“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.”
“Trust me for that,” said Tom between his teeth.