Billy Bunter's Benefit By Frank Richards - Friardale

Billy Bunter’s Benefit
By Frank Richards
he must be insane—he may be dangerous for all we can tell—keep him
secure—.”
“Will you leave go?” shrieked Coker.
“He speaks English!” exclaimed Prout. “He is a negro—a Hottentot, I
should say—but he appears to speak English. Hold him securely while I
question him.”
Prout made soothing gestures. He had no doubt that the black man was
some escaped lunatic: that seemed really the only way of accounting for
him at all.
“Do not be alarmed, my poor fellow,” boomed Prout. “Nobody will hurt
you—you will be taken care of until you can be returned to your keepers.
Who are you?”
“Oh, crikey! I’m Coker.”
“Eh?”
“Coker!” groaned the hapless Horace.
“Do you mean that your name is Coker?” asked Prout, “There is a boy in
this school—in my form—of that name. But you can scarcely be a
connection of his. What are you doing here?”
“Leggo! I’m Coker.”
“Yes, yes, you have told us that your name is Coker, But why are you in
this building? Where have you come from?”
There was a snort from Mr. Quelch. Quelch was quicker on the uptake
than Prout: moreover, at a closer view, Quelch’s gimlet-eyes discovered
that the prisoner’s face was not black, but merely blackened.
“Absurd!” exclaimed Mr. Quelch. “This is Coker, Prout.”
“He has said that his name is Coker, Quelch. That is something to go upon.
We can ascertain by telephone whether a lunatic of that name is missing.”
“That is Coker of your form, Mr. Prout.”
“What!
“Coker!” gasped Wingate.
“Coker!” repeated Gwynne and Sykes, in wonder.
“Coker!” yelled a dozen voices.
Mr. Prout stood, for a moment or two, like a man in a dream. He simply
could not assimilate it. Then he strode closer to the prisoner, and peered
at him over his glasses. Then the expression that came over Prout’s face
was extraordinary.
“Upon my word!” he gasped. “This—this—this is not a negro—his face is—
is—is blackened, apparently with soot, or some such substance. Is—is it
possible that this is—is—is a Greyfriars boy—a senior boy—who has
blackened his face to play this absurd, this ridiculous, this insensate
trick? Speak! Are you Coker of my form?”
Page 79 of 161