Billy Bunter's Benefit By Frank Richards - Friardale

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Billy Bunter’s Benefit By Frank Richards There were so many other occupations so much more attractive. He glanced round at his friends. He discerned that they were grinning. They seemed rather amused by Wibley’s rather original idea in the way of raising funds for the Remove Dramatic Society. But the fellow who had been selected to swot for the Old Boy’s Prize, like the good old Queen, was “not amused.” “Think it’s up to me, you chaps?” asked Harry. “Well,” said Bob. “You could do it. We couldn’t! You’re rather a whale at Latin, you know.” “I’d rather be a minnow, just at present.” “But the whalefulness is terrific,” remarked Hurree Jamset Ram Singh. “This Co. ought to play up,” said Johnny Bull. “We can’t let Mauly and Smithy shell out, without putting up our whack.” “Our esteemed whackfulness is harmless and necessary, and a sine qua non.” “Man in, Harry,” said Frank Nugent, laughing. “Oh, all right.” The captain of the Remove made up his mind. “I’ll have a shot at it, Wibley. Mind, I don’t undertake to pull it off. If I do, the three guineas prize goes to the R.D.S. If I don’t I’ll jolly well punch your head for giving me a lot off swotting for nothing.” “That’s that,” said Wibley. He rose from the table. “Ten to six—time to get ready for the rehearsal. Go to Quelch and give your name in first.” William Wibley left the study, briskly. The Co. were left looking at one another—four of them smiling. Wharton was looking thoughtful. He had agreed now, and the die was cast. That did not make the prospect more attractive. “Well, I’m for it, I suppose,” said Harry. “Bother that Old Boy and his prize—and blow Wibley! I’d better go and speak to Quelch.” And that, as Wibley had said, was that! CHAPTER XVIII “FOOLS RUSH IN—!” “IT’S too rotten!” said Coker, “Mine’s all right,” said Potter. “And mine,” said Greene. They were at tea in Coker’s study. There were new-laid eggs for tea. Potter and Greene were giving attention to the provender, quite a natural thing at tea-time. Coker was toying with an egg, his powerful mind Page 68 of 161
Billy Bunter’s Benefit By Frank Richards occupied by other things. He made his remark after several minutes of silence— rather a record for Coker. He seemed surprised by Potter’s and Greene’s rejoinders. “What do you mean?” he grunted. “I said it was too rotten.” “Well, they came from the same farm,” said Potter, “and mine’s certainly all right.” “Mine’s as fresh as a daisy,” said Greene. “What are you talking about?” roared Coker. “Eh? The eggs, of course. Weren’t you?” asked Potter. “No!” hooted Coker. “Eggs!” He gave a snort of contempt. “Eggs! No, I wasn’t talking about the eggs, George Potter.” “Then what’s the trouble? The marger’s not too bad. Anyhow, the butter’s run out. What’s the matter with the marger?” “Somebody said that margarine can’t be told from butter,” said Greene. “Of course, that’s all rot, But it’s not too bad, Coker. I shouldn’t call it rotten.” “I’m not talking about margarine,” shrieked Coker. Potter and Greene gave it up. Coker had pronounced that something was too rotten. If he was alluding neither to the eggs nor to the margarine, they did not know to what he was alluding. Neither, for that matter, did they want to know. They would have been content to remain in a state of ignorance on the subject. Coker, however, did not leave them in that blissful state. “It’s too rotten,” he repeated, “and I’m not standing it. Our stage club is doing ‘Hamlet’—you know that. I’ve been mugging up the role of Hamlet myself. And I tell you it’s too rotten.” “Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” said Potter. “Not very good perhaps—but I wouldn’t call it rotten, old fellow.” “No, not exactly rotten,” agreed Greene. “You’ve got a lot to learn, old chap, I know—but I wouldn’t call it rotten.” Potter and Greene spoke as heartily as they could. They could not, of course, tell Coker what they really thought of him in the role of Hamlet. Their private opinion was that it was not only enough to make a cat laugh, but enough, and more than enough, to send a stone image into hysterics. But if they had told Coker so, it would have meant a sudden end to their friendship. “You—you—you———.” Coker seemed to gasp. “You fatheads! You asses! You chuckleheads! If you think I can’t play Hamlet—.” Apparently there was another misunderstanding. It was not his role of Hamlet to which Coker had alluded as too rotten. “But you said—,” began Potter. Page 69 of 161
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Billy Bunter's Benefit By Frank Richards - Friardale

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