Billy Bunter's Benefit By Frank Richards - Friardale

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Billy Bunter’s Benefit By Frank Richards worth doing, it was worth doing well, in Wibley’s opinion. To spoil a performance, and especially a Shakespearean performance, for so sordid a consideration as cash was not Wibley’s idea at all. Cash was wanted. Cash had to be found. The only question was finding it. Billy Bunter was not the only fellow in the Remove with a financial problem on his mind. Wibley, it seemed, had thought it out, and decided that it was up to the captain of the form. He proceeded to elucidate. “We’ve got to do this decently,” he said. “I suppose you’re all agreed on that.” “Hear, hear!” said Bob Cherry. “Costumes and things cost money,” went on Wibley. “We’d guessed that one,” said Bob. “We’ve got to raise the wind. Mauly’s chucked in a five-pound note already—we can’t let him go over that.” “We jolly well can’t,” said Harry Wharton. “No more from Mauleverer.” “Smithy’s put up a couple of pounds over his subscription. That’s the limit in that direction.” “Quite! “Now it’s up to somebody else,” went on Wibley. “We can’t sponge on Mauly and Smithy while other fellows sit around doing nothing.” “No fear,” said Frank Nugent. “But what can a fellow do?” “I’ve said that it’s up to Wharton.” “Well, what can I do?” asked the captain of the Remove. “Ready and willing—but what’s the big idea? I’m not a belted earl like Mauly, and my uncle’s not a millionaire like Smithy’s pater. At the present moment I have ninepence. Will that see us through?” “I want three guineas from you.” “Three guineas!” repeated Harry Wharton. “Just that!” “Go it,” said Harry Wharton, laughing. “If you can tell me where to pick up three guineas, I’ll cut off and pick it up at once. Just where?” “Gentle shepherd, tell me where?” murmured Bob Cherry. “The wherefulness is terrific.” “You can pick up three guineas, and you’re going to,” answered Wibley. “It’s the Latin prize next week. The Old Boy’s Prize.” “Oh!” ejaculated Wharton. “You’ll give in your name at once, and you’ve got a whole week for swotting. There’ll probably be six or seven entrants. Well, all you’ve got to do is to beat them, and there you are, see?” “Is that all?” asked Harry, with mild sarcasm. “That’s all! You’re the best man at the game in the Remove, bar Linley. He’s your only danger. Well, Page 66 of 161
Billy Bunter’s Benefit By Frank Richards you’ve got to go all out and beat him too.” “Um!” said Harry Wharton, dubiously. “Not so jolly easy.” “I didn’t say it was easy. The Old Boy who founded that prize for his old form wasn’t thinking of making things easy for slackers, so far as I know.” “It’s up to you,” said Wibley, firmly. “We can’t take Mauly’s money and Smithy’s money and slack around doing nothing ourselves.” “No! But—.” “I’d take it on myself, if I could do it. I couldn’t! You could! That settles it, see?” “But I don’t know that I could,” protested the captain of the Remove. “Linley’s better at the game than I am, and Ogilvy’s as good, at least, and Russell will run us close, and there’s Toddy—.” “You’ll have to go all out, of course. Put a wet towel round your head, and swot,” said Wibley. “You’ve lots of time—.” “There’s the cricket, you know—.” “Never mind the cricket.” “I have to mind it, a bit, as captain of the form. And the Carcroft match is coming on, too—.” “Never mind the Carcroft match.” “Fathead!” said Bob Cherry, politely. “Ass!” remarked Johnny Bull. Wibley gave a snort. To William Wibley amateur theatricals were the beginning and end of all things. He lived and moved and had his being in an atmosphere of drama. Some day, Wibley had no doubt, he was going to take the world by storm on the Thespian boards. But to the other fellows games came a long way first, and the R.D.S. was only an also ran. “It means a lot of swotting,” said Harry. “Now look here.” Wibley thumped the study table to add emphasis to his remarks. “We’ve got to raise the wind. Mauly’s shelled out, Smithy’s shelled out. I’ve shelled out myself—I had a quid tip last week, and it went into the kitty. Now it’s your turn, see?” Four fellows in No. 1 Study grinned. One looked very serious. The prospect of swotting for a Latin prize did not seem to exhilarate the captain of the Remove. Certainly, he was ready and willing to do all he could to help the somewhat unstable finances of the Remove Dramatic Society. But a difficult Latin paper was not an attractive method. Harry Wharton was no slacker, either in games or class. He was good at the classics—the best man in the Remove after Mark Linley. His “con” was always good in class: he had been known to read Virgil for pleasure and without compulsion: which was a remarkable thing in the Remove, But he did not want to stick in a study swotting. Very much indeed he did not. Page 67 of 161
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