Flashman, with an oath and a kick, released his prey, who rushed headlong under his bed again, for fear they should change their minds, and crept along underneath the other beds, till he got under that of the sixth-form boy, which he knew they daren’t disturb.

“There’s plenty of youngsters don’t care about it,” said Walker.  “Here, here’s Scud East—­you’ll be tossed, won’t you, young un?” Scud was East’s nickname, or Black, as we called it, gained by his fleetness of foot.

“Yes,” said East, “if you like, only mind my foot.”

“And here’s another who didn’t hide.—­Hullo! new boy; what’s your name, sir?”

“Brown.”

“Well, Whitey Brown, you don’t mind being tossed?”

“No,” said Tom, setting his teeth.

“Come along then, boys,” sang out Walker; and away they all went, carrying along Tom and East, to the intense relief of four or five other small boys, who crept out from under the beds and behind them.

“What a trump Scud is!” said one.  “They won’t come back here now.”

“And that new boy, too; he must be a good-plucked one.”

“Ah! wait till he has been tossed on to the floor; see how he’ll like it then!”

Meantime the procession went down the passage to Number 7, the largest room, and the scene of the tossing, in the middle of which was a great open space.  Here they joined other parties of the bigger boys, each with a captive or two, some willing to be tossed, some sullen, and some frightened to death.  At Walker’s suggestion all who were afraid were let off, in honour of Pater Brooke’s speech.

Then a dozen big boys seized hold of a blanket, dragged from one of the beds.  “In with Scud; quick! there’s no time to lose.”  East was chucked into the blanket.  “Once, twice, thrice, and away!” Up he went like a shuttlecock, but not quite up to the ceiling.

“Now, boys, with a will,” cried Walker; “once, twice, thrice, and away!” This time he went clean up, and kept himself from touching the ceiling with his hand, and so again a third time, when he was turned out, and up went another boy.  And then came Tom’s turn.  He lay quite still, by East’s advice, and didn’t dislike the “once, twice, thrice;” but the “away” wasn’t so pleasant.  They were in good wind now, and sent him slap up to the ceiling first time, against which his knees came rather sharply.  But the moment’s pause before descending was the rub—­the feeling of utter helplessness and of leaving his whole inside behind him sticking to the ceiling.  Tom was very near shouting to be set down when he found himself back in the blanket, but thought of East, and didn’t; and so took his three tosses without a kick or a cry, and was called a young trump for his pains.

He and East, having earned it, stood now looking on.  No catastrophe happened, as all the captives were cool hands, and didn’t struggle.  This didn’t suit Flashman.  What your real bully likes in tossing is when the boys kick and struggle, or hold on to one side of the blanket, and so get pitched bodily on to the floor; it’s no fun to him when no one is hurt or frightened.