Whopped for thumping a master

Six times that cane came down on Coker’s pyjamas. Coker wriggled, squirmed, gasped, and finally roared. Prout stopped at six — though he looked very much disposed to go on. – Extracted from Billy Bunter’s Postal Order, by Frank Richards, (Armada).  Available to download here.

“MR. QUELCH!”

Coker stuttered that name.

He had been looking at Prout. Now he looked down at his capture. It was not easy for Coker to believe his eyes, when, for the first time, he saw who it was that he had caught in the dark.
Not for a moment had he doubted, or dreamed of doubting, that it was that fat tick, Bunter of the Remove.

But it wasn’t! It was nothing like Bunter. It bore not the remotest resemblance to Bunter.

Coker’s sinewy knee was planted on Mr. Quelch, the master of the Remove: Mr. Quelch’s angular, infuriated face that stared up at him — it was Quelch.  Henry Samuel Quelch, who was panting and gurgling helplessly for breath, unable to speak, unable to do anything but gurgle and splutter.

Coker gazed at him.

It was Quelch! Not Bunter, but Quelch! If his capture had turned out to be, not Bunter, but the Emperor of Abyssinia, or the President of the United States, it could not have astonished Coker more. He could hardly believe that it was Quelch!

“Oh!” gasped Coker.

He released his victim. He removed his sinewy knee, which had been squeezing the last ounce of wind out of the Remove master. He staggered to his feet. He backed away. The back of his knees contacted the edge of the settee, and he sat down, rather suddenly. He sat there helplessly, stating with popping eyes.

‘Quelch!” gasped Mr. Prout. “My dear fellow —  what?”

“Urrrrrrggh!”

“What —  what —  what —?”

“Gurrrrggh!”

Mr. Quelch sat up, on the floor. He gasped and gurgled for breath. Prout advanced, and gave him a hand up. Slowly and painfully, Mr. Quelch resumed the perpendicular. He leaned on the stout Prout.

“Wurrrrggh!” he mumbled. “Urrrgh! I — I — I — gurrggh!”

“Coker! What —?”

“Oh, crikey!” moaned Coker.

“What are you doing out of your dormitory, Coker?”

“I — I — I —— oh, jimmy!”

“And you, my dear Quelch — what — what —?”

“Urrgh! I — I am breathless!” Quelch was finding his voice, at last. “I — I — that insensate boy — that blockhead  — ooooogh!”

“But what —?”

Quelch, with an effort, pulled himself together a little. The glint in his eyes, as he looked at the dismayed Coker, was positively deadly. Coker could only gaze pop-eyed at him, even yet hardly able to believe that it was Quelch.

“I — I came —” Quelch tried to speak calmly. “I came up to this landing from my study, Mr. Prout, to sit there on that settee, in the dark, to watch for that troublesome boy Bunter, who, I have no doubt, will leave his hiding-place in search of food during the night — gurrrggh!”

“Oh!” gasped Coker.

It had not occurred to Coker that anyone else might have guessed Bunter’s probable tactics that night! He was not aware that his own powerful intellect was equalled by any other at Greyfriars. It dawned upon him now that Quelch had had the same idea!

“I sat on that settee,” said Mr. Quelch, after another gurgle. “And when I heard a sound, I had no doubt that it was Bunter. And then — wurrrggh!”

Quelch broke off, for another gurgle.

“And then — suddenly — that — that insensate boy — that — that blockhead — that — that —  that Coker — sprang on me in the dark!” gasped Quelch. “He sprang on me like —  like — like a tiger ——”

“Bless my soul!”

“Oh, crumbs!” moaned Coker.

“Unless he is insane, I cannot understand his action!

He sprang on me in the dark —”

“I — I — I ———” babbled Coker.

“Coker! What is the meaning of this?” thundered Prout. “What —?”

“I — I — I thought it was Bunter, sir,” moaned Coker.  “I — I — I never knew Mr. Quelch was up — never dreamed — oh, crikey — I — I — I — I thought it was that fat tick — I — I mean Bunter! I — I was watching for — for Bunter, sir, and — and couldn’t see in the dark, and — and — and — oh, crikey!”

“And for what reason, Coker, were you meddling in a matter with which you have no concern?”

Coker made no reply to that. It was not of much use to explain to Prout that he was constitutionally incapable of minding his own business!

“Upon my word!” boomed Prout. “Coker —”

“I — I never meant — I — I thought —”

“Silence! Mr. Quelch, I can only express my regret, my very deep regret, that this boy of my form — what did you say, Quelch?”

“Gruuugggh.”

“Oh! My regret — my deepest regret — Coker, you utterly, impenetrably stupid boy — you — you — you —” Words and breath seemed to fail Prout together.

“I — I — I was going to kik-kik-catch B-b-b-unter —”

“Silence! Coker, loth as I am to use the cane in a senior form, I shall certainly do so on this
occasion —”

“Oh!” gasped Coker.

“I shall cane you with the greatest severity —”

“But I — I say, I — I was only —”

“Silence! Mr. Quelch, I express once more my deep regret. Coker, follow me downstairs immediately.”

Prout swept like a thundercloud to the staircase. Coker feebly picked himself up from the settee, and limply followed him. Quelch was left still gasping and spluttering on the study landing.

Coker followed his form-master downstairs, in the lowest of spirits. Coker, so far as he could see, was in no way to blame. What had happened was unfortunate, Coker admitted that. But his intentions had been good: he had been going to deal with a matter, successfully, that had baffled beaks and prefects for whole days. It was hardly his fault that Quelch had come up quietly to the study landing with precisely the same object: still less his fault that, not being able to see like a cat in the dark, he had collared Quelch supposing him to be Bunter.

Prout switched on lights, and stalked ahead, with dressing-gown billowing. Coker almost limped after him to his study.

In that study, Prout selected a cane: seldom used, but now about to get a little unaccustomed exercise. He fixed Coker with a baleful eye.

“Take off that overcoat, Coker!”

Coker breathed very hard. He would have preferred to keep that overcoat on — not only because the night was chilly! Pyjamas were a very poor protection against a cane — especially as Prout’s whole aspect indicated that he was going to lay it on with unaccustomed vim.

Coker peeled off the overcoat, slowly.

“Now bend over that chair, Coker!”

“I — I — I was only going to catch Bunter, sir —”

“I have told you to bend over that chair, Coker!”

Breathing still harder, Coker bent over the chair. Up went the cane in Prout’s stout right hand. Down it came — swiping!

“Oooooh!” gasped Coker.

Seldom was a cane used in a senior form. But what followed showed that Prout bad not forgotten how to handle it.

Six times that cane came down on Coker’s pyjamas. Coker wriggled, squirmed, gasped, and finally roared. Prout stopped at six — though he looked very much disposed to go on.

However, he laid down the cane.

“Coker! Return to your dormitory immediately! If you leave it again after lights out, you will be reported to Dr. Locke for a flogging! Go.”

Coker went,

Quelch was gone, when he repassed the study landing, on his way up. No doubt, after what had happened, Mr. Quelch was no longer feeling disposed to sit up keeping watch and ward for Bunter. Coker was no longer thinking of either Quelch or Bunter — he had nearer considerations to think about. He wriggled his way up the dormitory staircase, tottered to his bed, and almost collapsed into it. After which, the nocturnal silence in the Fifth-form dormitory was broken by spasmodic gasps, grunts, and ejaculations, from Coker’s bed.

“Oh! ow! wow! Oggh! Wooogh! Oh! Ow!”

Two fellows, in the beds on either side of Coker’s woke and peered into the gloom.

“That you, Coker?” murmured Potter.

“Wow!”

“Been out after Bunter?” asked Greene.

“Yow-ow!”

“Anything happened?”

“Woooh! That old ass, Prout, whopped me, because I got that other old ass, Quelch, in the dark, thinking it was Bunter —”

“Ha, ha, ha!”

“Oh! Laugh!” hissed Coker. “Funny, ain’t it! Six on my pyjamas — six of the best! Ow! wow! Woooh! Well, I can tell you I’m fed up! That fat tick, Bunter, can cruise about the House every night this term, for all I care — I shan’t interfere! I’m not going to do the prefects’ work for them! Or the beaks’, either! I shall just leave the lot of them to stew in their own juice! Wow! And,” added Coker, in a sulphurous voice, “if I hear another snigger from you, I’ll turn out with my bolster, and give you something to snigger about.”

After which Coker did not hear another snigger from Potter or Greene: though until they fell asleep again Potter and Greene heard a succession of mumbles, moans, grunts and groans, from Coker.

 

Picture credit: Sting Pictures

 

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