Billy Bunter of Greyfriars School and Billy Bunter's ... (7 page)

CHAPTER XIII

COKER’S HAMPER!

“HERE, lend a hand!”
Horace Coker did not request—he rapped out a command, in the lofty manner that
was customary with Coker of the Fifth. Bunter blinked round.
He was coming upstairs, and had reached the middle landing, when Coker’s voice
hailed him from behind. Coker of the Fifth was coming up after him, and Coker
of the Fifth was heavy-laden. He was carrying a hamper— and it was a rather
large and heavy hamper.
Coker was a powerful fellow, but he seemed to have a spot of bother with that
hamper on the stairs. So, seeing a junior in the offing, he called to him to
lend a hand. Some fellows, wanting a helping hand, would have put the request
politely. But Coker of the Fifth had little politeness to waste on a fag of the
Lower Fourth. Coker of the Fifth always spoke as one having authority, saying
“Do this!” and he doeth it. It was one of Coker’s ways.
“Don’t stand there like a stuffed dummy,” went on Coker, crossly, as Billy
Bunter blinked down at him through his big spectacles. “Come and lend a hand
with this hamper, you fat young ass.”
“O, really, Coker—.”
“And sharp!” snapped Coker.
Many Remove fellows, addressed thus peremptorily, by Coker of the Fifth, would
have told Coker where he got off, or walked on regardless. And Billy Bunter was
really the least likely recruit. Bunter had plenty of weight to carry up the
stairs, without a hamper added. Neither was he fearfully keen on exertion of
any kind. Nevertheless, Billy Bunter turned back, to give Horace Coker the
required helping hand.
It was the hamper that did it. Bunter knew Coker’s hampers—they came from
Coker’s Aunt Judy, and were always crammed with good things. Miss Judith Coker
believed that nothing was too good for her dear Horace. Bunter was deeply
interested in the hamper, if not in Coker. So Bunter descended the stairs, and
grasped one handle of the hamper, and exerted himself to be of  assistance.
Between them, the hamper was heaved up to the middle landing, and across it, to
the upper stairs. Halfway up to the upper landing, Billy Bunter was spluttering
for breath.
“I—I say, stop a minute,” he gasped. “I—I’m out of breath.”
“You would be!” snapped Coker. “Fat, lazy, slack little porker—.”
“Look here—!”
“Don’t jaw! Get on with it,” said Coker. And he barged on, heedless of Billy
Bunter’s desire for a rest.
“Beast!”
“What?” roared Coker.
“I mean, all right!” gasped Bunter. “I—I’m jolly glad to help, old chap.”
Coker glared at him.
“Did you call me old chap?” he asked. “You call me old chap again you cheeky
fag, and I’ll jolly well smack your cheeky head when we get to the landing.”
Coker did not like “old chap” from a Lower Fourth junior.
Billy Bunter breathed hard, and breathed deep. But he made no rejoinder, and
the hamper was heaved up to the landing. There Bunter dumped down his end, and
spluttered.
“Done in?” asked Coker, sarcastically. “Why don’t you keep yourself fit, you
fat slacker? Here, Skinner, lend a hand with this hamper.” Skinner of the
Remove was coming across the landing to go down, and Coker called to Skinner.
“—I say, I—I’ll help you with it, Coker,” gasped Bunter, anxiously. “I—I’ll
help you get it to your study.” Bunter was anxious to be on the scene when that
hamper was opened.
“You can shut up,” said Coker.
“Look here, Coker——.”
“I said shut up! Skinner, take hold of this hamper.
Take one handle, and get it along to my study. Do you hear me?” added Coker, in
a roar, as Skinner, unheeding, went on to the stairs.
Skinner, certainly, heard. But like the ancient gladiator, he heard but he
heeded not. Harold Skinner walked by just as if Horace James Coker, of the
Fifth Form, did not exist at all. He merely ignored Coker. But Coker was not a
fellow to be ignored by a junior. He stepped after Skinner and let out a foot.
“Oh!” roared Skinner, as he tottered.
“Now lend a hand with this hamper, if you don’t want another!” snapped Coker.
Skinner did not seem to want another. But he did not lend a hand with the
hamper. He cut down the stairs and vanished.
“I—I say, Coker, I’ll help—.”
“Shut up, and get on with it!” growled Coker.
And Bunter shut up and got on with it. The hamper was carted across the landing
into the Fifth-form passage, and along to Coker’s study.
There it was safely landed, and Bunter was able to take a rest, which he badly
needed, and splutter for breath, which he needed still more.
Coker unfastened the lid of the hamper. A delightful aroma reached Billy
Bunter’s fat little nose, and he sniffed appreciatively. He had a glimpse of
ripe red apples and luscious pears. No doubt there were other good things
packed underneath—Aunt Judy’s hampers were always lavishly supplied. But there
were apples and pears on top, and Billy Bunter’s eyes and spectacles dwelt on
them longingly. Coker picked up a ripe luscious pear.
“Here you are, you fat ass!” he said. “Now cut!” He tossed the pear to Bunter,
who naturally missed the catch.
“Now cut off,” said Coker. “Tell Potter and Greene to come here—tell them my
hamper’s come. I expect they’re in the games-study.”
Billy Bunter gave him a look, and rolled out. He passed the games-study, at the
end of the Fifth-form passage, without looking into that apartment. If Coker
fancied that he could send Bunter on messages. Coker had another guess coming.
Bunter was not in the least interested in Potter and Greene, or in calling them
to the feast. But he was still interested—deeply interested—in Coker’s hamper.
Having turned a corner, Bunter came to a halt. He proceeded to dispose of the
pear so generously bestowed him by Horace Coker. It was a luscious pear, and
Bunter liked it. Bunter could easily have disposed of a dozen like it, one
after another. And Bunter was going to, if his fat wits could work the oracle.
Having finished the pear, the fat junior rolled back to Coker’s study. He
blinked in at Horace Coker, who gave him a glare. Coker was expecting his
study-mates, Potter and Greene, not the fat ornament of the Remove.
“I—I say, Coker, hurry up!” gasped Bunter. “Potter’s fallen down the library
steps—.”
“Clumsy ass!” said Coker.
“I—I think he’s broken his neck—.”
“What?”
“I—I mean his leg! He—he’s in awful pain, and— asking for you—poor old
Greene—.”
“Greene? Was it Greene or Potter?”
“I-I mean Potter—both his legs broken—.” Coker rushed from the study. He forgot
all about the hamper, at that alarming news. Bunter blinked after him, as he
cut down the passage, and tore across the landing. Echoes came back of Coker’s
big feet, going down the staircase three stairs at a time.
Coker was gone almost in the twinkling of an eye. In another twinkling, Billy
Bunter rolled across to the open hamper.
He grabbed at apples and pears. As he did so, there were footsteps in the
Fifth-form passage. Bunter stopped——his eyes fixed on the open doorway in
alarm. In that doorway, a moment later, two figures appeared. Potter and Greene
had come along from the games-study at an unlucky moment for Bunter.
“Hallo!” ejaculated Potter, staring at the fat Owl. What—!”
 “What—?” began Greene.
But they did not really need to ask questions. The scene spoke for itself.
Potter and Greene did not waste time in words—they went into action at once.
Potter got in the first kick. But Greene was a good second. Billy Bunter
roared, and bounded for the door. An apple flew from one hand—a pear from the
other— and Bunter flew from the doorway as Potter’s foot landed again. He did
not linger in the passage. He did that passage almost as rapidly as Horace
Coker, and vanished into space.

CHAPTER XIV

NO TAKERS!

“I SAY, you fellows!”
“Too late!” said Bob Cherry, sadly.
“Eh! Wharrer you mean?” asked Bunter.
“Only half a sardine left!” explained Bob.
There was a chuckle in No. 1 Study. Harry Wharton and Co. had finished tea in
that celebrated apartment, when Bunter rolled in.
“The too-latefulness is terrific, my esteemed fat Bunter,” grinned Hurree
Jamset Ram Singh. “It is the early bird that goes longest to the well and saves
a stitch in time, as the English proverb remarks.”
“I haven’t come to tea!” snorted Bunter. “I’ve tea’d with Mauly—I mean, I wish
you fellows wouldn’t think that a fellow is always thinking about grub. I can
tell you I’ve got something else to think of, with Quelch down on me, hunting
for an excuse to give me a bad report this term. You heard him this morning in
form—.”
“Ha, ha, ha!” roared Bob. “Is good old Aeneas still turning over in bed?”
“And are they giving him a light?” chuckled Nugent.
“Ha, ha, ha!”
“You can cackle,” said Bunter. “I had it right, I jolly well know that. Quelch
don’t know so much Latin as he makes out.”
“Oh, my hat!”
“The fact is, he’s down on me,” said Bunter. “I don’t know why, but Quelch has
never been satisfied with me. I don’t know why he always finds fault—but he
does.”
“You don’t know why?” ejaculated Harry Wharton.
“Well, look at it,” said Bunter. “I hand out a jolly good con, and he’s down on
me just the same. Is that what you call fair play?”
“You howling ass!” growled Johnny Bull. “Your con would have made a cat laugh.
Do you think Virgil wrote the rot you handed out to Quelch?”
“Well, it’s all rot, isn’t it?” said Bunter. “Of course, we can’t say so to a
beak, but we jolly well know it’s all  rot, don’t we? Anyhow, it’s no good
trying to please Quelch, when he jumps on a fellow who hands out a good con—.”
“But you had it all wrong, you ass!” roared Bob.
“Perhaps you think you know Latin better than I do, Cherry!” sneered Bunter. “I
jolly well know I had it right, and my belief is that Quelch is ignorant. I
came jolly near telling him so, too.”
“Lucky you didn’t quite!” said Harry Wharton, laughing. “If you’d done your
prep, you wouldn’t have made such a howler. You see,
per noctem plurima
volvens
doesn’t mean that Aeneas was turning over in the night— it means
that he was turning things over in his mind during the night—.”
“And they didn’t give him a light!” chuckled Nugent.
“It was the jolly old light of dawn—.”
“And he went out to explore one place, not nine!” gurgled Bob.
“Well, I don’t see a lot of difference,” said Bunter. “My con was near enough,
I think.”
“The nearfulness was not terrific,” chuckled Hurree Singh.
“I fancy I know as much Latin as you fellows could teach me,” said Bunter,
disdainfully. “But look here, I haven’t come here to talk about that rot. I
shall have to be jolly wary of Quelch in class, as he’s determined to be down
on me for nothing—but never mind that now. It’s about Coker—!”
“Coker of the Fifth?” asked Bob. “What’s jolly old Coker been up to? I hear
that he’s been kicking Skinner—Skinner didn’t seem to like it—.”
“Like his cheek to kick a Remove man,” growled Johnny Bull. “It’s about time
that Fifth-form fathead was told where he gets off.”
“Just what I was thinking,” said Bunter, eagerly. “That’s what I came to tell
you fellows about. Coker’s too jolly cheeky, and I know a way to make him sit
up. You fellows ain’t afraid of Coker of the Fifth, are you?”
“Not a lot,” agreed Bob. “What’s the big idea?”
“Coker’s had a hamper—.”
“Nothing to do with us, if he has.”
“That’s the idea!” explained Bunter. “It’s one of those hampers from his old
sketch of an aunt, and you know what they’re like. Packed with stuff. Crammed.
He’s got it in his study. I daresay they had some of the stuff for tea—but
there’s lots and lots! If you fellows bagged it—.”
“What?” exclaimed the Famous Five, all together.
“Mind, I don’t want a hand in it,” said Bunter, hastily. “I’ve got to be wary
with Quelch. He makes out that I snoop tuck from other fellows’ studies—he’s
actually said so. He thought I’d had Smithy’s jam the other day, you know,
because I ate it in his study—.”
“Oh, crumbs!”
“He’s got a suspicious eye on me,” said Bunter, sorrowfully. “I don’t expect
justice from Quelch. If he hears about a hamper missing from a study, I’ll bet
he will think of me at once. And I’ve got to think of my report this term. I’m
not going to give Quelch any excuse for making out that I snoop tuck, or
anything of that kind. I’ve got to be right off the scene when you fellows raid
Coker’s hamper—see?”
“When we do!” grinned Bob.
“The whenfulness is terrific.”
“You fat villain!” roared Johnny Bull, wrathfully. “Are you asking us to snoop
Coker’s tuck for you?”
“Not for me, of course—equal whacks all round,” exclaimed Bunter. “I’m not
greedy, I hope! You fellows get it out of Coker’s study and up to the
box-room—see? I’ll be waiting for you there. But it mustn’t come out that I had
anything to do with it—that’s important. I’ve got to be wary of Quelch. I say,
fancy Coker’s face when he finds that hamper gone! He, he, he!”
Billy Bunter chuckled. But the five juniors in No. 1 Study did not chuckle.
They stared at Bunter blankly.
“You podgy pirate!” said Harry Wharton, in measured tones. “Do you think we
want to bag another fellow’s tuck?”
“Kick him!” said Johnny Bull.
“The kickfulness is the proper caper,” remarked Hurree Jamset Ram Singh. “Turn
roundfully, my esteemed and idiotic Bunter.”
“I say, you fellows, you don’t seem to catch on. I tell you the hamper’s simply
crammed with tuck—you know Coker’s hampers! Apples, pears, home-made jam—I can
tell you Coker’s aunt makes topping jam—pineapples and peaches and things—I had
a look into it—you can take my word for it! I believe there’s cold chicken
too—think of that! Plenty to go round once we get it safe to the boxroom—!”
“You bloated brigand, we don’t want to scoff Coker’s tuck!”
“Well, that’s rot!” said Bunter. “Of course, it’s not exactly the tuck I’m
thinking of. I don’t really care much for tuck, as you fellows know—.”
“Ye gods and little fishes!”
“I mean to say, I’m not greedy, like some fellows I could name,” said Bunter.
“What I’m really thinking of is making that brute Coker sit up. He’s been
kicking a Remove fellow—and—and we oughtn’t to stand that, you know. Well, we
can’t kick Coker, but we can jolly well bag his hamper, see—as a punishment for
his swank— not because of the tuck, of course—.”
“Ha, ha, ha!”
“Blessed f I see anything to cackle at. Is it a go?” asked Bunter. “You fellows
get it to the box-room. If Coker makes a fuss afterwards, you can all swear
that you don’t know anything about it—.”
“What!” yelled the Famous Five.
“I mean, if you all say the same, that’s plenty of witnesses, ain’t it,” said
Bunter. “You all swear—.”
“Well, you’re enough to make any fellow swear, if he knew the words,” said Bob
Cherry. “Gentlemen, chaps, and sportsmen, Coker of the Fifth is a silly ass and
a swanking fathead, but he has good ideas sometimes. He’s kicked a Remove man.
Now let’s follow his example— let’s all do the same.”
“Hear, hear!”
The famous Five jumped up like one man. Billy Bunter gave them one alarmed
blink, and realised that he was the Remove man they were going to kick. He
turned to flee. Five lunging feet helped him in his flight. Bunter disappeared
with a roar: and the door slammed after him.
A few moments later a fat voice hooted through the keyhole:
“Yah! Rotters! Funks! Yah!”
After which there was a sound of rapidly departing footsteps.