The bullying prefect strikes again
His struggles were useless in the grasp of the big Sixth Former. He sprawled face down over the desk, and the ashplant in Loder’s hand rose and fell with terrific swipes. – Extracted from The Spy of the Sixth, by Frank Richards, The Magnet, 10 October 1936. Available to download free-of-charge here.
Vernon-Smith (the Bounder) of the Remove at Greyfriars School is sitting at his desk in the form-room, writing lines as part of a detention he has been set. It is, of course, against the rules for any fellow under detention to receive visits from sympathising friends. But form-master Mr. Quelch has gone off for a walk and the Bounder’s pals, the Famous Five, have relaxed those rules and dropped in to cheer up Smithy.
Now read on ...
Footsteps were heard coming along the form-room
passage.
“If that’s Quelch coming in ...” groaned Frank Nugent.
“Hunt cover!” said the Bounder. “Ten to one he won’t
spot you if he only looks in. Quick!”
There was no time to lose. Like five rabbits bolting
into their burrows, the Famous Five hunted cover. In the duskiest corner of the
old form-room, they squatted under the desks – and they hardly breathed, as the
footsteps reached the door, and it was flung open.
There was a chance, at least, of escaping observation,
if Quelch looked in; and the chums of the Remove hoped for the best.
Vernon-Smith was hard at work, writing lines, as the
door opened. He did not look up; being apparently too keen on his lines, to
notice that the door had opened.
The door closed again, and the footsteps came across
to him. Then he realised that they were not the footsteps of his form-master;
and he looked up – at Loder of the Sixth!
Loder stopped in front of the desk, his ashplant cane
in his hand. His eyes were fixed on the Bounder; and evidently he had no
suspicion that anyone else was in the form-room.
Smithy rose to his feet, eyeing the bully of the Sixth
warily. He had quite expected to hear from Loder – and now, clearly, he was
going to hear from him.
“You young rotter!” said Loder between his set lips.
His hand closed almost convulsively on his ash.
“Anything wrong, Loder?” asked the Bounder innocently.
“Surely, you didn’t think I’d cut detention?”
“I told you what to expect if it turned out that you
had fooled me!” said Loder grimly. “And it turns out that you did! You made use
of me to get off detention for your football match, and you were fooling me all
the time – as I’ve found out since old Leggett came here yesterday. You know
that!”
“How should I know?” yawned the Bounder.
“You know well enough, you unscrupulous young rascal!
Now you’re going to get what’s coming to you! Bend over that desk!”
“What for?”
“You know what for!” hissed Loder. “Bend over, I tell
you!” He swished the ashplant. “Do you hear me?”
“I’m not deaf,” said the Bounder coolly, “and I won’t
bend over! And if you touch me with that cane, Loder, I’ll go straight to the
head, and you can tell him what you’ve whopped me for.”
“And I’ll come with you, and explain that I caught you
breaking out of detention!” said Loder.
He made a grab at the Bounder’s collar, with his left
hand, grasped it and fairly dragged him over the desk.
“Let go, you bully!” yelled the Bounder, and he
struggled savagely.
But his struggles were useless in the grasp of the big
Sixth Former. He sprawled face down over the desk, and the ashplant in Loder’s
hand rose and fell with terrific swipes.
Then suddenly, from the dusky corner of the form-room,
five unexpected figures leaped into view.
“Handling a prefect” was an awfully serious matter;
but the Famous Five of the Remove were not letting Loder get away with this.
“Collar the brute!” roared Bob Cherry.
“Scrag him!” shouted Johnny Bull.
Loder, with his cane up for another swipe, stared
round in amazement. The next moment he was grasped on all sides and hurled
headlong to the floor of the form-room. He crashed there, with a wild yell, the
ashplant clattering from his hand.
Vernon-Smith wriggled off the desk. His eyes blazing,
the Bounder jumped at the ashplant, and grabbed it from the floor.
It came down on Loder with a terrific swipe.
“Smithy!” gasped Harry Wharton.
“Oh, my hat!” gasped Nugent. “Smithy!”
The Bounder did not heed. He swiped, and swiped again,
and Loder yelled frantically as he got the swipes of his own ashplant.
He scrambled to his feet and hurled himself at the
Bounder.
“Back up you men!” panted Smithy.
The Famous Five backed up at once. Loder was collared
on all sides. There was a wild and scrambling struggle. It ended with Gerald
Loder on his back on the floor, his collar gone, his coat split up the back,
his hair a dusty mop, his face crimson and streaming with perspiration. He
sprawled and gasped.
And as he sprawled and gasped, the Bounder hooked the
inkpot from his desk and up-ended it over Loder’s crimson face.
“Urrrrgh!” gurgled Loder.
He scrambled to his feet and bolted for the door. He
tore the door open and jumped into the passage.
“You – you – you,” he gurgled. “You -you – you. I’m
going to the Head now! You’ll be sacked for this! I’m going straight to the
Head!”
“Come on, you fellows!” said Harry Wharton. “We’ll all
go to the Head with Loder! The Head will like to hear what we heard Loder say
to Smithy!”
“Yes, rather!” grinned Bob Cherry. “We’ll all come,
Loder! The Big Beak will be glad to hear that you were going to whop Smithy for
nothing and tell him lies about it!”
“We’re all jolly old witnesses!” said Johnny Bull.
“Come on!”
Loder, from the doorway, gave the Removites an inky,
infuriated glare. It dawned on him, infuriated as he was, that what he had said
to Smithy had been said in the hearing of five witnesses; and that his
headmaster was about the last person in Greyfriars whom he would have desired
to learn the facts. He gasped, and glared, and tramped away – but he did not
tramp in the direction of the Head’s study.
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