It was long odds, though, in point of strength; and in another minute Tom went spinning backwards over a form, and Flashman turned to demolish East with a savage grin.
But now Diggs jumped down from the table on which he had seated himself.
"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.

Closing, they saw, was their best chance, and Flashman was wilder and more flurried than ever: he caught East by the throat, and tried to force him back on the iron-bound table.
Tom grasped his waist, and remembering the old throw he had learned in the Vale from Harry Winburn, crooked his leg inside Flashman's, and threw his whole weight forward.

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.