Billy Bunter's Benefit By Frank Richards - Friardale

Billy Bunter’s Benefit
By Frank Richards
He had had no time for Stage Club business lately—no time for anything
but that rotten “book.” The other members seemed more than willing to
let things slide—indeed, he was no longer on speaking terms with two of
them—Potter and Greene, formerly his bosom pals. It looked as if the
masterly performance of “Hamlet,” with Coker in the title-role, might
never come off at all that term—while that gang of cheeky fags, who
called themselves a Dramatic Society, were getting on with it actively,
and had already announced the date of the performance. Scrubby little
rascals, passing Coker of the Fifth by, like the idle wind which they
regarded not!
However, Coker was going to put paid to that, somehow. He did not yet
know how: but he was quite determined that they weren’t going to get by
with it.
But he did not think of charging into the Rag, and dealing with the young
rascals as they deserved. Even Coker had had enough of these tactics.
And he did not want another book from Prout!
He went into the House at last, and up to his study, to have another grind
at that awful book. Prout was very shirty with him these days, and was
quite capable of cutting up rusty if that book was not handed in soon.
Impots were sometimes doubled when they were handed in very late: and
the bare thought of the Second Book, added to the First, made Coker
feel quite faint.
Potter and Greene were in the study, and Coker gave them an expressive
glance as he came in.
They were in flannels, having just come in from the cricket. They were in
the Fifth-form eleven, which rather irritated Coker. The great Horace
was conscious of being a cricketer second to none. Nobody, however, knew
this, excepting Coker: and he had no more chance of figuring in the Form
eleven than in a Test match. Duds like Potter and Greene were picked,
while a man who could have played their heads off was passed by
unregarded!
Potter was sprawling in the window-seat, Greene in the armchair, and
both were refreshing themselves with ginger- beer, while they discussed
the afternoon’s play. They paused as Coker came in, and looked at him.
They were quite ready to “come round” if Coker revealed symptoms of
amity: especially as it was nearly tea-time.
But Coker revealed no such symptoms.
Coker’s look was grim. His glance at Potter and Greene indicated his view
that they were practically worms, or microbes, or germs, unworthy of his
notice. He sat down at the study table, propped P. Vergilius Maro against
the inkstand, dipped pen in ink, and resumed his labours, which really
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