Billy Bunter's Benefit By Frank Richards - Friardale

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Billy Bunter’s Benefit By Frank Richards “Is Spanker a cricketer?” “Eh? He, he, he!” Bunter chuckled. “I—I mean— oh—yes! Australian cricketer, you know—. I say, the bell will be going for class in a minute.” Bob regarded him curiously. That Bunter was, as usual, fibbing, was of course obvious. Why he was fibbing was not so obvious. He had not been reading cricket news: and he had some mysterious reason for suddenly jamming the paper out of sight. It was quite mysterious—for a moment. The next, the mystery was revealed, as Bob discerned the margin of the paper sticking out under Bunter’s jacket, and glimpsed the title: SPORTING SNIPS. “Oh, crumbs!” ejaculated Bob. “You fat, frabjous, frumptious ass, what are you doing with a racing paper?” “Eh? I haven’t got a racing paper. It’s the Friardale Gazette, old chap—I was reading about the fire at Giles’s Farm—.” “You benighted ass!” roared Bob. “Oh, really, Cherry! I wish you wouldn’t bother a fellow,” said Bunter, peevishly. “It will be class soon, and I’m awfully interested in the report about—about the new waterworks—.” “You’ve got Sporting Snips there, you fat frump.” “Oh, crikey! Did Smithy tell you he’d missed it?” ejaculated Bunter. “No, ass—.” “Then I haven’t got it! I haven’t been near Smithy’s study, and I never knew he kept his racing paper hidden under the cushion in the armchair, either. I’m reading about the crisis, in the Daily Mail—. Leggo!” Bob Cherry made a stride towards the fat Owl, grasped him and shook him, and the newspaper dropped into full view. Bunter gave a yell. “Leggo! Gimme my paper! You silly ass, suppose a beak or a pre. saw it! Gimme my paper.” Bob Cherry picked up the paper. Bunter, his little round eyes gleaming with wrath and indignation behind his big spectacles, held out a fat hand for it. But Bob did not place it therein. He glanced at it. A paragraph was marked round with pencil. It ran: Snipster knows something this journey! Our Special Snip. SPANKER. The identity of “Spanker” was now revealed. Spanker, evidently, was a horse; specially selected by Snipster of Sporting Snips to win some race or other. It was that in which Bunter had been so deeply engrossed. Bob stared at the racing paper, and stared at Bunter. Page 122 of 161
Billy Bunter’s Benefit By Frank Richards This was rather a new departure for the fat Owl. All the Remove knew that Vernon-Smith had racing papers, and sometimes backed a “gee” with a frowsy gentleman who hung about the “Three Fishers” up the river. It was one way of getting rid of his too-ample pocket-money. But really it was not in Bunter’s line at all. Bunter preferred to invest his money, when he had it, in foodstuffs. “You unspeakable idiot!” said Bob, “Are you taking up this muck like Smithy?” “Well, it’s all Wharton’s fault,” said Bunter. “He let me down over that Latin paper. Linley’s got the prize, as you jolly well know. I’ve got to pay Parker, haven’t I?” “Oh, scissors!” gasped Bob. He realised that this was a new device of the fat Owl’s for raising the wind! Bunter was going to settle Mr. Parker’s bill by backing winners! “I’m four pounds short,” went on Bunter. “I—I had four pounds four, and the Latin prize would have seen me through, only Wharton let me down, as you know. Now I’ve only got three pounds seven. Well, I can get four to one on Spanker for the two-thirty on Saturday. It’s easy money.” Bob gazed at him. “That’s four quid,” explained Bunter. “It will just see me through, and I shall be able to pay Parker, and have done with it, I can tell you I shall be jolly glad to have done with it. I’ve had more than enough trouble over that bill of Parker’s. Gimme that paper.” “You know all about picking winners, I suppose!” remarked Bob, sarcastically. “Oh, that’s all right! It’s Snipster’s Special Snip!” said Bunter. “Spanker will romp home.” Bunter’s eyes glistened behind his spectacles. “Straight from the horse’s mouth!” “Smithy ought to be kicked,” said Bob. “You howling ass, you don’t win money on horses—you lose: as well as getting a flogging if you’re spotted. As this paper is Smithy’s, I’ll give it back to him.” “Look, here, you jolly well mind your own business,” exclaimed Bunter, indignantly. “Nobody asked you to barge in, Bob Cherry.” “I’m doing it unasked, old fat top! It’s up to any chap with a spot of sense to look after a born idiot,” explained Bob. “Why, you—you—you cheeky beast!” gasped Bunter. Page 123 of 161
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Billy Bunter's Benefit By Frank Richards - Friardale

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