He refused to bend over for the prefect

In the grip of two Sixth-Formers, the junior was bent over a chair. Wingate made a sign to Loder, and the bully of the Sixth began operations with his ashplant. – Extracted from The Worst Boy at Greyfriars, by Frank Richards, The Magnet, 7 February 1925. Available to download free-of-charge here.

Harry Wharton has been “gated” at Greyfriars School and is not allowed to leave the premises. He disregards the order and is at the gates of the school when Gosling, the school porter, tells him he must not leave.

While the pair are arguing, Gerald Loder, the bullying prefect of the Sixth arrives.

Now read on ....

“What’s that Wharton?” snapped Loder. “Did I hear you tell Gosling that you were going out all the same?”

Wharton glared at him.

“I don’t know what you heard, Loder,” he answered. “I didn’t even know you were eavesdropping.”

Loder crimsoned.

“You impertinent young sweep! Is that the way you talk to a prefect?” he exclaimed.

“Why not?” said Wharton.

Loder’s ashplant cane was under his arm. He let it slip down into his hand.

“Bend over!” he said tersely.

“Rats!”

“You hear me, Wharton?”

And Wharton turned his back on the bully of the Sixth and walked away. Gosling blinked after him.

“My eye!” he murmured.

Ten minutes later, as Wharton was strolling aimlessly under the elms, Gwynne and North of the Sixth came along. Without a word they took the rebel of the Remove by either arm and walked him away to the House. He was walked into Wingate’s study, where Loder stood with the captain of Greyfriars.

Wingate eyed the rebel grimly.

“You told Gosling you were going out, although gated by your Form-master, Wharton?”

“Did I?”

“Loder heard you.”

“Is it the business of a Sixth Form prefect to listen to a fellow behind his back?” asked Harry.

“You refused to bend over when Loder told you,” said Wingate without heeding that question.

“Oh, yes.”

“Very good. Now we’ll see whether you refuse to bend over when I tell you,” said the Greyfriars captain grimly. “Bend over.”

“I won’t!”

“No?” said Wingate. “Well, we’ll give you something to cure all that! Bend him over.”

In the grip of two Sixth-Formers, the junior was bent over a chair. Wingate made a sign to Loder, and the bully of the Sixth began operations with his ashplant.

“Six!” said Wingate.

Loder put his beef into that “six.”

There was no sound from the rebel of the Remove. He could not resist, and what he could not resist he bore with sullen endurance.

The lashes of the ashplant rang through the study. Wharton’s face was pale when the six had been administered.

“Let him do,” said Wingate. “Get out, you young rascal! And if you go out of bounds this afternoon look out for more trouble. I can tell you that we’re fed up with you.”

“Not so much as I’m fed up with you, Wingate.”

“Do you want another six?”

“I don’t care.”

Loder gripped the ashplant again anticipatively. But Wingate, controlling his anger, pointed to the door, and Wharton left the study.

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