Flashman and the Tiger: And Other Extracts from the Flashman Papers. George Fraser MacDonald

      ‘So just be patient, there’s a good chap, and you’ll know all about it presently. Sure you won’t smoke? There’s no cause for alarm, ’pon honour. You’re among friends … well, companions, anyway … and I’m goin’ to be your tee-jay and see you right, what?’

      D’you know, in all my fright and bewilderment, it was that piece of schoolboy slang that struck home, so in keeping with his style and speech, and yet so at odds with his looks. He couldn’t be public school, surely … not with those classic features that belong east of Vienna and would be as out of place in England as a Chinaman’s. No, not with that perfect straight nose, chiselled lips, and slightly slanted blue eyes – if this chap wasn’t a Mittel European, I’d never seen one.

      ‘Tee-jay?’ I croaked, and he laughed.

      ‘Aye … guide, philosopher, and friend – showin’ the new bugs the ropes. What did you call ’em at Rugby? I’m a Wykehamist, you know – and that was your doin’, believe it or not! ’Deed it was!’

      He blew a cloud, grinning at my stupefaction, and the feeling that I’d seen him before hit me harder than ever – the half-jeering smile, the whole devil-may-care carriage of him. But where? When?

      ‘Oh, yes, you impressed the guv’nor no end!’ cries he. ‘“It’s an English school for you, my son,” he told me. “Hellish places, by all accounts, rations a Siberian moujik wouldn’t touch, and less civilised behaviour than you’d meet in the Congo, but I’m told there’s no education like it – a lifetime’s trainin’ in knavery packed into six years. No wonder they rule half the world. Why, if I’d been to Eton or Harrow I’d have had Flashman on toast!” That’s what the guv’nor said!’

      This was incredible. ‘The … the guv’nor?’

      ‘As ever was! You and he were sparrin’-partners … oh, ever so long ago, before my time, ages! He wouldn’t tell about it, but he thought you no end of a fellow. “If ever you run into Flashman … well, try not to, but if you do, keep him covered, for he’s forgotten more dodges than you’ll ever know,” he told me once. “His great trick is shammin’ fear – don’t you believe it, my boy, for that’s when he’s about to turn tiger.” I remember he fingered the scar on his brow as he said it. I say, did you give him that?’ His eyes were alight with admiration, damned if they weren’t. ‘You’ll have to tell me about that, you know!’