Bunter the Caravanner - Friardale

here without leave, and had to shift. I say, just look along the
road and see whether there's a red caravan about.'
'Rubbish!' said Johnny Bull. 'Bump him! We told him we'd bump
him if he was pulling our leg, and he was.'
'Oh, give him a chance,' said Bob. 'It won't take us long to run
up and down the road and see.'
'Bosh!' said Johnny.
'Oh, let's!' said Nugent.
And they remounted the bicycles, to explore the vicinity for the
vanished van. Billy Bunter sat on the gate while they were so
occupied. His fat face was glum.
He had been astonished, indeed amazed, by the generous offer Mr.
Jervis had made of his van and his services. But he had
swallowed it whole. It had seemed too good to be true. And
apparently that was the case - it had been too good to be true!
For where was Jervis, and where was the van? Both had vanished
into space, and unless Jervis had been entertaining himself by
pulling a fat leg, there was no accounting for the
disappearance.
Unless - another idea came into Bunter's fat mind as he pondered
dismally over this mystery. He remembered the thin man in the
raincoat, of whom Jervis had seemed so scared. Perhaps that bad
character - if he was a bad character - was still hanging about
the neighbourhood, and Jervis had been scared again and had
taken to the road. It was possible.
Whether or no, one thing was certain: Jervis and the red caravan
had vanished, and there was no caravan for the hols! Whatever
the man's motive, whether he had been leg-pulling or not, he had
let William George Bunter down, with a bump: and that was that!
Five cyclists gathered at the gate again and jumped down. Billy
Bunter gave them a hopeful blink - not very hopeful!
'Seen it?' he asked.
'No, you fat ass—'
'No, you spoofing octopus—'
'No, you diddling porpoise—'
'What the dickens did you spin us that yarn for, you fat chump?'
'I—I—I say, you fellows, there really was a van - I say—'
'Bump him!'
'Wow! Leggo!' roared Bunter, as he was hooked off the gate.
Bump! 'Yaroooh!'
Harry Wharton and Co. remounted their bikes for the run back to
the school. Billy Bunter sat in the grass and spluttered. They
disappeared down the hill, leaving the fat Owl still
spluttering.
It was a sad and sorrowful Bunter that clambered on a bike to
pedal home. That happy prospect for the Easter hols was washed
out - that caravan holiday, all expenses paid, was gone from his
gaze like a beautiful dream. Once more, Billy Bunter's plans for
the hols were unsettled. He would have given much, very much, to
land a fat fist full in the smooth sleek face of Mr. Jervis, for
pulling his leg like this. If that thin man in the raincoat was