Extract: The Bounder Catches it

Vernon-Smith, the Bounder of the Remove at Greyfriars School, has cheeked the French master and made the man run away weeping. The other boys thinking Vernon-Smith to be a cad decide to punish him themselves. Out comes the cane and they force him across a desk. 

This is an extract from Harry Wharton & Co’s Bank Holiday by Frank Richards, the Magnet, 3 August 1912. You can read the full story here. 

Copies of the Magnet are available on the Friardale website here.

MONSIEUR CHARPENTIER found the greater part of the class extraordinarily attentive, considering that it was the last day of term.  He passed over Snoop carefully.  In spite of his kind heart and his forgiving temper, the little Frenchman could not help feeling indignant, and just now he felt that he could not speak to Snoop.  The sneak of the Remove sat looking savage and sullen.  Vernon-Smith touched his elbow and whispered to him.

 Snoop chuckled in response.

 “You must not, speak in ze lesson, Smeet,” said Monsieur Charpentier mildly.  “I zink zat I ask you to give a leetle attention to ze lesson, Smeet.”

 “Yes, sir,” said Vernon-Smith.

  “You will go on, Smeet—”

 “Certainly, sir.”

 Vernon-Smith turned cheerfully back to the opening page, and commenced.

 “Je chante—”

  “Excuse,” said Monsieur Charpentier.  “You begin again; I zink you sall go on vere Bull he leave off.”

 “Yes, sir; but I should like to go over these beautiful lines, sir’, and ask you if I have them right, sir,” said the Bounder.

Monsieur Charpentier beamed.  The Henriade was his favourite poem—he was a little gentleman of very quiet and orderly tastes—and any praise of that long-winded poetical history of Henri Quatre was certain to touch the right spot.

 “Zat is all right, Smeet,” he said.  “You continue.  I am very please zat you admire zat grand poem.  Continuez, continuez.”

Vernon-Smith continued.

 As most schoolboys know, “zat grand poem” commences with:

  “Je chante ce heros qui regna sur la France,

  Et par droit de conquete et par droit de naissance.”

  Which, being interpreted, means:

 “I sing the hero who reigned over France, both by right of conquest and right of birth.”

 But Vernon-Smith had planned a little variation.  The Remove listened with breathless amazement as he rattled off the lines he had substituted for Voltaire’s, and little Monsieur Charpentier’s face became scarlet.

 “Je chante ce bon maitre qui vint de la France,

  Et vendit le montre pour payer les frais de vacance.”

 Vernon-Smith’s French was worse than that which old Chaucer has described as “the French of Stratford-by-Bow.”

 But though the French was bad, and the lines did not scan, the meaning was clear enough:

 “I sing the good master who came from France,

 And sold his watch to pay the expenses of the vacation.”

 There was a buzz in the class.

 The nerve shown by the Bounder of Greyfriars in thus “cheeking” the master to his face was simply astounding.

Probably even the Bounder would not have ventured upon such a joke if it had not been the last day of the term.

“Stop !” gasped Monsieur Charpentier.

 “Yes, sir.”

 “Vat is zat zat you say, Smeet ?”

 “Je chante ce bon maitre who came—I mean qui—”

 “Stop !”

 “Certainly, sir.”

 “ You rotter !” murmured Frank Nugent.

  “Smeet !  Smeet !  You are insolent !  Stand out before ze class !”

 “Yes, sir.”

Vernon-Smith stood out before the class, with an impertinent smile upon his face.  There was a chuckle from some of the fellows.

Monsieur Charpentier stood before the Bounder, his face crimson, and his features working with emotion.

Is it zat you make a shoke ?” he gasped.  “You make a shoke because Snoop he show you ,zat ticket, n’est ce pas ?”

 “Really, sir—”

“I zink zat you deserve great punishment, Smeet,” said Monsieur Charpentier, choking.  “You know zat I not like to punish ze boys on ze last day of ze term, but you are very sheeky, very insolent !  You are a bad boy, Smeet !”

The little Frenchman choked.

Vernon-Smith winked at Snoop.  His hard nature was far from understanding the emotion the little Frenchman showed.

“I try to make my class respect me !” gasped Monsieur Charpentier.  “In my country  it is not ze disgrace to ze honest man zat he is poor.  But I zink—I zink—”

 He broke off.

The little gentleman’s emotion was too much for him and he burst into tears, and covered his face with his hands and rushed from the Form-room.

There was a babel of exclamations at once:

“Smith, you cad—”

 “Ha, ha, ha !”

 “Fancy old Mossoo blubbing !”

 “My word !”

 “The blubfulness of the esteemed Mossoo is terrific !” murmured Hurree Jamset Ram Singh.  “But the cadfulness of the esteemed Smith—”

 “You rotter !” roared Bob Cherry, jumping up from his place and rushing at the Bounder.  “You ought to be thrashed !”

Vernon-Smith shrugged his shoulders.

“What’s the matter with the old fathead ?” he exclaimed.  “It was only a joke, anyway.  I never thought he’d turn the waterworks on !”

“Ha, ha, ha !”

 “It’s a rotten shame to rag him !” said Harry Wharton, frowning.  “He’s never done-anything to us.  You wouldn’t dare to rag Quelch.  It’s taking advantage of poor old Mossoo being soft.”

Vernon-Smith sneered.

 “Oh, I expected you to preach !” he said.

Wharton’s eyes flashed.

“I’ll jolly well do something more than preach !” he exclaimed.  “I’ll jolly well give you a licking for baiting Mossoo !”

And he rushed at the Bounder.

In a moment they were grappling, and fighting furiously.  The Bounder might be a cad, but he had plenty of pluck.

Bob Cherry caught the cane from the Form-master’s desk.

“Lend a hand !” he roared.

Nugent and Johnny Bull and Mark Linley lent a hand.  Vernon-Smith, in the grasp of many hands, was flung across a desk, and held there.  Then Bob Cherry made the cane sing in the air.

“Let me go !” yelled the Bounder.  “I’ll fight any of you !”

“This isn’t a fight—it’s a punishment !” said Bob Cherry.

 Thwack !

 The Bounder yelled.  He was held face downwards on the desk by the angry juniors, and he had no chance.  He had to take his punishment.  But he yelled to his friends:

 “Help !  Bolsover !  Snoop !  Rescue !”

 Snoop did not move; he was not likely to.  Bolsover major jumped up.

“Let him alone !” he shouted.

Thwack !

“Yow !”

“You mind your own business, Bolsover !” said Bob Cherry.  “If you want a fight to finish the term with, I’ll meet you in the gym., or Vernon-Smith, either !  But just now I’m going to lick this cad !”

Thwack !

 “Ow !  Ow !”

Thwack, thwack, thwack !

 “Oh !  Yarooh !  Ow !”

 “Ha, ha, ha !”

 Vernon-Smith struggled desperately.  There was evidently no rescue for him.  Ogilvy and Morgan and Penfold and Tom Brown and Bulstrode and Lord Mauleverer and half a dozen more fellows had gathered round to help Harry Wharton & Co. if needed.  Bolsover major sat down again.

 Thwack, thwack, thwack !

 “Ow, ow, ow !  Yow !  Leggo !”

 “Make it a dozen, Bob !”

 Thwack !

 “Yarooop !”

The Form-room door opened, and Mr. Quelch looked in, amazed, dumbfounded by the scene in the Form-room.

What—what—what—” he gasped.

“Oh, my hat !”

 “Quelchy !”

 “Cave !”

 The Bounder of Greyfriars, dishevelled and enraged, struggled from the hands of the raggers.

 “What does this mean ?” thundered Mr. Quelch.

 “If—if you please, sir—”

 “Where is Monsieur Charpentier ?”

 “He’s gone out, sir.”

 “Tell me what has happened, Wharton ?”

 Wharton hesitated a moment.

 “Somebody was cheeky to Mossoo, sir,” he said, “and—and he went out.  We thought we ought to keep discipline in the Form-room, sir.”

“Oh !”  Mr. Quelch almost gasped.  “Is this what you call discipline ?  But I think I understand, Wharton, and I have not the slightest doubt that the punishment has been well placed.  Go back to your seats !”

The Remove resumed their seats.  Vernon-Smith sat quivering with rage, and squirming most uncomfortably from side to side.  It was ten minutes or more before the French-master returned, looking very pale, but composed at last, and the lesson finished very quietly.

Vernon Smith gave the chums of the Remove a look like a demon as he passed out of the Form-room.

“You can come over into the gym., if you like !” Harry Wharton said disdainfully.

  But the Bounder did not like.

 

Picture credit: The Magnet.

  

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