“Do you know, old fellow, I’ve been thinking it over a good deal,” began Tom again.

“Oh yes, I know—­fagging you are thinking of.  Hang it all!  But listen here, Tom—­here’s fun.  Mr. Winkle’s horse—­”

“And I’ve made up my mind,” broke in Tom, “that I won’t fag except for the sixth.”

“Quite right too, my boy,” cried East, putting his finger on the place and looking up; “but a pretty peck of troubles you’ll get into, if you’re going to play that game.  However, I’m all for a strike myself, if we can get others to join.  It’s getting too bad.”

“Can’t we get some sixth-form fellow to take it up?” asked Tom.

“Well, perhaps we might.  Morgan would interfere, I think.  Only,” added East, after a moment’s pause, “you see, we should have to tell him about it, and that’s against School principles.  Don’t you remember what old Brooke said about learning to take our own parts?”

“Ah, I wish old Brooke were back again.  It was all right in his time.”

“Why, yes, you see, then the strongest and best fellows were in the sixth, and the fifth-form fellows were afraid of them, and they kept good order; but now our sixth-form fellows are too small, and the fifth don’t care for them, and do what they like in the house.”

“And so we get a double set of masters,” cried Tom indignantly—­“the lawful ones, who are responsible to the Doctor at any rate, and the unlawful, the tyrants, who are responsible to nobody.”

“Down with the tyrants!” cried East; “I’m all for law and order, and hurrah for a revolution.”

“I shouldn’t mind if it were only for young Brooke now,” said Tom; “he’s such a good-hearted, gentlemanly fellow, and ought to be in the sixth.  I’d do anything for him.  But that blackguard Flashman, who never speaks to one without a kick or an oath—­”

“The cowardly brute,” broke in East—­“how I hate him!  And he knows it too; he knows that you and I think him a coward.  What a bore that he’s got a study in this passage!  Don’t you hear them now at supper in his den?  Brandy-punch going, I’ll bet.  I wish the Doctor would come out and catch him.  We must change our study as soon as we can.”

“Change or no change, I’ll never fag for him again,” said Tom, thumping the table.

“Fa-a-a-ag!” sounded along the passage from Flashman’s study.  The two boys looked at one another in silence.  It had struck nine, so the regular night-fags had left duty, and they were the nearest to the supper-party.  East sat up, and began to look comical, as he always did under difficulties.

“Fa-a-a-ag!” again.  No answer.

“Here, Brown!  East! you cursed young skulks,” roared out Flashman, coming to his open door; “I know you’re in; no shirking.”

Tom stole to their door, and drew the bolts as noiselessly as he could; East blew out the candle.

“Barricade the first,” whispered he.  “Now, Tom, mind, no surrender.”