Flashman forgets to explain what risks 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.
ROASTING A FAG.
"Very well, then, let's roast him," cried Flashman, and catches hold of Tom by the collar; one or two of the boys hesitate, but the rest join in. East seizes Tom's arm and tries to pull him away, but he is knocked back by one of the boys, and Tom is dragged along struggling. His shoulders are pushed against the mantle-piece, and he is held by main force before the fire. 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 frantic excitement, rushes into the Hall with East at his heels.
"You cowardly brutes!" is all he can say as he catches Tom from them and supports him to the Hall table. "Good God! he's dying. Here, get some cold water—run for the housekeeper."