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Updated: May 13, 2025
While he was in the act of thrashing them, they would roar out instances of his funking at football, or shirking some encounter with a lout of half his own size. Come what might, he would make those boys' lives miserable. So the strife settled down into a personal affair between Flashman and our youngsters a war to the knife, to be fought out in the little cockpit at the end of the bottom passage.
He never meddled with any little boy, and was popular with them, though they all looked on him with a sort of compassion, and called him "Poor Diggs," not being able to resist appearances, or to disregard wholly even the sneers of their enemy Flashman.
"Stop there," shouted he; "the round's over half-minute time allowed." "What the is it to you?" faltered Flashman, who began to lose heart. "I'm going to see fair, I tell you," said Diggs, with a grin, and snapping his great red fingers; "'taint fair for you to be fighting one of them at a time. Are you ready, Brown? Time's up." The small boys rushed in again.
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?"
But the wrong sort happened to be in the ascendant just now, and so Flashman was a formidable enemy for small boys. This soon became plain enough. Flashman left no slander unspoken, and no deed undone, which could in any way hurt his victims, or isolate them from the rest of the house.
Greatly were they drawn then towards old Diggs, who, in an uncouth way, began to take a good deal of notice of them, and once or twice came to their study when Flashman was there, who immediately decamped in consequence. The boys thought that Diggs must have been watching. But they had still the point to settle of how to get Diggs to take the things without hurting his feelings.
And seldom had small boys more need of a friend, for the morning after the siege the storm burst upon the rebels in all its violence. Flashman laid wait, and caught Tom before second lesson, and receiving a point-blank "No" when told to fetch his hat, seized him and twisted his arm, and went through the other methods of torture in use.
He fell in with a friend or two coming back from bathing, proposed a glass of beer, to which they assented, the weather being hot, and they thirsty souls, and unaware of the quantity of drink which Flashman had already on board. The short result was, that Flashey became beastly drunk. They tried to get him along, but couldn't; so they chartered a hurdle and two men to carry him.
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!"
"Who-o-op!" he roared, pulling away at the leg of a small boy, who held on tight to the leg of the bed, and sang out lustily for mercy. "Here, lend a hand, one of you, and help me pull out this young howling brute. Hold your tongue, sir, or I'll kill you." "Oh, please, Flashman, please, Walker, don't toss me! I'll fag for you I'll do anything only don't toss me."
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