Billy Bunter's Benefit By Frank Richards - Friardale

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Billy Bunter’s Benefit By Frank Richards sorrowfully accustomed, nobody seemed to care! Somehow or other, Billy Bunter had to raise the sum of two pounds one, to add to the five pounds six that remained for Mr. Parker. But that was not his only worry. Bunter was hungry. He was always hungry in break, and at most other times. And there was cash in his pocket. Billy Bunter was not bright, but even Bunter was bright enough to realise that he had better keep that remnant intact. On the other hand, he was hungry: and was there after all much difference between being short of two pounds one, and short of two pounds five, or two pounds ten? As he blinked in at the window of the tuck-shop, like a fat Peri at the gate of Paradise, Bunter decided that there was not! He rolled into the tuck-shop. He remained there till the bell rang for third school. When the bell clanged out, it was a shiny and sticky Bunter that joined the Remove crowd heading for the form-room. And the sum remaining in his tattered wallet had been reduced from five pounds six shillings to four pounds seventeen and six! Which did not look as if the fat Owl was likely to emerge from his financial difficulties in the near future! CHAPTER XXII A SPOT OF BOTHER! “LINES?” asked the Bounder. He came into No. 1 Study, in flannels, with a bat under his arm. Harry Wharton was alone in the study, after class. He was seated at the table, pen in hand, a book propped open against the inkstand. On a paper before him a number of lines in Latin were written, He glanced round as Smithy spoke. “No! Only copying out some verses.” “Swotting?” asked Smithy, with a stare. “Sort of,” admitted Wharton. Vernon-Smith glanced at the paper on the table. It ran: Forte sub arguta consederat ilice Daphnis, compulerantque greges Corydon et Thyrsis in unum, Thyrsis ovis, Corydon distentas lacte capellas, ambo florentes aetatibus, Arcades ambo, et cantare pares et respondere parati. Page 84 of 161
Billy Bunter’s Benefit By Frank Richards “What the thump’s that?” asked Smithy. “Nothing we do in the Remove.” “Oh, no! One of Virgil’s eclogues—number seven.” “You don’t get enough of Virgil in class?” inquired the Bounder, sarcastically. “The Aeneid isn’t enough for you—so you have to go and dig up the eclogues.” Harry Wharton laughed. “I’m in for the Old Boy’s Prize,” he answered. “I’ve got to turn out a copy of Latin verses. I’ve borrowed that book from Quelch, and I shall have to take it back, so I’m copying out that one.” “Not much good plagiarising Virgil,” said the Bounder. “Quelch knows that stuff by heart. He would spot an imitation on the spot.” “You silly ass! I’m not going to plagiarise! I’m studying the stuff because I’m going to do something pastoral in the same vein, that’s all. Something about shepherds and flocks and lyres and things.” “Rather you than I,” yawned the Bounder. “What about coming down to the nets?” “I can’t just now.” “If you’re going to chuck cricket for swotting—.” “Think I want to?” grunted the captain of the Remove. “I’m for it now, and it can’t be helped.” “Blessed if I see why. You’re not hard up like Linley, and I don’t see why you should stick in a study swotting to bag a money prize. For the love of mike, chuck it, and come down to the nets. I suppose you’d rather beat Carcroft when they come over, than bag the Old Boy’s guineas,” snapped Smithy. “Yes, rather. But I’ve promised Wibley—.” “What on earth has Wibley got to do with it?” “It’s to help out the funds of R.D.S.,” explained Wharton. “You know Wibley—he just can’t cut his coat according to his cloth. Funds have got to be raised from somewhere if we’re going to keep solvent. I’ve agreed to bag the Old Boy’s guineas, if I can, to put into the kitty.” “Oh!” said Smithy. “So cut off,” said Harry, “and leave me to it. I’ll come down later, after I’ve copied Out this dashed eclogue.” “Wibley’s an ass,” said Vernon-Smith. “And you’re another.” “Thanks.” “Wibley thinks of nothing except his dashed theatricals,” went on Smithy. “But you ought to have a spot more sense than that ass. Wouldn’t your uncle stand you the tin, if you asked him?” “I’m not going to ask him.” Page 85 of 161
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