" (I fear that Master Green is not confining himself
strictly to truth.) Thomas turns his head more on one side than ever,
and spells away at the dirty list. Green is forced away from the window.
"Here, Thomas--never mind him; mine's thirty shillings." "And mine too,"
"And mine," shouted others.
One way or another, the party to which Tom belonged all got packed and
paid, and sallied out to the gates, the cornopean playing frantically
"Drops of Brandy," in allusion, probably, to the slight potations in
which the musician and postboys had been already indulging. All luggage
was carefully stowed away inside the coach and in the front and hind
boots, so that not a hat-box was visible outside. Five or six small
boys, with pea-shooters, and the cornopean player, got up behind; in
front the big boys, mostly smoking, not for pleasure, but because they
are now gentlemen at large, and this is the most correct public method
of notifying the fact.
"Robinson's coach will be down the road in a minute; it has gone up to
Bird's to pick up. We'll wait till they're close, and make a race of
it," says the leader. "Now, boys, half a sovereign apiece if you beat
'em into Dunchurch by one hundred yards."
"All right, sir," shouted the grinning postboys.
Down comes Robinson's coach in a minute or two, with a rival cornopean,
and away go the two vehicles, horses galloping, boys cheering, horns
playing loud.
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