East
seizes Tom's arm, and tries to pull him away, but is knocked back by
one of the boys, and Tom is dragged along struggling. His shoulders are
pushed against the mantelpiece, and he is held by main force before the
fire, Flashman drawing his trousers tight by way of extra torture. 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."
Flashman and one or two others slink away; the rest, ashamed and
sorry, bend over Tom or run for water, while East darts off for the
housekeeper. Water comes, and they throw it on his hands and face, and
he begins to come to. "Mother!"--the words came feebly and slowly--"it's
very cold to-night." Poor old Diggs is blubbering like a child. "Where
am I?" goes on Tom, opening his eyes, "Ah! I remember now.
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