"What's the matter," shouted Diggs.
"My skull's fractured," sobbed Flashman.
"Oh, let me run for the housekeeper," cried Tom. "What shall we do?"
"Fiddlesticks! it's nothing but the skin broken," said the relentless Diggs, feeling his head. "Cold water and a bit of rag's all hell want."
"Let me go," said Flashman, surlily, sitting up; "I don't want your help."
"We're really very sorry," began East.
"Hang your sorrow,** answered Flashman, holding his handkerchief to the place; "you shall pay for this, I can tell you, both of you." And he walked out of the Hall.
"He can't be very bad," said Tom with a deep sigh, much relieved to see his enemy march so well.
"Not he," said Diggs, " and you'll see you won't be troubled with him any more. But, I say, your head's broken top—your collar is covered with blood."
"Is it though?" said Tom, putting up his hand; "I didn*t know it."
"Well, mop it up, or you'll have your jacket spoilt. And you have got a nasty eye. Scud; you'd better go and bathe it well in cold water."
"Cheap enough too, if we've done with our old friend Flashey," said East, as they made off upstairs to bathe their wounds.
They had done with Flashman in one sense, for he never laid finger on either of them again; but whatever harm a spiteful heart and venomous tongue could do them, he took care should be done. Only throw dirt enough, and some of it is sure to stick; and so it was with the fifth form and the bigger boys in general, with whom he associated more or less, and they not at all. Flashman managed to get Tom
