Billy Bunter's Benefit By Frank Richards - Friardale

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.
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