BILLY BUNTER'S Big Top Page 1 of 97 - Friardale

BILLY BUNTER’S Big Top
going to the circus. And he was going.
The fat junior opened the door at last, and blinked out into the passage. It was
deserted, and he stepped out.
Bunter drew a deep breath. He was going to the circus. He still lacked the
price of admission. But that was not an insuperable difficulty. By that time the
performance would be beginning. An astute fellow might be able to creep
round the tent and insinuate himself inside under the edge of the canvas. That
was not a new experience for Bunter. He had patronised a circus before in
that inexpensive manner. His difficulty was to get clear of the school, and he
resolved to make a rush for it. Scudding swiftly down the corridor, scudding
out of the House, scudding down to the gates —he would be gone in a minute
or a little more. Bunter breathed hard. The way was open—and one rapid rush
would do it.
He started.
Like a charging hippopotamus the Owl of the Remove raced down the
corridor.
Crash!
He had realised that there was a chance that Quelchy would come back to
see if he was getting on with his task. That chance materialised.
Bunter reached the corner of the passage from the Form-room just as Mr.
Quelch reached it from the other direction, from his study.
Mr. Quelch suspected that Bunter intended to bolt. But he did not suspect that
the fat junior would be charging round the corner like a bull.
He discovered that all of a sudden.
Crash! Bump!
‘Ow!’ gasped Bunter.
‘Oh!’ spluttered Mr. Quelch.
Bunter reeled against the wall. Mr. Quelch sprawled. A charge with Billy
Bunter’s weight behind it was something like that of a battering-ram. The
Remove-master fairly crumpled up under it.
‘Ow! Oh, good gracious!’ spluttered Mr. Quelch. ‘What— what—what— Good
gracious, what—’
He sprawled dizzily.
Bunter gazed at him in horror. Breaking detention was a serious matter.
Knocking over a Form-master was a much more serious matter. Bunter’s eyes
almost bulged through his big glasses in horror at what he had done. He
leaned on the wall and gasped helplessly.
Mr. Quelch sat up. His gimlet eyes turned on Bunter. There was a deadly
gleam in those gimlet eyes, a gleam that made Bunter quake.
‘Bunter,’ gasped Mr. Quelch—’Bunter, you—’
‘Ow!’ gasped Bunter.
What would happen to him when Mr. Quelch got his second wind he knew
only too well. Terror lent the fat junior wings. He dodged round the Formmaster
and fled for his life.
Mr. Quelch staggered up.
‘Bunter, stop at once! Bunter, do you hear! I command you to stop! You young
rascal, stop! Bunter, I am going to chastise you with the utmost severity!
Stop!’
Bunter was not a bright youth, but he was too bright to stop at that moment.
Mere prudence would have urged him to give Quelchy time to cool down even
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