Billy Bunter's Benefit By Frank Richards - Friardale

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Billy Bunter’s Benefit By Frank Richards SOLD! “THE fat idiot!” said Smithy. “He’s up against it,” said Tom Redwing, mildly. “Doesn’t it serve him right?” “I suppose so. But—.” The Bounder laughed mockingly. Redwing had a soft spot for any fellow who was down on his luck, without considering too much whether it was the fellow’s own fault or not. Smithy was much more disposed to deride a “lame duck.” Billy Bunter’s dismal and lugubrious countenance, and the scrape the fat Owl had landed himself in, only moved Smithy’s contemptuous mirth. Yet, as it happened, there were thoughts in the Bounder’s mind that afternoon that would have surprised his chum, and most of the Remove too. Smithy had his moments when he was capable of kind and even generous actions. And it was of just such an action that he was thinking now. They were in the Rag after dinner. Redwing was biking up to Hawkscliff that afternoon, to see his father, who was home from sea. Smithy’s bike was not yet available, and he did not care to borrow one to ride with his chum. No doubt that was partly the reason why he was thinking of Bunter and his new bike. Smithy certainly did want a machine that afternoon. Redwing had suggested hiring a bike at Parker’s. That would have been easy enough. But Smithy was thinking of another solution. Billy Bunter was in the Rag. He was looking as if he had collected most of the troubles known to mankind. He was still the happy—or unhappy—possessor of that new bike. His notice that the bike was for “sail” was still stuck up on the wall. But there had been no sale, and there did not seem a remote prospect of one. In his pocket the fat Owl had Parker’s bill, and Parker’s “account rendered.” He had not, so far, received any further literature from Mr. Parker: but he dreaded receiving some by every post. Still more he dreaded that Mr. Parker, getting no satisfaction, might “take steps.” It was a dismal and apprehensive Owl. He blinked at Vernon-Smith when the latter came in with Redwing, with an inimical blink. Few fellows in the Remove could have afforded to take that troublesome bike off Bunter’s hands: but Smithy certainly could, had he so chosen. Bunter’s blink became still more inimical as the Bounder, glancing at the “sail” notice on the wall, laughed. It was no laughing matter—at least to Billy Bunter. Page 54 of 161
Billy Bunter’s Benefit By Frank Richards “Well, coming out, Smithy?” asked Tom Redwing. “If we’re going round by Courtfield, to pick up a bike, we’ve no time to lose.” “We’re not,” answered Smithy. “Then you’re not coming?” “Yes: I’m coming.” One of the fellows lending you a jigger?” asked Redwing, in surprise. He did not expect his chum to have changed his mind on that subject. “What does old Polonius say in ‘Hamlet?’” answered Smithy. “‘Neither a borrower nor a lender be!’” He laughed. “I’m buying a bike, Reddy.” Redwing looked rather grave. “You’ll be getting your Moonbeam back in a day or two, Smithy,” he said. “I know you’ve lots of money, but you don’t want to chuck it away on a new one.” ‘It wouldn’t run to a new Moonbeam,” answered Smithy. “But one of these seven-guinea Speedsters would be all right. I can afford it if I like.” “I know you can, Smithy, but it’s extravagant. You could hire a jigger at Parker’s for the afternoon.” “Oh, quite! But I’d rather ride my own machine.” Smithy gave a nod towards Bunter’s notice on the wall. “What about helping a lame dog over a stile?” “Oh!” exclaimed Redwing. “You don’t mean—?” “I do.” Vernon-Smith walked across to the armchair that was creaking under the weight of William George Bunter. “Sold your bike yet, fatty?” he asked. “Beast!” was Bunter’s reply. “Had any offers?” “Yah!” “Still for sale?” “Find out.” Billy Bunter had no hopes of the Bounder, and no politeness to waste on him. The Bounder laughed. “If it’s still going—,” be said. “Go and eat coke.” “I’ll take it off your hands.” Bunter sat bolt upright in the chair. His little round eyes almost popped through his big round spectacles at the Bounder. This was the very last thing he would have expected to hear from Herbert Vernon-Smith. A dozen fellows in the Rag looked round, as surprised as Bunter. “I—I—I say,” gasped the fat Owl. “Do—do——do you mean that, Smithy?” “I generally mean what I say.” Page 55 of 161
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