Billy Bunter's Benefit By Frank Richards - Friardale

Billy Bunter’s Benefit
By Frank Richards
“You fat villain—.”
“Oh, really, Wharton—.”
“You unscrupulous porpoise—.”
“I say, old chap—.”
“Get out!” roared Wharton.
“Beast!”
Billy Bunter rolled rather hurriedly to the door. Harry Wharton seemed
to be getting excited,—why, Bunter did not know. It was practically
certain that, if Wharton’s bike went West in a crash, his uncle would
stand him a new machine. Bunter had pointed out a quite simple way of
getting a new jigger for an old one! What Harry Wharton saw to object
to, in that, Billy Bunter didn’t know and couldn’t guess.
Wharton, frowning, went on with his lines. Billy Bunter, having retreated
as far as the door, stopped there. He stood blinking at the captain of the
Remove, with an exasperated blink.
A few days ago, Bunter had been delighted to get his new bike. Now he
was more anxious to get rid of it than he had ever been to possess it.
But that bike was not to be got rid of. It was clinging to Billy Bunter like
the Old Man of the Sea to Sinbad the Sailor.
Bunter’s notice was still up in the Rag. All the Remove knew that there
was a bike for “sail” in No. 7 Study. He had had a single offer—from
Fisher T. Fish. Fishy had offered him fifteen shillings for it. Apart from
that inadequate offer, which was of no use to a fellow with a bill for
seven guineas in his pocket, there had been nothing doing.
The bike was still Bunter’s—and the bill was still Bunter’s. And he had had
a little note that morning from Parker’s. It was a brief note, but very
much to the point.
Account rendered, £7.7.0.
Settlement will oblige.
Billy Bunter would have been glad enough to oblige Mr. Parker with a
settlement. He was fed up with the whole thing. But unless some fellow
took that bike off his fat hands, at full shop price, there could be no
settlement with Mr. Parker. And the hapless fat Owl was in deep dread of
what step Mr. Parker might take next, if no settlement was forthcoming.
He might apply to the Head. It might even be worse than that. Awful
visions of a summons floated in Bunter’s fat mind.
Harry Wharton was his last hope. Wharton had a kind uncle who, if not
exactly wealthy, was always prepared to supply any reasonable want of his
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