Billy Bunter's Benefit By Frank Richards - Friardale

Billy Bunter’s Benefit
By Frank Richards
“I’m pretty certain your paper’s better than Linley’s,” went on Bunter.
“And you needn’t bother about Linley—who’s Linley, anyhow? No need to
worry about him, that I can see. We’re old pals, ain’t we, old fellow? You
let me have your Latin paper, and that three guineas is mine, and—and——
—.”
“You fat, frabjous, frumptious, footling fathead!” said the captain of the
Remove, in measured tones, “I won’t let you have my Latin paper, for two
reasons—first, it’s against the rules for one fellow to do another fellow’s
paper
—second, I haven’t done the paper yet, and I’m not going to.”
“Oh, really, Wharton—.”
“So that’s that,” said Harry. “Now roll away, like a good barrel.”
“I don’t think you ought to tell whoppers, Wharton, just to get out of
helping a fellow out of a hole—.”
“What?” roared Wharton.
“I jolly well know you’ve done your Latin paper. It’s a bit thick telling fibs
about it,” said Bunter, scornfully. “I’m surprised at you, Wharton! You
make out that I tell whoppers. Well, what about you?”
“You—you—you!” gasped Harry Wharton.
“Don’t tell any more fibs, old chap! It’s rather mean,” said Bunter. “Look
here, can I have that paper?”
Harry Wharton breathed hard and deep. Why Bunter supposed that he
had already done his Latin paper, he could not begin to guess. He had got
no further than copying out a section of one of Virgil’s eclogues, with the
idea of studying that great poet in the pastoral style, when the idea had
been given up. But Billy Bunter, evidently, believed that he had done the
Latin paper, and that he was prevaricating on the subject.
“You won’t want it now,” urged Bunter. “Just let me have it, and—and don’t
say anything about it, of course. Can I have it, old chap?”
“I tell you I haven’t even touched the Latin paper!” howled Wharton.
“And I tell you that I jolly well know you have,” howled back Bunter, “and
I think it’s jolly mean to keep on telling crammers about it, and I can jolly
well say plainly—yow-ow-wow!”
Harry Wharton did not appear disposed to argue the point with Bunter, as
to whether he had been telling “crammers” or not. He grasped the fat
Owl by a fat neck, and sat him down in the quad, hard. Then he walked on
with his friends, leaving Bunter sitting and spluttering.
“Oh! Ow!” gasped Bunter. “Beast! Ow!”
Billy Bunter resumed the perpendicular, casting a devastating blink after
the Famous Five.
Seldom had Bunter felt so indignant and aggrieved.
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