The mob rounded the highway, purposely selected because it curved, and
disappeared from view.

"Everything all right, Andy?" inquired Ned, strutting about with quite a
ringmaster-like air.

"Yes, if the horse will go any."

"Oh, he'll get up full speed, once started," assured Ned.

It was fully five minutes before an expected signal reached them. From
far around the bend in the road there suddenly echoed vivid shouts and
whistlings.

"Start him up," ordered Andy.

Ned led the horse a few rods and got him to running. Then, dropping to
the rear, he kept pace with the animal, slapping one flank and urging
him up to greater speed.

He fell behind, but kept on running, as Andy, guiding the horse by the
long bridle reins, occasionally gave him a stimulating touch of the
light whip he carried.

Five hundred feet covered, old Dobbin seemed to enjoy the novelty of the
occasion, and kept up a very fair gait.

Rounding the curve in the road and looking a quarter-of-a-mile ahead,
Andy could see his schoolmates gathered around a tree stump surmounted
by Alf Warren, holding the hoop aloft.