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.
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 now two boys were tossed together, the peculiar hardship of which 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 a-top 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 prepostor 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..