Billy Bunter's Benefit By Frank Richards - Friardale

Billy Bunter’s Benefit
By Frank Richards
looked up as Bob Cherry came to a halt directly in front of him.
“Well?” he snapped.
Bob dragged the crumpled newspaper from his pocket, and held it up. The
Bounder stared at it, and so did a dozen other fellows. Skinner whistled.
“Better not let the pre’s see that, Smithy,” he said.
“Yours?” asked Bob.
“You silly, cheeky ass!” exclaimed Vernon-Smith, his brow darkening.
“What are you doing with that? Do you want all Greyfriars to see it, you
chump? What the dickens do you mean by getting it from my study?”
“I didn’t,” explained Bob. “A howling ass borrowed it from your study, and
if he’d been spotted with it, he would go up to Quelch for a whopping. If
you must smuggle muck like this into the school, Smithy, you’d better
keep it in a safe place. I’m going to put it in a safe place now.”
“You can mind your own business,” snarled Smithy.
“I’ve made this my business, old scout! One shady sweep is enough for the
Remove—your jolly old example isn’t one for Bunter to follow. Here’s your
rubbish.”
Bob’s left hand shot out, grabbing the top of the Bounder’s head as he sat
in the armchair. That head was forced down suddenly, before Vernon-
Smith knew what was happening, leaving a space between his collar and
the back of his neck. Into that space, Bob’s hefty right hand shoved the
crumpled newspaper, driving it well home.
There was an almost frantic yell from Smithy. He heaved madly in the
armchair, tore himself loose, and grabbed at the back of his neck. But
Sporting Snips was out of his reach.
“Good egg!” grinned Johnny Bull. “That’s a safe place for it, Smithy.”
“Ha, ha, ha!”
Vernon-Smith leaped to his feet, his face flaming.
“Hold on, Smithy,” called out Tom Redwing.
Unheeding him, the Bounder came at Bob Cherry with clenched fists and
blazing eyes. Whereupon the whole Co. collared him right and left, and he
smote the floor of the Rag with a resounding bump. And as that did not
seem to satisfy the enraged Bounder, they heaved him up, and bumped
him again, and yet again. Then, as the bell for class began to clang, they
strolled out of the Rag, leaving the Bounder sitting on the floor, gurgling
for breath.
“I say, you fellows.” A fat junior met the Co. as they came out. “I say, I
want that paper! Look here, Bob Cherry, you beast—.”
“Ask Smithy for it,” grinned Bob. “Smithy’s got it.”
Billy Bunter blinked into the Rag. One blink at the Bounder’s infuriated
face was enough for him. He did not ask Smithy for Sporting Snips.
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