small boys rushed in again. Closing, they saw, was their best
chance, and Flashman was wilder and more flurried than ever: he caught
East by the throat, and tried to force him back on the iron-bound table.
Tom grasped his waist, and remembering the old throw he had learned
in the Vale from Harry Winburn, crooked his leg inside Flashman's, and
threw his whole weight forward. The three tottered for a moment, and
then over they went on to the floor, Flashman striking his head against
a form in the hall.

The two youngsters sprang to their legs, but he lay there still. They
began to be frightened. Tom stooped down, and then cried out, scared
out of his wits, "He's bleeding awfully. Come here, East! Diggs, he's
dying!"

"Not he," said Diggs, getting leisurely off the table; "it's all sham;
he's only afraid to fight it out."

East was as frightened as Tom. Diggs lifted Flashman's head, and he
groaned.

"What's the matter?" shouted Diggs.

"My skull's fractured," sobbed Flashman.

"Oh, let me run for the housekeeper!" cried Tom. "What shall we do?"

"Fiddlesticks! It's nothing but the skin broken," said the relentless
Diggs, feeling his head. "Cold water and a bit of rag's all he'll want."

"Let me go," said Flashman surlily, sitting up; "I don't want your
help."

"We're really very sorry--" began East.

"Hang your sorrow!" answered Flashman, holding his handkerchief to the
place; "you shall pay for this, I can tell you, both of you." And he
walked out of the hall.

"He can't be very bad," said Tom, with a deep sigh, much relieved to see
his enemy march so well.

"Not he," said Diggs; "and you'll see you won't be troubled with him any
more. But, I say, your head's broken too; your collar is covered with
blood."

"Is it though?" said Tom, putting up his hand; "I didn't know it."

"Well, mop it up, or you'll have your jacket spoilt. And you have got a
nasty eye, Scud. You'd better go and bathe it well in cold water."

"Cheap enough too, if we're done with our old friend Flashey," said
East, as they made off upstairs to bathe their wounds.

They had done with Flashman in one sense, for he never laid finger on
either of them again; but whatever harm a spiteful heart and venomous
tongue could do them, he took care should be done. Only throw dirt
enough, and some of it is sure to stick; and so it was with the fifth
form and the bigger boys in general, with whom he associated more or
less, and they not at all. Fl