Billy Bunter of Greyfriars School and Billy Bunter's ... (12 page)

CHAPTER XXIII

THE BIG IDEA!

“PREP!” said Peter Todd.
Snort, from Billy Bunter.
In No. 7, as in other Remove studies, prep was on. Peter Todd and Tom Dutton
were sitting at the table with their books. Billy Bunter was sitting in the
armchair, with a glum and thoughtful expression on his fat face. Every now and
then he gave a wriggle—reminiscent of the “six” he had received for his sins.
But the effect of that six was wearing off. Other matters were on William
George Bunter’s plump mind. His fat brow was wrinkled in deep cogitation.
“Better have a shot at it, old fat man,” said Peter. “Quelch may put you on con
tomorrow.”
“Blow Quelch!”
“What about that jolly old report you’re so anxious about?” asked Peter. “You
won’t get a good report from Quelch if you make good old Aeneas turn over in
bed till they bring him a light.”
Bunter’s fat lip curled bitterly.
“What’s the good of a chap trying to work for a good report?” he sneered. “Is
it any good? Slack in class and slack at games, was what Quelch said. Well, I
hand out a pretty good con—and I get whopped! I go to Wharton and ask him to
put me in the eleven, to let Quelch see how good I am at games, and he refuses.
Do I get a chance? I’d jolly well chuck up Greyfriars, Peter, if the pater
would send me to Eton or Harrow. I should make my mark here But—but he won’t!”  
 “Tough on Eton and Harrow!” said Peter, sympathetically. “They don’t know what
they’re missing.”
“Well, Quelch won’t know what he’s missing, till I’m gone,” said Bunter, deaf
and blind to sarcasm. “It may dawn on him then what he’s done—lost about the
only fellow in the Remove likely to do him credit. Later in life, when I’m
great and famous—.”
“Eh?”
“—when I’m great and famous, and the name of Bunter is a household word, Quelch
may realise it. He will know what he’s lost. He might have been remembered as my
schoolmaster,” said Bunter. “Sort of reflected glory, you know.”
“Oh, scissors!” gasped Peter.
“Well, he will lose all that, if I go,” said Bunter. “Still, I’m jolly well not
going if I can help it.”
“Then you’d better give your chin a rest, old fat bean, and have a shot at
prep!” suggested Peter.
“Blow prep! I’ve got something else to think of,” said Bunter, irritably.
“Quelch has got on to that rot about Coker’s hamper, Peter. He makes out that I
had it. He says he takes a very serious view of it, Peter. I wouldn’t mind that
so much, if he’d let the matter drop. But—he won’t! He’s made up his mind, for
some reason, that I had Coker’s prog, and he says it’s pilfering.”
“So it is,” said Peter.
“Beast! He says that everything that was taken from Coker’s study has got to be
paid for, unless immediately returned. How can I return it when I’ve scoffed
it—I—I mean, when I don’t know what’s become of  it—don’t know anything about
the matter at all? He’s actually seen Coker of the Fifth about it. What do you think
of that, Peter? Coker’s a beast—but after all, he wouldn’t do anything more
than stump a fellow—he’s not sordid! Quelch is sordid, Peter. He thinks about
money!” Bunter gave a sniff of scorn. “Not public-school style, is it, Peter?
Goodness knows where Quelch was brought up. He’s turning the whole thing into a
sordid question of money! Pah!”
“Horrid!” said Peter, solemnly.
“Yes, that’s the word—horrid!” agreed Bunter. “You haven’t much sense, as a
rule, Toddy, but you can see that. That’s what it’s come down to now—a sordid
question of money. I’ve got to pay two pounds for that tuck. I’ve got to take
the money to Quelch, to be handed to Coker. Of course, as soon as Quelch made
it a matter of money, I’d have chucked the money on his table and said ‘There’s
the money!’”  Bunter swept a fat paw through the air. “Just like that, Peter,
contemptuously.”
“And why didn’t you?” asked Peter.
“You see. I haven’t any money,” explained Bunter.
“Oh! Bit of a difficulty to chuck it about contemptuously, when you haven’t
any!” agreed Peter.
“I’ve been disappointed about a postal-order. I think I told you I was
expecting a postal-order, Peter.”
“I—I think I’ve heard something about it,” gasped Peter. “Yes, I—I think I’ve
heard that one, old fat man.”
“Well, it hasn’t come,” said Bunter. “At the moment, I’m actually stony, Peter.
I hardly know what to do, unless you could lend me two pounds—.”
 “Prep!” said Peter, turning back to his books.
“I’m not talking about prep—I’m talking about two pounds. You might lend a pal
a small sum like that, Peter.”
“I might,” assented Peter, “but it seems to me a bit improbable.”
“Well, it’s got to be paid,” said Bunter, morosely.
“Quelch makes a point of that. I’d be willing to let the whole matter drop,
here and now. I loathe entering into sordid discussions about money. It’s
beneath me. It’s not gentlemanly, Peter. The trouble is that Quelch is no
gentleman. It was just the same once before, when I owed account at the
tuck-shop. Quelch made me pay it.”
“
Virginibus Tyriis
—!” murmured Peter.
“Never mind that rot, Peter. This is a bit more important than prep, isn’t it?”
snapped Bunter. “I’ve got to pay that rotten money. If I don’t Quelch is going
to pass it on the pater. Well, the pater would kick up a row, that’s certain. He
gets his ears up about extras in the school bill, so it stands to reason he
would get shirty about two pounds nothing. What I want is a good report this
term—not bills going to the pater. The effect would be very bad at home, Peter.
It might make all the difference to my coming back next term.”
“
Purpureoque
—!”
“Oh, do shut up that bosh, Peter, when a chap’s worried. The long and the short
of it is, that I’ve got to raise two quid,” said Bunter. “I’ve got to bring my
mind down to sordid questions of money, to please Quelch. Unless my pals stand
by me, I don’t see what’s to be done.
“Couldn’t you lend a pal a trifle like that, Peter?”
“You see, it’s not a trifle to me,” explained Peter. “I haven’t any money to
chuck about, old fat bean. Nine-pence is my limit.”
“It must be rotten to be poor, old chap,” said Bunter. “I often wonder what
it’s like—must be rotten. I’ll take you home to Bunter Court some day, Peter,
and let you see how wealthy people live. You’d like that, Peter. Open your mind
a bit, after your humble home in Bloomsbury.
Peter gurgled again.
“But the trouble now is, about that two pounds— what’s a fellow to do, Peter?”
“That’s an easy one,” said Peter. “Quelch will let you use his telephone, if
you ask him. Phone home to Bunter Court—.”
“Eh?”
“And the thing’s done,” said Peter. “They’d hardly miss a couple of quid, from
all that wealth and luxury.”
“Oh, really, Peter—.”
“And now shut up,” added Peter. “I’ve got to work, if you haven’t.”
“Beast!
Bunter had no time for prep that evening. Once more he had to “chance it” with
Quelch in the morning.
That, certainly, was not a short cut to a good report for the term. But it
could not be helped.
Prep was nearly over in No. 7 Study when that fat Owl suddenly ejaculated:
“Good!”
Peter glanced round at him.
“Got it?” he asked.
“I fancy so,” said Bunter, quite brightly.
“Gratters, old man! Who’s the happy victim?”
“I’m not thinking of borrowing money, Peter,” said Bunter, with dignity.
“Not!” ejaculated Peter.
.“No!” hooted Bunter. “Fellows won’t lend a chap as much as two pounds—most of
them couldn’t, anyway— I mean, it’s not the sort of thing I could do. A man
can’t go up and down the form borrowing money. At least, I couldn’t—you might,
perhaps, but I couldn’t, Peter—.”
“Ye gods!” said Peter.
.“But what about a fund?” asked Bunter.
“A—a—a whatter?” stuttered Peter.
“A fund! There’s nearly thirty fellows in the form, and a bob or eighteen-pence
all round would see me through. Smithy and Mauly might make it five bob—they’ve
got lots. You’ve got ninepence, Peter—you’d put that in, of course——”
“I can see myself doing it,” agreed Peter.
“If you’re going to be mean, Peter, you can keep your miserable ninepence. The
fellows will rally round, I feel sure of that,” said Bunter, evidently greatly
taken with his big idea. “After all, I’m popular in the form—it’s jolly useful
sometimes to he a really popular chap, Peter. You could take a tip from that,
Toddy—always be a thoroughly decent chap, play the game, kindest friend and
noblest foe, and all that, and it makes you popular. I’ve found it so. What are
you grinning at, Peter?”
“Oh! Nothing!” gasped Peter. “Carry on, old popular bean.”
. “I’ll put it to the chaps after prep,” said Bunter rising from the armchair.
“Perhaps I’d better draw up a bit of a notice—and stick it up on the wall,
see—like Wharton does the football notices. Make room for a chap at that
table.”
“There’s still time for a spot of prep—!”
“Blow prep!” roared Bunter. “I’ve got to get my notice ready!”
The fat Owl sat down at the table with pen and paper— not for prep. Peter
glanced over a fat shoulder, and read:

NOTISS
THE BUNTER PHUND

Peter Todd was gurgling over what remained of his prep. Bunter did not heed
him. Bunter had found the solution of his problem. All that remained was to
institute the Bunter Fund, collect contributions from all quarters, and that
would be that. A trifle like two pounds could be raised easily enough, in a
numerous form like the Remove, for a really popular fellow: and very likely
there would be something over, and a happy visit to the tuck-shop. It was so
easy, that Bunter wondered that he had not thought of it sooner. Anyhow, now
that he had thought of it, he was going ahead—heedless of gurgles from Peter.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE FUND!

“HOLD on, you chaps!”
“Look at that before you go down.”
Bunter waved a fat hand at a paper stuck on the wall, on the Remove landing.
Bunter was first out of prep. He was posted on the Remove landing when other
study doors opened, and fellows came out.
First to go down the passage to the landing were Skinner, Snoop, and Stott.
Bunter waved them back as they headed for the stairs, and pointed out the paper
on the wall. Skinner and Co. turned, and looked at it. Then they stared at it.
Then they gave a yell.
“Ha, ha, ha!”
Bunter blinked at them.
“I say, you fellows, it’s not a joke!” the fat Owl explained. “I mean it! Don’t
go down yet! Drop into my study first, see? Of course, I don’t expect much from
you Skinner everybody knows you’re mean. Still, I think you ought to play up
with the rest.”
Skinner and Co. did not go down. They seemed to find entertainment in the paper
on the wall. And as Vernon-Smith and Tom Redwing came out of the passage,
Skinner called to them, saving Bunter the trouble.
“This way, you men! Look at this! It’s worth looking at.”
The Bounder and Tom Redwing looked at it. Then, like Skinner and Co., they
burst into a roar.
“Ha, ha, ha!”
“Hallo, hallo, hallo, what’s the jolly old joke?” asked Bob Cherry, as he came
along with his friends from the studies. “Oh, my hat! Ha, ha, ha!”
The Famous Five yelled.
“I say, you fellows, there’s nothing to cackle at!” exclaimed Billy Bunter,
crossly. “What are you all cackling for?”
More and more fellows came out of the studies. More and more gathered at that
spot on the Remove landing: and more and more yelled as they read the writing
on the wall! Bunter need not have feared that any fellow would go down without
looking at his “notiss”. Every fellow wanted to look at it—indeed, they pushed
and barged to get a view of it. Really, it was worth reading:

NOTISS

THE BUNTER PHUND
All my pals in the Remove are hear-by rekwested to ralley rownd and help a chap
out of a hoal.
THE WEAK’S GOOD CAUSE
Every fellow willing to help a pal in a bad phix, please stepp into No. 7
Studdy, and put something in the bocks on the table. Smorl contribootions
thankfully receeved. Shell out your bobbs and tanners and half-crowns.

Sined,
W. G. Bunter.
P.S. Kurrency noats will be welcome. J P.P.S. Koppers not refewsed.

Billy Bunter was rather
pleased with that “notiss”. He had put more effort into it than he ever put
into prep. He flattered himself that ‘it was rather well-worded. He expected it
to get a lot of attention in the Remove. It was getting quite a lot, though the
general hilarity surprised Bunter a little. He could not see where anything in
the nature of a joke came in.
“Chance for you, Mauly!” roared Bob Cherry. “Currency notes not refused—or
banknotes either, if you come to that. Smithy, here’s a chance of getting rid
of some of your filthy lucre.”
“I’ll say that’s the elephant’s hind leg!” said Fisher T Fish, staring at the
notice, “I’ll tell a man! It surely is the grasshopper’s whiskers.”
“Cough up your dollars and dimes, Fishy.”
“I guess I’ll watch it!” grinned Fishy.
“I say, you fellows, I hope you’re all going to play up!” squeaked Billy
Bunter. “I’m in an awful hole. I’ve got to pay two pounds for that tuck from
Coker’s study—not that I had it, you know. I’ve put a box all ready on my study
table. I—I’d like to see every fellow in the form rally round. I want all my
pals to stand by me. I think you’d better begin, Wharton, as captain of the
form. You might start it with half-a-crown.”
“I might! On the other hand, I might not.”
“The might-notfulness is terrific.”
“I say, Bob, old chap, you begin it with half-a-crown, will you? You’re not so
mean as Wharton about a half- crown.”
“I jolly well am!” contradicted Bob Cherry. “Worse!”
“Ha, ha, ha!”
“What about you, Bull? I daresay you’ve got a half-crown in your pocket.”
“I daresay I have,” assented Johnny Bull, “and I dare-say I’m going to keep it
there.”
“What about you, Nugent? You’re a generous chap—as generous as they make ‘em,”
urged Bunter. “You’re not stingy with a paltry half-crown.”
“Ain’t I just!” chuckled Nugent.
“Beast! I say, here, Toddy, you ought to start the ball rolling, for a fellow
in your own study.”
“Oh!” said Peter Todd. “Something in that! After all, why shouldn’t we rally
round Bunter, you fellows? He’s got to pay two quid for Coker’s tuck, and he
objects, on principle, to paying anybody for anything. Look here, I’m jolly
well going to put something in Bunter’s box, and I hope that every fellow here
will follow my example.”
“Fools and their money are soon parted!” remarked Johnny Bull, sententiously.
“Why shouldn’t that fat brigand pay for what he’s snooped.”
“I never snooped it!” roared Bunter, “and it wasn’t worth two pounds, either—I
had to leave some in the hamper—.”
“Ha, ha, ha!”
“You go it, Toddy! You set an example to the other fellows. If you’ve only got
ninepence, old fellow, I don’t mind. Poverty ain’t a crime. I know your people
are poor, old chap, and you can’t help being hard up.”
“Ain’t he nice?” said Peter. “Wouldn’t any fellow rally round a chap like
Bunter? I’m jolly well going to put something in that box.”
Peter turned back to the Remove passage with that remark—bestowing a wink on
the other fellows as he went—unnoticed by Bunter. There was a chuckle among the
mob of juniors gathered before Bunter’s “notiss.” Perhaps they guessed that the
“something” that Peter was going to put in the box was not going to be
something of great value.
“Dash it all,” said Bob Cherry, “play up, you men—if Toddy puts something in
it’s up to all of us!”
“Of course it is,” chirruped Bunter. “Bobs and tanners, half-crowns and
currency notes—anything you like! I say, you fellows, rally round.”
So far there had been only merriment on the subject of Bunter’s “notiss”. But
Peter’s example seemed to catch on. Bob Cherry followed him up the passage,
feeling in his pockets as he went. The other four members of the Co. exchanged a grin, and followed Bob. Billy Bunter beamed.
The Famous Five were the leaders of the Remove. Where they led, other fellows
were sure to follow.
Vernon-Smith started up the passage, taking out a well-filled note-case as he
went. Redwing laughed and followed him. Billy Bunter blinked at the Bounder’s
wallet, and he grinned with glee. Smithy had lots of money—if he elected to
part with it. And Bunter did not know that Smithy, as soon as he had
disappeared into the passage, put that wallet back into his pocket—unopened.
“Play up, you fellows!” burbled Bunter. “Go to it, you know. What about you,
Skinner? I know you’re mean, old chap, but an occasion like this—.”
“Oh! You put it so nicely!” gasped Skinner. “Come on, you men—Bunter knows
we’re mean, but an occasion like this, you know—.” Snoop and Stott, grinning,
followed Skinner up the passage.
“You playing up, Fishy?” asked Bunter. “Play up, old man! You can’t help being
stingy, Fishy, but what about a bob?”
Fisher T. Fish chuckled. Fisher T. Fish had never been known to part with
money, if he could help it, in all the terms he had been at Greyfriars School. But now he gave Bunter quite an affable nod.
“I guess I’m on in this,” he said. “It sure is the bee’s knee! You can count me
in, you fat clam.” And Fisher T. Fish followed the crowd.
“I say, Bolsover—Hazel—Browney—Field, old
chap—Mauly—Ogilvy—Morgan—Mickey—Wibley—I say, you fellows, play up!”
But Bunter did not need to exhort. A wave of enthusiasm seemed to have caught
the Remove. The whole crowd poured up the passage towards No. 7 Study. Not a
man remained on the landing with Billy Bunter. Outside No. 7 Study there was
quite a jam—fellows crowding in, and other fellows pushing out.
The Owl of the Remove stood on the landing, and blinked up the passage through
his big spectacles, in great glee. He had fancied that his appeal for funds
would be a success. But he had hardly anticipated such a success as this.
It was overwhelming. Actually every man in the form was crowding into, or out
of, No. 7 Study—all eager to put something in the box. Such a collection could
hardly fail to be a good one. Visions of wealth floated before Bunter’s dazzled
eyes. It might come to pounds. That trifling account for Coker would be cleared
off, leaving the happy Owl with cash in hand—and next day, when the tuck-shop
was open, it was going to be a happy and sticky Bunter! Why there was such a
roar of laughter over the transaction, Bunter did not know.
The Removites came crowding down the passage. The way was left open for Bunter
to roll along to the study and count up his wealth. But just as the fat Owl was
about to roll, there was a footstep in the Remove staircase, and a sharp voice rapped:
“What is all this? What does all this extraordinary noise mean? What———?”
And the extraordinary noise was subdued, as Mr. Quelch rustled on the landing.