"And then the captain of the eleven!" said the master, "what a post is his in our school-world! almost as hard as the Doctor's; requiring skill and gentleness and firmness, and I know not what other rare qualities."
"Which doesn't he wish he may get!" said Tom, laughing; "at any rate he hasn't got them yet, or he wouldn't have been such a flat[34] as to let Jack Raggles go in, out of his turn."
"Ah, the Doctor never would have done that," said Arthur, demurely. "Tom, you've a great deal to learn yet in the art of ruling."
"Well, I wish you'd tell the Doctor so, then, and get him to let me stop till I'm twenty. I don't want to leave, I'm sure."
"What a sight it is," broke in the master, "the Doctor as a ruler! Perhaps ours is the only little corner in the British Empire which is thoroughly, wisely, and strongly ruled just now. I'm more and more thankful every day of my life that I came here to be under him."
"So am I, I'm sure," said Tom; " and more and more sorry that I've got to leave."
"Every place and thing one sees here reminds one of some wise act of his," went on the master. "This island now—you remember the time, Brown, when it was first laid out in small gardens, and cultivated by frost-bitten fags in February and March?"
"Of course I do," said Tom; "didn't I hate spending two hours in the afternoon grubbing in the tough dirt with the stump of a fives'-bat? But turf-cart[35] was good fun enough."
"I dare say it was, but it was always leading to fights with the townspeople; and then the stealing flowers out of all the gardens in Rugby for the Easter show was abominable."
"Well, so it was," said Tom, looking down, "but we fags couldn't help ourselves. But what has that to do with the Doctor's ruling?"