Billy Bunter of Greyfriars School and Billy Bunter's ... (13 page)

CHAPTER XXV

UNEXPECTED!

MR. QUELCH
glanced round over his form, frowning.
Billy Bunter bestowed a blink of concentrated fury on his form-master. It was
just like Quelch to butt in where he particularly was not wanted!
Undoubtedly there had been a great deal of noise on the Remove landing.
Probably it had reached many other ears. Evidently it had reached Quelch’s, and
he had come up to inquire. Such an outburst of merriment on the part of his
form naturally made Quelch suspicious. He had no doubt that some “rag” of
unusual proportions was going on in the Lower Fourth. And he had thoughtfully
put a Cane under his arm before he came up.
“Wharton! What is all this? What is going on here?” Snapped Mr. Quelch.
 “Oh! Nothing, sir!” stammered the captain of the Remove.
“The noise from this landing could be heard all over the House,” said Mr.
Quelch, crossly. “I require to know—!”
The Remove master broke off suddenly. His gimlet- eyes had fallen on Bunter’s
“notiss” stuck on the landing wall.
He gave quite a start: and walked across to it, to look at it more closely. The
juniors looked at him, and looked at one another. Bunter’s “notiss” was no end
of a joke in the Remove: but they wondered what its effect might be on a beak.
From experience they knew that form-masters and their forms did not always see
eye to eye!
Quelch did not look amused. He scanned that notice on the wall, really as if he
could hardly believe his eyes. Then he looked round at Bunter—or, rather,
glared at him.
“Did you write this, Bunter?”
“Oh! Yes, sir!” mumbled Bunter.
“Is it possible,” said Mr. Quelch, in a deep voice, “that a boy in my form is
capable of such orthography as this?”
Bunter blinked at him. He reflected bitterly that Quelch was always down on
him. The beast was going to find fault with his spelling, now!
“But that is a minor point,” Went on Mr. Quelch. “Bunter! I gather from this
foolish, absurd, and ill-spelt paper, that you have made an appeal to your
form-fellows for funds. You must be well aware that such a thing is
inadmissible.”
“Oh, really, sir—.”
“Have the other boys been making contributions to the box in your study,
Bunter?”
“Oh, lor’! Yes, sir!” groaned Bunter.
“Upon my word!” exclaimed Mr. Quelch. “Wharton, you should have known better
than this! As head boy of my form, you should have stopped it.”
“Oh! Yes, sir! But—.”
“Have you yourself put anything in the box in Bunter’s study?”
“Oh! Yes, sir! But—.” 
“It was a thoughtless act, Wharton. It was not what I should have expected of
my head boy. Have many of the others contributed?”
“Yes, sir, every fellow here, but—.”
“Ridiculous!” exclaimed Mr. Quelch. “Absurd! It will certainly not be
permitted. I shall examine the box in Bunter’s study, and every boy will be
required to take back what he has contributed. Bunter, take down that absurd
paper at once.”
“I—I say, sir—.”
“I shall cane you, Bunter, if you do not obey me immediately.”
Bunter clutched down the “notiss”.
“And now,” said Mr. Quelch, “follow me! You will sort out the contents of the
box, Bunter, and hand back to every boy here what he has put into it.”
“Oh, crikey!”
“Remain here, all of you!” said Mr. Quelch, frowning. “Bunter, follow me!” Mr.
Quelch, with frowning brow, stalked into the Remove passage: and Billy Bunter,
with feelings too deep for words, followed him.
The crowd of Removites, on the landing, looked at one another. There were
suppressed gurgles on all sides. They could not venture to laugh while their
form-master was in the offing.
Mr. Quelch rustled into No. 7 Study. Billy Bunter, with a face of woe, followed
him in. On the table stood a large biscuit-box.
“Is that the box, Bunter?” snapped Mr. Quelch. “Oh, dear! Yes, sir!” moaned
Bunter.
“I shall examine the contents, and then—!” Mr. Quelch ceased suddenly to speak.
He had lifted the lid of the biscuit-box, which had been replaced by the last
contributor. He looked into ‘it. He saw the contents. Billy Bunter, blinking at
him, was surprised see Quelch’s severe face twitch. He blinked again—more and
more surprised. Quelch’s face was not only twitching—he was laughing!
Why he was laughing, Bunter didn’t know. Evidently, he was trying not to
laugh—but could not quite succeed. The fat Owl blinked at him in astonishment.
What Quelch saw in that box to amuse him was a mystery to Bunter.
“Dear me!” said Mr. Quelch. “Dear me! Absurd! Most absurd! Bunter, you
ridiculous boy, you deserve this! Perhaps it may be a lesson to you! Absurd!
Ha, ha!” There was no doubt about it—Quelch was laughing! “You certainly
deserve this, Bunter.”
“Eh! Mum-mum-may I keep it, sir?” asked Bunter, with a gleam of hope.
“Keep it?” repeated Mr. Quelch. “Oh! Yes! Undoubtedly!”
Mr. Quelch walked out of the study.
Bunter gave him one blink of astonishment as he went. Quelch seemed to have
changed his mind all of a sudden. It was hard to understand.
However, he had changed it—and Billy Bunter was permitted to keep the
collection in the biscuit-box. So it was all right!
As Quelch walked out into the passage, Bunter jumped for the box on the table.
His gloating eyes fixed on it—how much there was in that box, he did not yet
know: but it was certain to be something considerable, as every fellow in the
form had put something in. For one instant, Bunter’s look was gloating—the
next, he uttered a yell of fury.
One look into that box was sufficient to enlighten him. He knew now why all the
Remove fellows had contributed so enthusiastically—why even stingy fellows like
Skinner and Fisher T. Fish had put something in. He knew why Mr. Quelch’s
portentous gravity had melted away when he looked into the box—now that he
looked into it himself.
The box was almost full. But not of cash! There were no currency notes. There
were no half-crowns. There were no shillings or sixpences. There was not even a
single, solitary copper! There were other things—such as crumpled old
exercises, disused envelopes, knobs of coal from the coal-locker, an empty
jam-jar, a sardine-tin, Billy Bunter’s own Latin dictionary, a broken tea-cup,
half a saucer, some old pen-nibs, and other such odds and ends—in great
variety, but of absolutely no value whatever from a pecuniary point of view.
Bunter gazed at that collection.
He goggled at it.
He could hardly believe his eyes or his spectacles for a moment! Then he yelled
with wrath.
“Beasts! Rotters! Pulling a chap’s leg! Yah! Swobs! Smears! Smudges!”
“Ha, ha, ha!” came back from the Remove landing.
“I say, you rotters—!”
“Ha, ha, ha!”
A chuckling crowd of Removites went down the stairs. Billy Bunter was left with
his “fund”. Quelch had relented—Bunter was allowed to keep that collection! But
he did not seem to want to keep it! He picked up the treasure-box, and hurled
it into the fireplace with its contents.
Crash!
That was the end of the Bunter Fund!

CHAPTER XXVI

RAISING THE WIND!

FISHER T. FISH sat in his
study, busy.
It was a glorious afternoon. Fleecy clouds floated in a blue sky: Light breezes
rustled the leaves of the old Greyfriars elms. Through the open window of No.
14 Study came, from the distance, the cheery click of bat meeting ball. But
blue skies, and summer breezes, and the call of the cricket-field, did not draw
Fisher Tarleton Fish out of doors. He was, as stated, busy.
Sitting at his study table, Fisher T. Fish was counting his money. That was a
little pile of shillings, another of sixpences, another of threepenny pieces: a
smaller pile of half-crowns—and quite a mountain of coppers. Quite a tidy
little sum was on the table, and Fisher’s rather bony face was cheery and
contented as he counted it.
Fishy was a businesslike youth. Business was in his blood. He was keen and
enterprising, with a very sharp eye for a bargain. He couldn’t wait till he
grew up before he put those talents to use. There was not much scope for a real
live American businessman in the Lower Fourth Form at Greyfriars School. But Fishy made the most of what there was.
Fish would buy anything, and sell anything. He would buy cheap and sell dear.
He would lend a half-crown at a penny a week interest. A hard-up fellow could
always raise something—generally not much—by selling something to Fishy, at a
half or quarter its value. Fishy would keep it till he found a purchaser: and
the smallest spot of profit on the transaction was welcome to him. If a fellow
lost a key to a locker, or a box, or a desk, he could always come to Fishy:
Fishy had an immense bunch of keys, of all sorts and sizes, which he would
lend—for a consideration. If a fellow lost a school book, he could always get a
dog-eared volume to replace it—in Fishy’s study. It was business on a small
scale, perhaps—but Fisher T. Fish guessed, reckoned, and calculated that he was
making his dollars produce dimes.
Thus happily occupied after class, Fisher T. Fish was not pleased to see his
study door open, and a large pair of spectacles glimmer in.
He waved a bony hand at Billy Bunter.
“Beat it!” he said, tersely.
“Oh, really, Fishy—!”
“Absquatulate!” rapped Fishy. “Shut the door after you.’
Bunter was not a customer that the businessman of the Remove desired to see.
Bunter would gladly have raised a loan from Fishy at any rate of interest Fishy
had cared to name, to be settled when he received a postal-order he was
expecting. But Fisher T. Fish, as he often remarked, had cut his eye-teeth
early: and he had no use for Bunter.
However, the fat Owl did not absquatulate at Fishy’s bidding. He rolled into
the study, and Fishy glanced round for a missile to hurl at him. Then he
noticed that Bunter had a cricket bat under one arm, and a stack of books under
the other, and he dropped the cushion he had picked up.
“Say, what you got there, bo?” asked Fishy. He was not prepared to do a loan
business with Bunter. But he was open to trade.
“You know I’ve got to raise two pounds, Fishy,” said Bunter. “Quelch has
mentioned it again! I’m sick of the subject—but’ you know Quelch! Well, I shall
have to sell a few things, that’s all. I say, my pater gave four guineas for
this cricket bat.”
“I guess he was some mutt, if he did,” commented Fisher T. Fish.
“I’ll let you have it for two, Fishy.”
“Forget it!”
“Well, how much, then?” grunted Bunter. “It’s a jolly good bat. I’ve got to
raise two quid, and get that rotten sordid matter off my mind. Quelch won’t let
me hear the end of it till it’s paid, I can see that—just like he was about
Mrs. Mimble’s bill last term.”
Fisher T. Fish took the cricket bat, and examined it. It was not the most
expensive kind of bat, but it was quite good. It was the kind of article that
Fishy liked to buy—cheap. There was always a demand for cricket bats when the
summer game was on.
“Seven and six!” said Fishy.
“What?” howled Bunter. “I’d like Toddy to hear that!”
“What’s Toddy got to do with it, you fat jay?”
“Oh! Nothing! I mean, he’d think you were welshing me. Look here, that bat cost
my uncle three guineas—.”
“Aw, can it!”
“I say, Fishy, make it fifteen bob—,”
“Seven and six or nix.”
“Beast! Well, what about these books?” grunted Bunter.
Fisher T. Fish examined the pile of books the fat Owl landed on his table. He
gave them a disparaging look.
“School books is rather a drug in the market,” he said, “and these are purty
tattered—all the fly-leaves gone. Tanner a time, if you like.”
“Beast!”  
“Take it or leave it, old-timer.”
“Well, what about this?” asked Bunter. He groped under his jacket, and produced
a set of instruments wrapped in paper.
“Ain’t you got the box they go in?” asked Fishy.
“Well, it’s got the name on it—I mean, it’s got my name on it,” said Bunter,
hastily, “but those instruments are worth a lot, Fishy. The compasses alone are
worth a guinea.”
“Ten bob!” said Fisher T. Fish, crisply, “the lot!”
Billy Bunter breathed hard. Raising the wind in Fishy’s  study was not an easy
business. 
“Let’s see, how much will that come to?” said Bunter, wrestling with
arithmetic. “Seven and six—and five bob for the books, that fourteen and
six—and ten bob for the instruments—that’s twenty-seven shillings—.”
“I guess Quelch would whop you for that in class,” grinned Fisher T. Fish,
“Seven and six and five bob and ten bob is sure twenty-two and six, you mutt.”
“Well, that isn’t enough!” said Bunter. “I’ve got to pay two pounds, Fishy. I
told you so. Make it two pounds the lot.”
“You figure that I’m in business for my health?” inquired Fishy.
Billy Bunter grunted, and went through his pockets. Apparently he had a further
supply of goods for sale. No doubt he had come to No. 14 Study prepared for low
prices.
“What about this, Fishy?” He laid an alarm-clock on the table, “that’s a jolly
good clock. Not an American clock, you know. It keeps time.”
“Aw, pack it up!” snapped Fisher T. Fish. “I guess American clocks can lay over
anything that ever ticked on this side of the pond. But it sure ain’t a bad
article— five bob.”
Bunter went through his pockets again.
“This is a jolly good fountain-pen, Fishy—look at it.” 
 “Seven and six.”
“Look here, I jolly well know that Wharton’s uncle gave two guineas—.’
“Eh?”
“I mean, Wharton’s got one exactly like it, and his uncle gave two guineas for
it. I daresay you’ve seen him using it. It’s a first-class fountain-pen. You’ll
jolly well get a lot for it from some senior men.”
“Mebbe,” said Fisher T. Fish, “and mebbe not! I guess I said seven and six, and
that goes.”
“How much does that make altogether?” asked Bunter. The figures were getting
beyond his arithmetical powers.
“Thirty-five bob,” grinned Fisher T. Fish.
“Then I shall want another five bob! What about this, Fishy?” The fat Owl
produced a large pocket knife, of the kind that contained all sorts of tools.
“Bob Cherry’s got one just like it—and I believe it cost pounds.”
. “Five bob!” said Fishy.
“Will that make two pounds the lot?”
“Yep!”
“All right, then,” said Bunter. “It’s a go. I’ve simply got to get that two
pounds cleared off. The fellows let me down over my fund, and if they jolly
well don’t like it, they can jolly well lump it. I—I—I mean, buck up,
Fishy—I’ve got to see Quelch!”
And Fisher T. Fish began to count out the exact sum of two pounds, in a variety
of coins: when there was a sudden interruption.