Billy Bunter in a jam

Mr. Quelch picked up a cane from the study table. Billy Bunter eyed that proceeding with deep apprehension. Mr. Quelch pointed to a chair with the cane. “Bend over that chair, Bunter.” – Extracted from Billy Bunter of Greyfriars School, by Frank Richards, (Armada). Available to download here.

MR. QUELCH stared, as if he could hardly believe his eyes. Indeed, at that moment, he hardly could.

Quelch had gone out for a walk in the quad after class, as he often did. Harry Wharton and Co. had in fact seen their form-master go out, as Wharton had mentioned to Bunter. But he had come in again.

It was very pleasant taking the air under the shady old branches of the ancient Greyfriars elms. It braced Quelch, after his labours in the Remove room with a numerous and slightly troublesome form. But on Quelch’s study table lay a pile of Form papers that had to be corrected, and Henry Samuel Quelch never forgot his duties. So, reluctantly but dutifully, Quelch at length retraced his steps to the House—and came to his study.

Naturally, he did not expect to find that study occupied. Least of all would he have expected it to be occupied by a fat junior with a pot of jam. But that was how he found it. He opened the study door, and was about to enter, when he stopped dead, his eyes fixed on a fat figure in his armchair. Quelch’s eyes were very keen—often compared, in his form, to gimlets. But at that moment he really doubted their evidence.

Billy Bunter did not, for the moment, see his form-master. Bunter was busy.

Bunter had sought that safe refuge simply to escape from the wrathful Smithy. He had judged rightly— Smithy had not ventured to pursue him there. He was safe—till Quelch came in. Bunter was going to stay in that study as long as he possibly could: for the double purpose of keeping out of Smithy’s way, and giving Smithy time to cool down and get over his temper.

When Quelch came in, he was going to account for his presence there by asking Quelch a history question, as if he had come to the study for that very purpose. That, Bunter sagely considered, would placate Quelch. Quelch, like all beaks, liked fellows to take an interest in their lessons: and he could not fail to be pleased if Bunter specially desired to know whether Magna Charta was signed in the reign of Edward the Confessor or Charles the Second!
In the meantime, there was the jam!

Sitting in Mr. Quelch’s armchair, Bunter opened that pot of jam. Unluckily he had no spoon. Bunter liked a tablespoon when dealing with jam. But on Quelch’s table lay an ivory paper-knife which answered the purpose fairly well. With that implement, Billy Bunter scooped out jam and conveyed it to a large mouth: and chunk after chunk of delicious plum jam followed the downward path. In those ecstatic moments Bunter forgot Smithy, and even forgot Quelch. It was a happy, sticky Bunter that cleaned out the jam-jar with the ivory paper-knife.

After he had finished, Bunter was going to wipe that paper-knife clean on Quelch’s blotting pad, and hide the empty jam-jar at the bottom of Quelch’s waste-paper basket—and then wait for Quelch, with his history-question all ready. That was the idea. It was rather unfortunate that Quelch came in before Bunter had quite finished the jam!

There was still a spot of jam at the bottom of the jar, and it was not easy to extract it with a paper-knife. But difficulties were only made to be overcome. Bunter concentrated on that urgent task, blinking through his big spectacles into the jar resting on his fat knees, and scraping industriously. He was too absorbed to notice the faint sound of the door-handle turning. As Mr. Quelch stood at the open door, his eyes fixed on Bunter, the Owl of the Remove did not look up—he carried on with the important task in hand—and his little round eyes gleamed behind his big round spectacles, as quite a substantial spot of jam was gathered by industrious scraping.

Mr. Quelch gazed at him.

For a long, long moment, the Remove master stood quite still, gazing at that happy member of his form. He realised that his eyes were not deceiving him. Actually a boy of his form was seated in his armchair in his study, scraping out a jam-jar, with a sticky paper-knife, sticky fingers, sticky face, and a general aspect of stickiness. Quelch found his voice.

“Bunter!”

“Oh, crikey!”

Bunter jumped. In fact, he bounded. He was out of the armchair with a speed that was marvellous, considering the weight he had to lift. The jam-jar rolled on the hearth-rug. The sticky paper-knife dropped on the carpet. Billy Bunter stood blinking at his form-master with his eyes almost popping with terror through his spectacles.

“Bunter! What are you doing here?”

“Oh! I—I—I was—was waiting for you, sir!” gasped Bunter. “I—I came to ask you a—a question, sir, about jam—I mean about history, sir—I—I forgot whether Magna Charta was signed by Smithy—I mean King Charles the Fourth, sir, or—or Henry the Tenth—.”

“I find you eating—I should say devouring—I find you devouring jam, in my study!” said Mr. Quelch, in a deep rumbling voice. “Did you purloin that jam below stairs, Bunter? I have several times received complaints from Mrs. Kebble—.”

“Oh! No, sir! I—I had it in a parcel from home, sir! Smithy got it this morning—I mean I got it this morning—.”

“I think I understand Bunter! You have purloined that comestible from another Remove boy’s study, and that is why—!”

“Oh, no, sir! It wasn’t Smithy’s!” stammered Bunter. “That was all a mistake, sir. If Smithy had any jam, it’s still in his study. I—I didn’t come here because Smithy was after me, sir—I—I came to ask you, sir, to tell me, if you’ll be so kind, whether Cagna Marta—I mean Magna Charta—was signed in the reign of George the Seventh or—or—or William the Eighth, sir.”

“That will do, Bunter.”

“Yes, sir! Thank you, sir. C-c-can I go now, sir?”

“You may not, Bunter.”

“Oh, lor’!”

 “I hardly know to deal with you, Bunter,” said Mr. Quelch, with slow, grim thoughtfulness. “You are not only the idlest boy in my form. You are not only the most obtuse. You are the most untruthful. You are the most unscrupulous. You have been punished on several occasions for purloining food. Punishment appears to have no effect. You seem no better for even a severe caning.”

“Oh, no, sir!” gasped Bunter. “Not at all, sir! Worse, I—I think, sir. I—I d-don’t think caning does me any good, sir.”

“Once already this term, Bunter, you have been caned for taking a pie from the pantry—.”

“That was all a mistake, sir!” groaned Bunter. “I—I never went down the kitchen stairs at all. Mrs. Kebble thought I’d gone down, sir, just because she saw me coming up—”

“On that occasion, Bunter, I gave you three strokes with the cane. It has not caused you to mend your ways,” said Mr. Quelch. “I shall not give you three strokes now, Bunter.”

“Oh! Good! I—I mean, thank you, sir, C-c-can I go now?”

“I shall give you six—!”

“Oh, crumbs!”

Mr. Quelch picked up a cane from the study table. Billy Bunter eyed that proceeding with deep apprehension. Mr. Quelch pointed to a chair with the cane.

“Bend over that chair, Bunter.”

“I—I—I say, sir—!”

“Bend over that chair!” rapped Mr. Quelch, in a voice like unto that of the Great Huge Bear.

“Oh, crikey!”

Billy Bunter, in the lowest spirits, bent over the chair.

He gave an anticipatory wriggle as he waited for the descending cane. But he did not have to wait long.

Swipe!

“Yaroooooh!” roared Bunter.

Swipe!

“Oh! Oooooh!”

Swipe! swipe! swipe! 

 “Yow-ow-whoooooooooop!”

SWIPE! Mr. Quelch seemed to put extra beef in the last swipe. It fairly rang on Bunter’s tight trousers. It cracked like a rifle-shot! Louder still sounded the anguished yell of the hapless Owl.

“Yow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow!”

“Cease that ridiculous noise, Bunter,” snapped Mr. Quelch.

“Yow-ow-ow-ow-ow!”

“If you make another sound, Bunter, I shall cane you again!”

Sudden silence!

“Now leave my study,” said Mr. Quelch, “and I warn you, Bunter, to let this be a lesson to you. I warn you that you have very nearly exhausted my patience. Go!”

Billy Bunter went.

He suppressed his feelings till Quelch’s door closed on him. But as he went wriggling down the passage, his anguish found voice.

“Yow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow!”

“Oh! Here you are!” Herbert Vernon-Smith was waiting for him at the corner. “Now, you fat villain—!”

“Yow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow!”

The Bounder stared at him, dropped the foot he had lifted, and laughed.

“You look as if you’d had enough!” he remarked.

“Yow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow !”

Bunter certainly looked as if he had had enough. He felt as if he bad had too much! And the Bounder kindly let it go at that, and Billy Bunter wriggled on his way Un-kicked.

Picture credit: The Magnet and Armada

 

 

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