blanket. "Once, twice, thrice, and away!" Up he went
like a shuttle-cock, but not quite up to the ceiling.

"Now, boys, with a will!" cried Walker. "Once, twice, thrice, and
away!" This time he went clear up, and kept himself from touching the
ceiling with his hands; and so again a third time, when he was turned
out, and up went another boy. And then came Tom's turn. He lay quite
still, by East's advice, and didn't dislike the "once, twice, thrice,"
but the "away" wasn't so pleasant. They were in good wind now, and
sent him slap up to the ceiling the first time, against which his
knees came rather sharply. But the moment's pause before descending
was the rub, the feeling of utter helplessness, and of leaving his
whole inside behind him sticking to the ceiling. Tom was very near
shouting to be set down, when he found himself back in the blanket,
but thought of East, and didn't; and so took his three tosses without
a kick or a cry, and was called a young trump for his pains.

A BULLY'S REFINEMENTS.

He and East, having earned it, stood now looking on. No catastrophe
happened, as all the captives were cool hands, and didn't struggle.
This didn't suit Flashman. What your real bully likes in tossing, is
when the boys kick and struggle, or hold on to one side of the
blanket, and so get pitched bodily on to the floor; it's no fun to him
when no one is hurt or frightened.

"Let's toss two of them together, Walker," suggested he. "What a
cursed bully you are, Flashey!" rejoined the other. "Up with another
one."

And so after all, the two boys were not tossed together. The peculiar
hardship of which tossing, is that it's too much for human nature to
lie still then and share troubles; and so the wretched pair of small
boys struggle in the air which shall fall atop in the descent, to the
no small risk of both falling out of the blanket, and the huge delight
of brutes like Flashman.

But now there's a cry that the praepostor of the room is coming; so the
tossing stops, and all scatter to their different rooms, and Tom is
left to turn in with the first day's experience of a public school to
meditate upon.

CHAPTER VII.

SETTLING TO THE COLLAR.

"Says Giles, 'Tis mortal hard to go;
But if so be's I must.
I means to follow arter he
As goes hisself the fust."--_Ballad._

Everybody, I suppose, knows the dreamy, delicious state in which one
lies, half asleep, half awake, while conscious