And now the master of the week has finished, and locked up
the big school; and the prepostors of the week come out, sweeping the
last remnant of the school fags, who had been loafing about the corners
by the fives court, in hopes of a chance of bolting, before them into
the close.
"Hold the punt-about!" "To the goals!" are the cries; and all stray
balls are impounded by the authorities, and the whole mass of boys moves
up towards the two goals, dividing as they go into three bodies. That
little band on the left, consisting of from fifteen to twenty boys, Tom
amongst them, who are making for the goal under the School-house wall,
are the School-house boys who are not to play up, and have to stay in
goal. The larger body moving to the island goal are the School boys in a
like predicament. The great mass in the middle are the players-up, both
sides mingled together; they are hanging their jackets (and all who mean
real work), their hats, waistcoats, neck-handkerchiefs, and braces, on
the railings round the small trees; and there they go by twos and
threes up to their respective grounds. There is none of the colour and
tastiness of get-up, you will perceive, which lends such a life to
the present game at Rugby, making the dullest and worst-fought match a
pretty sight. Now each house has its own uniform of cap and jersey, of
some lively colour; but at the time we are speaking of plush caps have
not yet come in, or uniforms of any sort, except the School-house
white trousers, which are abominably cold to-day.
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