. The blood of all the Browns is up, and the two rush in together, and throw themselves on the ball, under the very feet of the advancing column the prepostor on his hands and knees, arching his back, and Tom all along on his face.
They listened a moment, assured themselves that it wasn't a prepostor, and then went on with their work, and the door swung open, and in walked Flashman. He didn't see Diggs, and thought it a good chance to keep his hand in; and as the boys didn't move for him, struck one of them, to make them get out of his way. "What's that for?" growled the assaulted one. "Because I choose.
In fact, the solemn assembly, a levy of the School, had been held, at which the captain of the School had got up, and after premising that several instances had occurred of matters having been reported to the masters; that this was against public morality and School tradition; that a levy of the sixth had been held on the subject, and they had resolved that the practice must be stopped at once; and given out that any boy, in whatever form, who should thenceforth appeal to a master, without having first gone to some prepostor and laid the case before him, should be thrashed publicly, and sent to Coventry.
Over them topple the leaders of the rush, shooting over the back of the prepostor, but falling flat on Tom, and knocking all the wind out of his small carcass. "Our ball," says the prepostor, rising with his prize; "but get up there; there's a little fellow under you." They are hauled and roll off him, and Tom is discovered, a motionless body. Old Brooke picks him up.
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