He had prudently locked the door, and carried on his operations solely through the window, or he would have been driven wild and lost all his money.
"Thomas, do be quick; we shall never catch the Highflyer at Dunchurch." "That's your money all right, Green." "Hullo, Thomas, the Doctor said I was to have two pound ten; you've only given me two pound." (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.