and so on; Tom, who doesn't choose to move while Flashman is at the
door; and East, who stays by his friend, anticipating trouble. The
sporting set now gathered round Tom. Public opinion wouldn't allow them
actually to rob him of his ticket, but any humbug or intimidation by
which he could be driven to sell the whole or part at an undervalue was
lawful.

"Now, young Brown, come, what'll you sell me Harkaway for? I hear he
isn't going to start. I'll give you five shillings for him," begins
the boy who had opened the ticket. Tom, remembering his good deed, and
moreover in his forlorn state wishing to make a friend, is about
to accept the offer, when another cries out, "I'll give you seven
shillings." Tom hesitated and looked from one to the other.

"No, no!" said Flashman, pushing in, "leave me to deal with him; we'll
draw lots for it afterwards. Now sir, you know me: you'll sell Harkaway
to us for five shillings, or you'll repent it."

"I won't sell a bit of him," answered Tom shortly.

"You hear that now!" said Flashman, turning to the others. "He's the
coxiest young blackguard in the house. I always told you so. We're
to have all the trouble and risk of getting up the lotteries for the
benefit of such fellows as he."

Flashman forgets to explain what risk they ran, but he speaks to willing
ears. Gambling makes boys selfish and cruel as well as men.

"That's true. We always draw blanks," cried one.--"Now, sir, you shall
sell half, at any rate."

"I won't," said Tom, flushing up to his hair, and lumping them all in
his mind with his sworn enemy.

"Very well then; let's roast him," cried Flashman, and catches hold of
Tom by the collar. One or two boys hesitate, but the rest join in. East
seizes Tom's arm, and tries to pull him away, but is knocked back by
one of the boys, and Tom is dragged along struggling. His shoulders are
pushed against the mantelpiece, and he is held by main force before the
fire, Flashman drawing his trousers tight by way of extra torture. Poor
East, in more pain even than Tom, suddenly thinks of Diggs, and darts
off to find him. "Will you sell now for ten shillings?" says one boy who
is relenting.

Tom only answers by groans and struggles.

"I say, Flashey, he has had enough," says the same boy, dropping the arm
he holds.

"No, no; another turn'll do it," answers Flashman. But poor Tom is done
already, turns deadly pale, and his head falls forward on his breast,
just as Diggs, in fra