Bunter the Caravanner - Friardale

CHAPTER 2
STRANGE ENCOUNTER
'A CARAVAN!' ejaculated Billy Bunter.
His fat face brightened. It had been overcast.
A quarter of a mile from the school, safe from reprisals, with a
large and luscious cake wrapped in a newspaper under his fat
arm, Billy Bunter might have been enjoying life - at least so
long as the cake lasted. But in this imperfect universe, there
is always a fly in the ointment. Rain had come on. Patter,
patter, patter!
It was quite a pleasant and sunny spring. Greyfriars fellows
were looking forward to the Easter holidays: Harry Wharton and
Co. in particular, hoping for a continuance of the fine weather,
for a camping trip. But the British climate has its little
uncertainties.
The sun had been shining when Billy Bunter rolled out with the
cake. Now that he had come to a halt, looking for a comfortable
spot to sit down and devour his prey, that shower started.
It was only a spring shower. It did not look like lasting long.
But it was wet, and keen as Bunter was to begin on the cake, he
did not feel like sitting down in wet grass, with falling drops
pattering on his fat head - even to devour cake. So he blinked
round anxiously for some kind of shelter from that shower.
Then he spotted the caravan.
It looked rather a roomy van, painted red, and quite a handsome
vehicle. It was of the horse-drawn variety: but no horse was
visible. Neither was the caravanner. Possibly he had led the
horse away to feed in an adjacent meadow. Anyhow he was not to
be seen.
Billy Bunter rolled over to that caravan immediately. The owner,
if he was inside, could hardly refuse a fellow shelter from a
downpour of rain. Anyhow it cost nothing to ask. If nobody was
inside, a fat Owl could step in - the door was open.
Bunter rapped on the door with fat knuckles.
'I say, can I come in?' he squeaked. 'I'm caught in the rain.'
There was no answer from the red caravan. It was, as it looked,
deserted. Billy Bunter lost no more time. He clambered in.
Inside, he blinked about him curiously.
The caravan was extremely well fitted up, and looked very
comfortable. A folding-chair, set up as if in readiness for the
fat Owl, looked very inviting. Bunter plumped into it.
All was well now.
Sitting at ease, blinking through the open doorway at spattering
raindrops, the fat Owl unwrapped the newspaper, and started on
the cake.
Whether the caravanner, when he returned, would be gratified to
find a fat schoolboy sitting in his van, devouring cake and
scattering crumbs on all sides, he did not reflect. He was out
of that spring shower; he was eating cake: all was well.