Billy Bunter's Benefit By Frank Richards - Friardale

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Billy Bunter’s Benefit By Frank Richards The Rag was filling. It was half-past two on Wednesday afternoon. At three o’clock precisely, as announced, the Remove Dramatic Society were presenting “Hamlet” by W. Shakespeare. The hour was at hand. And they looked like getting a good house. The fellows, undoubtedly, were coming in. It was barely possible that the weather had something to do with it. Outside, in the quad, a light drizzle was falling. Fellows who had been thinking of cricket, or running out their jiggers, that afternoon were not tempted out by the weather. No doubt that helped to swell the audience in the Rag. Anyhow, they were coming in. Many hands had laboured at turning the Rag into a temporary theatre. Every fellow in the Remove had helped, and many hands made light work. The upper end of the long room was the stage. Behind it, the washinglobby was the green-room. In front, the Rag was crowded, not to say crammed, with forms, benches, stools, chairs, and even boxes, borrowed from everybody everywhere, to accommodate the audience. And they were coming in, in the most gratifying way. Remove fellows acted as ushers to conduct the more expensive patrons to reserved seats. Bolsover major stood at the door, taking shillings: specially selected as the biggest fellow in the Remove, capable of dealing promptly and efficaciously with any fags disposed to be obstreperous. Morgan, at the battered old piano in the Rag, was ready to supply incidental music. Hurree Jamset Ram Singh and Micky Desmond stood prepared to handle the curtain at the signal “curtain up.” The cast were all ready. Everything and everybody were ready. They only awaited the boom of three from the old clock-tower. Wibley, in the role of Hamlet, looked the part. Horatio, Laertes, Polonius, Claudius, Rosenkrantz, Guildenstern, might have been recognised as Remove fellows. Ophelia undoubtedly bore a close resemblance to Frank Nugent. But Wibley was just Hamlet. At the moment, however, he did not look like a “melancholy” Dane. He locked jubilant. “It will be ‘House Full,’ or jolly nearly,” he said. “Who’d have thought there were so many fellows in the school with a taste for jolly good acting?” “Lucky it’s raining,” remarked Bob Cherry. “Don’t be an ass,” said Wibley. “The rain’s got nothing to do with it. The fellows are coming in to see me play Hamlet.” “Oh! Ah! Yes! Quite!” “Wibley’s the goods, you know,” remarked Smithy. “We’re only also-rans.” “Exactly,” assented Wibley. Page 144 of 161
Billy Bunter’s Benefit By Frank Richards “Ha, ha, ha!” “Don’t let the audience hear you cackling, fatheads!” snapped Wibley. “What is there to cackle at, anyway?” “Hallo, hallo, hallo, there’s old Wingate coming in,” said Bob, taking a peep through the curtain. “Jolly decent of him to come.” “Six or seven of the Fifth, too,” remarked Nugent. “And there’s Hobson, with a gang of the Shell. “And Temple, and Dabney, and Fry—quite a crowd of the Fourth,” said Bob. “Jolly lucky it’s raining—I mean, that fellows are so keen to see a really top-notch actor like Wib.” “Ha, ha, ha!” “Hallo, hallo, hallo, that .sounds like jolly old Bunter!” said Bob, as a fat squeak was heard from the direction of the door. “I say, you fellows, I’m coming in! It’s my benefit, ain’t it? I’m jolly well coming in, see?” “You haven’t paid, you fat spoofer.” “Oh, really, Bolsover—.” “Don’t block the doorway! Now, then! Trot in, Mauleverer—you go right in front for the guinea seats—.” “I say, Mauly! Lend me a bob, will you?” “Eh? Oh! Yaas.” Billy Bunter rolled in with Lord Mauleverer. Then a burly form and a rugged face appeared in the doorway of the Rag. “Shilling, please, Coker,” said Bolsover major. “You young ass!” snorted Coker, “No admittance on the nod, Coker! You pay to come in! Shilling, please.” “Think I’d give a brass farthing to see a mob of fags playing the giddy ox?” snapped Coker. “Get out, if you’re not coming in!” said the doorkeeper. “You’re in the way there, Coker.” “If you want a thick ear, young Bolsover—,” “Outside! ” “I’m standing here just as long as I jolly well like,” announced Coker, “and if you give me any cheek, I’ll clout your head.” And Horace Coker planted himself in the doorway, staring into the Rag. Coker, certainly, had no intention of joining the audience. He was there to ascertain that the performance had started, before getting going with his own plans—now cut and dried. Why so many fellows were willing to see a mob of fags playing the giddy ox, as he expressed it, was a puzzle to Coker, and rather an irritating one. But they were not going to enjoy the performance, at all events. The Page 145 of 161
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