Billy Bunter's Benefit By Frank Richards - Friardale

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Billy Bunter’s Benefit By Frank Richards “Well, that’s the idea,” said Bunter. “You put it up to the other fellows, see? Look here, old chap, let’s talk it over—.” “Will you buzz off?” roared Wharton. “Look here, you beast—.” Harry Wharton made a stride to a corner of the study, where a cricket bat stood. He caught up the bat, and made another stride towards Bunter. There was a loud yell as the bat prodded fat ribs. “Yaroooh!” Billy Bunter did not stay longer to discuss his bright idea of a “benefit.” He bounded into the passage. The door of No. 1 Study slammed after him. Harry Wharton, dismissing the fat Owl from mind, paced to and fro in the study, thinking it out, with a thoughtful and troubled brow. He did not want to stand in Mark Linley’s light. On the other hand, he had engaged to do his best to swell the depleted funds of the R.D.S. If some other way could be found—! Finally, he seemed to make up his mind. He picked up Mr. Quelch’s book from the table, put the cricket bat under his arm, and left the study. A fat junior, tenderly rubbing fat ribs in the passage, gave him an inimical blink through a big pair of spectacles. Unheeding the Owl of the Remove, Harry Wharton walked away to the study landing, and went down the stairs. The borrowed book was returned to Mr. Quelch’s study: and the bat, a few minutes later was on active service at junior nets. “Beast!” breathed Billy Bunter, as the captain of the Remove disappeared. He rolled into No. 1 study, now vacant. There was a vengeful gleam in the little round eyes behind the big round spectacles. Bunter had been prodded. His bright idea of a “Bunter benefit,” which might have solved all his financial problems, had not even been listened to. Bunter, naturally, was wrathy. Wharton had been swotting over his Latin paper for the Old Boy’s Prize. If he had left that Latin paper on the study table, he was not going to see it when he returned. The beast could do his work all over again—and serve him jolly well right for prodding Bunter with a cricket bat! There was the paper, lying on the study table where Bunter had seen it, The fat Owl blinked at it, and grinned. He had no doubt it was the paper Wharton was preparing for the prize. What else could it be? Certainly it did not occur to Bunter’s fat brain that Wharton had been copying out the opening verses of an eclogue of Virgil’s. Bunter was not equal to construing it. But, so far as he could make it out, Page 88 of 161
Billy Bunter’s Benefit By Frank Richards it seemed to him distinctly good— better, Bunter thought, than anything Mark Linley was likely to turn out! It must, Bunter had no doubt, have taken Wharton a lot of trouble to make up verses like that! All the better—he could have his trouble over again, after prodding Bunter! “He, he!” chuckled Bunter, as he grabbed up the Latin paper, and crumpled in a fat paw. And he shoved it out of sight under the study carpet, and rolled away grinning. CHAPTER XXIII END OF A FRIENDSHIP! “HEM!” said Potter. “Hem!” said Greene. Coker did not heed. He was sitting in the window-seat in his study when Potter and Greene came in. He did not look at them. He seemed elaborately unconscious of their presence. If Potter and Greene, instead of being Coker’s bosom pals in the Greyfriars Fifth, had been a pair of stray dogs, Coker could not have given them less heed. It was tea-time. Generally, at tea-time, Coker’s study has a somewhat festive aspect. That was indeed one of Coker’s great attractions. Even in times of meagre rations, a fellow who had practically unlimited pocketmoney, and an affectionate aunt who as good as bombarded him with hampers, was not likely to be in want of a well-spread board. But on the present occasion there was no sign of a spread in Coker’s study. It was as bare as Mrs. Hubbard’s celebrated cupboard. Coker, as he sat in the window, seemed to be thinking—but evidently not of tea. Potter and Greene, after an hour at senior nets, were ready for tea—more than ready. It was usual to feed well in that study. But it was only too sadly clear now that things were not as usual. “Hem!” repeated Potter. “Hem!” repeated Greene. Coker still failed to rise to these gambits. Coker was, in fact, giving his pals the marble eye. He had cast them off— discarded them—chucked them. So far as Horace Coker was concerned, Potter and Greene had had it! It was their desertion of the previous day that had done it. They had failed to back up their great leader. They had not rushed into the Rag at Coker’s heels, and backed him up valiantly—they had retreated in the opposite direction, leaving Coker to his fate! Coker had not spoken to them since. Page 89 of 161
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