The First Chapter. Bunter’s bright idea! “Bother the fellow!” grunted Billy Bunter. Bunter was annoyed. He blinked to and fro through his big spectacles in the quadrangle at Greyfriars, evidently in search of somebody. But the somebody of whom he was in search did not seem to be in the offing. “Blow him!” said Bunter. It was a sunny March morning, and just on time for first school. Any moment now Bunter expected to hear the bell for classes. And for ten minutes, at least, he had been looking for Smithy without finding him. Herbert Vernon-Smith, the Bounder of Greyfriars, had disappeared after brekker, and the fat Owl of the Remove sought him, but found him not. “I say, you fellows!” Bunter rolled up to Harry Wharton & Co., Who were coming towards the House. “Seen Smithy?” “I believe he went into the Cloisters.” answered Wharton. “Bother him!” growled Bunter. “It will be class in a minute or two——” “Smithy isn’t coming in to class this morning.” said Bob Cherry. “he’s leaving while we’re in the Form.” “I know that. That’s why I want to see him—and the silly ass goes wandering off when a fellow wants to speak to him.” grunted Bunter. And the fat Owl started across the quad towards the old Cloisters. “Don’t be late, Bunter!” called out Bob. “It’s Loder this morning——” Unheeding, Bunter rolled on. In the Cloisters he blinked up and down impatiently for the Bounder. In that
The Wolf and the Lamb! “SMITHY, you ass—” “Cut before the Beak comes!” “Loder’s gone for him!” “You’ll get a Head’s flogging before you go!” “Cut, you ass!” Advice was showered on the Bounder from all sides, but he did not seem to have any use for it. He went coolly to his place in the Remove and sat down. Evidently he intended to remain. “Are you going to wait for the Head, Smithy?” exclaimed Harry Wharton. “Why not?” answered the Bounder. “The whopfulness will be terrific, my esteemed and ridiculous Smithy!” said Hurree Jamset Ram Singh. “Smithy, old man, what’s the good?” exclaimed Redwing. “You’re only making matters worse, old chap!” “Isn’t that what he wants?” grinned Skinner. “Stick it, Smithy! You can cheek the Head as much as you like now you’re sacked! He can’t do anything more than that!” “Oh, shut up, Skinner!” said Bob Cherry. “If Smithy starts cheeking the Head, we’ll jolly well scrag him!” “The scragfulness will be preposterous!” “Who’s going to cheek the Head?” growled Vernon-Smith. “I’m here carrying out the Head’s orders. Fellow can’t do more than that.” “Mean to say the Head told you to come here?” exclaimed Frank Nugent. “Quite!” “Gammon!” said Bolsover major. “Smithy.” exclaimed Redwing, “is it true you not going?” “Haven’t I said so?” “But—but—but the Head can’t have let you off!” said Redwing blankly. “Why should he?” “I’m so jolly nice that he hates to part with me!” said the Bounder gravely. “He felt that the wrench would be too great!” “Ha, ha, ha!”
the junior who had made a fool of him, but he would almost as soon have marched him off to the head on a charge of slacking, disobedience, and defiance of authority. Slowly Vernon-Smith bent over the chair. Loder “had” him, and he knew it, and he had to take what was coming to him. Swish! Swish! Swish! The whacks rang through the Form-room, almost like pistol shots. Swish! Swish! Swish! It was six, a stiffer six than Mr. Quelch’s had ever handed out in his Form-room. Loder’s seemed disposed to go on with it. But no doubt he realised that there was a limit. He led down the cane. “You can go back to your place, Vernon-Smith!” he said. “I warn you to behave yourself while I’m in charge of this Form!” The Bounder went back to his place in silence. But his eyes were burning. He was wriggling painfully and scowling like a demon when the Remove left the Form-room and went along to Monsieur Carpentier’s class room for second lesson. And Loder grinned after him as he went. THE SEVENTH CHAPTER. Bunter Knows! “Man named Smedley!” said Billy Bunter. Billy Bunter, as usual, was first with the news. Bunter’s eight TO system gives him an advantage over other fellows in getting early tidings. “Smedley!” repeated several voices in the Rag. “That’s it! Eustace Smedley!” said Bunter. “I don’t know what he’s like, of course, as I’ve never seen him, but he can’t be worse than Quelch, that’s some comfort.” And the remove, of course, were interested to hear about their new master who was coming in place of Mr. Quelch—the “late lamented” Quelch, as Skinner playfully called him. Quelch was away on the South Coast, recuperating after influenza—or after handling the Remove, as some fellows in other Forms said. Anyhow, he was away, not to come back before the Easter holidays at the earliest, and the Form, of course,
at the sight of a large plate of jam tarts. “Oh, good!” he ejaculated. Bunter was just thinking how lucky it was that the Bounder was not at home, when he made the sudden and disconcerting discovery that the Bounder was there! It was quite a painful discovery, as it came in the form of the Bounder’s boot crushing on his tight trousers. Crash! “Yaroooh!” yelled Bunter. He pitched headlong forward, sprawling half in the cupboard. His fat face landed in the plate of tarts! His fat features squashed them! “Urrrggh!” gurgled Bunter. It was a jammy and sticky Bunter that whirled round to glare at the Bounder through jammy spectacles. “Oh, you!” he gasped. “Beast! I—I mean, I—I say, old chap—Yarooooh! Leggo! Yaroop! Oh crikey! Help! Whoop!” Vernon-Smith grasped his collar. The fat Owl startled and yelled frantically in that iron grasp In his present savage temper the Bounder’s wanted somebody upon whom to wreak his wrath. Bunter came in useful. Bang, bang! Bunter’s bullet head smote the cupboard door. “Ow! Oh crikey! Beast! Leggo!” shrieked Bunter. “I wasn’t after your tarts, you beast! I never knew you had any! Yarooh! I never saw you bring them in after class. Yooop!” Bang! “Whooop! Leggo! You’re cracking my head!” raved Bunter. “Oh, you rotter! Yarooh!” In sheer desperation the fat Owl grappled with the Bounder and struggled. John was transferred from his fat face to Herbert Vernon-Smith. A fat fist, lashing out blindly and desperately, caught the Bounder on his rather prominent nose, and he gave a yell, and staggered. Bunter threw his weight on him, and he went down on the study carpet, dragging the Owl of the Remove with him in his fall. “Oh crikey!” gasped Bunter. “I—I say— Yaroooh!” He roared as he rolled over in the Bounder’s fierce grasp, and thump after thump
meddling beast, who knew that he was a Greyfriars fellow, and was going to report him at the school— “You belong to Greyfriars?” rapped the young man. “Oh! Yes!” It was not much use deny it when he was wearing a Greyfriars cark, and the man evidently knew the school colours. “Your Form?” “Remove!” gasped Bunter. The hard eyes glinted. They turned on the signboard showing over the fence. The young man raised his hand and pointed. “That place is out of bounds for Greyfriars boys!” he snapped. “I—I wasn’t there!” gasped Bunter. “Your name?” “Oh lor’!” gasped Bunter. It was evident that this beast, never he might happen to be, was going to report hin at the school. Bunter could see that. He could have no other reason for inquiring his name. Bunter concede that much, but he could not understand the keen intensity with which the hard eyes regarded him. He could not dream of the thoughts in the mind of the man with a borrowed name. But one thing was clear to Bunter—if this meddling beast went to the school to report that he had seen a Greyfriars boy getting out of the most disreputable haunt in the county, he was not going to be able to give the name! Bunter was not bright—but he was bright enough not to give the interfering stranger his name. Instead of answering, therefore, he backed away, with the intention of scudding off A hand was on his shoulder the next moment, with a grip so hard that Bunter felt as if his bones would crack, and he gave a yell. “Ow! Leggo! Wow!” “Your name?” snapped the man. “I——I don’t mind giving my name, of—course!” and gasped Bunter. “I—I say, you—you didn’t mention it for the school——“ “Give me your name on once!” “I haven’t been— Yow-ow-wow!” howled Bunter, as the vice like wild grip tightened. “Wow! Leggo! Ooooogh!” “Your name!”
applies—a boy named Bunter!” said the Head. “I must inquire—” Vernon-Smith heard that as he left the Form-room. “He grinned as he went down the passage. “Hallo, hallo, hallo!” Bob Cherry’s cheery roar greeted him, as he came into the quad. “Out early, Smithy?” “Smithy——” exclaimed Redwing. The Bounder laughed. “I’m let off early!” he said. “Seen that new man Smedley? He spotted Bunter at the Three Fishers, as he hiked along here, and jolly old Bunter gave him my name!” “Oh, my hat! That accounts—“ “There’ll be a bit of a surprise waiting for Bunter when he comes in!” chuckled the Bounder. “Poor old Bunter!” Billy Bunter, just then, was enjoying tea at the bunshop in Courtfield with Lord Mauleverer, who he had successfully run down. Probably Mauly was not enjoying it so much as Bunter. And probably, very probably, Bunter would not have enjoyed it so much, had he known what was waiting for him when he got back to Greyfriars! Fortunately, for his enjoyment of his tea, Billy Bunter didn’t THE END. .