Tom Brown’s School Days and Flashman. Thomas Smart Hughes

a row of hat-pegs, and on each side bookcases with cupboards at the bottom, shelves and cupboards being filled indiscriminately with school-books, a cup or two, a mouse-trap and candlesticks, leather straps, a fustian bag, and some curious-looking articles which puzzled Tom not a little, until his friend explained that they were climbing-irons, and showed their use. A cricket-bat and small fishing-rod stood up in one corner.

      This was the residence of East and another boy in the same form, and had more interest for Tom than Windsor Castle, or any other residence in the British Isles. For was he not about to become the joint owner of a similar home, the first place he could call his own? One’s own! What a charm there is in the words! How long it takes boy and man to find out their worth! How fast most of us hold on to them—faster and more jealously, the nearer we are to that general home into which we can take nothing, but must go naked as we came into the world! When shall we learn that he who multiplieth possessions multiplieth troubles, and that the one single use of things which we call our own is that they may be his who hath need of them?

      “And shall I have a study like this too?” said Tom.

      “Yes, of course; you’ll be chummed with some fellow on Monday, and you can sit here till then.”

      “What nice places!”

      “They’re well enough,” answered East, patronizingly, “only uncommon cold at nights sometimes. Gower—that’s my chum—and I make a fire with paper on the floor after supper generally, only that makes it so smoky.”

      “But there’s a big fire out in the passage,” said Tom.

      “Precious little we get out of that, though,” said East. “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. However, he’s taken to sitting in the fifth-form room lately, so we do get a bit of fire now sometimes; only to keep a sharp lookout that he don’t catch you behind his curtain when he comes down—that’s all.”

      A quarter past one now struck, and the bell began tolling for dinner; so they went into the hall and took their places, Tom at the very bottom of the second table, next to the prepostor (who sat at the end to keep order there), and East a few paces higher. And now Tom for the first time saw his future school-fellows in a body. In they came, some hot and ruddy from football or long walks, some pale and chilly from hard reading in their studies, some from loitering over the fire at the pastrycook’s, dainty mortals, bringing with them pickles and saucebottles to help them with their dinners. And a great big-bearded man, whom Tom took for a master, began calling over the names, while the great joints were being rapidly carved on the third table in the corner by the old verger and the housekeeper. Tom’s turn came last, and meanwhile he was all eyes, looking first with awe at the great man, who sat close to him, and was helped first, and who read a hard-looking book all the time he was eating; and when he got up and walked off to the fire, at the small boys round him, some of whom were reading, and the rest talking in whispers to one another, or stealing one another’s bread, or shooting pellets, or digging their forks through the tablecloth. However, notwithstanding his curiosity, he managed to make a capital dinner by the time the big man called “Stand up!” and said grace.

      As soon as dinner was over, and Tom had been questioned by such of his neighbours as were curious as to his birth, parentage, education, and other like matters, East, who evidently enjoyed his new dignity of patron and mentor, proposed having a look at the close, which Tom, athirst for knowledge, gladly assented to; and they went out through the quadrangle and past the big fives court, into the great playground.

      “That’s the chapel, you see,” said East; “and there, just behind it, is the place for fights. You see it’s most out of the way of the masters, who all live on the other side, and don’t come by here after first lesson or callings-over. That’s when the fights come off. And all this part where we are is the little-side ground, right up to the trees; and on the other side of the trees is the big-side ground, where the great matches are played. And there’s the island in the farthest corner; you’ll know that well enough next half, when there’s island fagging. I say, it’s horrid cold; let’s have a run across.” And away went East, Tom close behind him. East was evidently putting his best foot foremost; and Tom, who was mighty proud of his running, and not a little anxious to show his friend that, although a new boy, he was no milksop, laid himself down to work in his very best style. Right across the close they went, each doing all he knew, and there wasn’t a yard between them when they pulled up at the island moat.

      “I say,” said East, as soon as he got his wind, looking with much increased respect at Tom, “you ain’t a bad scud, not by no means. Well, I’m as warm as a toast now.”

      “But why do you wear white trousers in November?” said Tom. He had been struck by this peculiarity in the costume of almost all the School-house boys.

      “Why, bless us, don’t you know? No; I forgot. Why, to-day’s the School-house match. Our house plays the whole of the School at football. And we all wear white trousers, to show ’em we don’t care for hacks. You’re in luck to come to-day. You just will see a match; and Brooke’s going to let me play in quarters. That’s more than he’ll do for any other lower-school boy, except James, and he’s fourteen.”

      “Who’s Brooke?”

      “Why, that big fellow who called over at dinner, to be sure. He’s cock of the school, and head of the School-house side, and the best kick and charger in Rugby.”

      “Oh, but do show me where they play. And tell me about it. I love football so, and have played all my life. Won’t Brooke let me play?”

      “Not he,” said East, with some indignation. “Why, you don’t know the rules; you’ll be a month learning them. And then it’s no joke playing-up in a match, I can tell you—quite another thing from your private school games. Why, there’s been two collar-bones broken this half, and a dozen fellows lamed. And last year a fellow had his leg broken.”

      Tom listened with the profoundest respect to this chapter of accidents, and followed East across the level ground till they came to a sort of gigantic gallows of two poles, eighteen feet high, fixed upright in the ground some fourteen feet apart, with a cross-bar running from one to the other at the height of ten feet or thereabouts.

      “This is one of the goals,” said East, “and you see the other, across there, right opposite, under the Doctor’s wall. Well, the match is for the best of three goals; whichever side kicks two goals wins: and it won’t do, you see, just to kick the ball through these posts—it must go over the cross-bar; any height’ll do, so long as it’s between the posts. You’ll have to stay in goal to touch the ball when it rolls behind the posts, because if the other side touch it they have a try at goal. Then we fellows in quarters, we play just about in front of goal here, and have to turn the ball and kick it back before the big fellows on the other side can follow it up. And in front of us all the big fellows play, and that’s where the scrummages are mostly.”

      Tom’s respect increased as he struggled to make out his friend’s technicalities, and the other set to work to explain the mysteries of “off your side,” “drop-kicks,” “punts,” “places,” and the other intricacies of the great science of football.

      “But how do you keep the ball between the goals?” said he; “I can’t see why it mightn’t go right down to the chapel.”

      “Why; that’s out of play,” answered East. “You see this gravel-walk running down all along this side of the playing-ground, and the line of elms opposite on the other? Well, they’re the bounds. As soon as the ball gets past them, it’s in touch, and out of play. And then whoever first touches it has to knock it straight out amongst the players-up, who make two lines with a space between them, every fellow going on his own side. Ain’t there just fine scrummages then! And the three trees you see there which come out into the play, that’s a tremendous place when the ball hangs there, for you get thrown against the trees, and that’s worse than any hack.”

      Tom