October 2012
William George Bunter gazed in awe war at the good things contained in Vernon-Smith's study cupboard. Having ascertained that Smithy had gone to hand in his lines to their form-master, Mr. Quelch, Bunter knew that the bounder would be off the scene long enough for him to snaffle the comestibles Smithy had laid in for the study feast he was holding that evening.
The Fat Owl of the Remove knew that there would be plenty of provender for the feast, Vernon-Smith being a millionaire's son, and his study was always a land flowing with milk and honey, so to speak. Even so, Billy Bunter was astounded at of the vast expanse of cakes, and joints of ham, sausages and all manner of wonders in the food line that greeted his eyes.
However he knew he would have to make off with the horde quickly as Smithy wouldn't be kept in Quelch's study for ever and sadly whenever tuck went missing in the Remove form, Bunter was always the prime suspect. Bunter had overheard however that Quelch intended to give the bounder a 'royal jaw' about his suspected reprehensible habits of smoking and playing cards in the studies and even worse of going out of bounds after 'lights out' to disreputable pubs to meet even more disreputable bookies. Therefore Bunter grabbed as much as he could carry and as much as he could cram into his pockets and beat a hasty retreat.
Unfortunately he ran from the study almost into the arms of the last person he wanted to meet, Herbert Vernon-Smith, the Bounder of Greyfriars!
'You podgy pirate, where did you get all that grub?' cried the Bounder.
'Oh – er – hello, Smithy,' gasps the Fat Owl, 'I – I – I've just carried Coker of the fifth's hamper to his study and – and – he said I could help myself for – for obliging him.' 'You've certainly helped yourself alright by the looks of it, old fat man. Here let me give you a hand.'
'Oh no, no, that's quite all right Smithy. I can manage. Anyway, I thought Quelch was going to jaw you about your behaviour,' Bunter added peevishly.
'By gum, so long as they make keyholes to doors, no secrets are safe from you, fatty.'
'Oh really, Smithy,' Bunter replied.
'Just a minute,' said Smithy, suddenly on the alert. 'Where did you say you got that grub?'
'From a hamper my Uncle Carter sent me,' gasped Bunter.
'I thought you said it was from Coker's hamper,' snapped Vernon-Smith.
'Oh, that's right, it was from Carter of the fifth's hamper – er, I mean my Uncle Coker, that he – look here, Smithy, I can't stand here talking to you, I've got to see Quelch, I mean the Head.'
'Never mind Quelch or the Head or Coker or Uncle Carter or Lord Bunter de Grunter, they can all wait. That grub was ordered by me from Chonkley's Stores as you no doubt know, it was for a study feast to celebrate our winning the junior football championship, to which you naturally weren't invited,' snarled the Bounder, whilst holding the tuck-raider's hair in his fingers.
'Ow – wow – wow, leggo you beast,' howled Bunter, 'if you kick me again, I can jolly well say yarooh.'
Bunter's eloquence was somewhat curtailed by a series of kicks from Smithy on his ample posterior, as the foodstuffs were perforce scattered right and left with the force of the Bounder's attack.
'Just let me catch you anywhere near my study cupboard in the next twenty four hours and I'll kick you the length of the Remove passage and back, and I'll bang your head against the wall too like this.' And the Bounder suited the action to the word, which elicited another series of howls from the owl of the Remove. Bunter, to give him his due, did not often bear grudges but this time he felt he was justified in seeking revenge. A plan was beginning to form in his fat brain. Later that night after 'lights out' in the Remove dormitory one bed was empty. As Bunter had ascertained earlier from his eavesdropping on Vernon-Smith and his study mate Redwing's conversation, if the Bounder was going out on the tiles to the Three Fishers pub.
Normally Bunters snores would have welcomed the echoes but this night he was determined to stay awake. As he was still smarting from Smithy's heavy handed (and footed) punishment for his misdemeanours, this was not as difficult as it might otherwise have been.
When he was sure that Smithy had tiptoed out of the dormitory and was on his way to exit the building via the box-room window, Bunter crept over to the Bound's bed and proceeded to empty the contents of a bag which he had managed to conceal beneath his own bed.
He proceeded to pour gum, soot and ashes from the chimney and ink all over them and Smithy's bed sheet. Let the Bounder try and sleep in that when he came back from his blackguarding!
Suddenly Bunter heard a footfall only a few feet away from where he was standing in the dark. He must have been so far involved in 'shipping' Smithy's bed that he didn't hear the dormitory door silently open.
Suppose Quelch or a prefect had heard a noise and come to investigate! The next thing Bunter knew was that someone approached Smithy's bed and lit a match.
'Enjoying yourself, old fat man?' the silhouetted figure enquired.
'Oh, it's you, Smithy. I thought it was Quelch, I thought you'd gone out of bounds. What are you doing back so soon?'
'Sorry to spoil your fun, you fat villain, but I heard a couple of prefects on the next landing and decided discretion was the better part of valour.
'So you found out as well that I was breaking bounds tonight and decided to take the opportunity of exacting your revenge, what?'
'Oh – no – no, Smithy. I – I heard a noise and got up and saw that that someone had given you an apple pie bed.'
'I rather suspect that the someone who did it is standing right next to me and I fancy that as they so kindly made up the bed, they can jolly well sleep in it themselves.'
'Oh no, I wouldn't do that Smithy. I – I like you too much. I don't think you're a purse-proud blackguard, like the other fellows do.
'Get in the bed or I'll thrash you like you deserve, and judging by the row you will no doubt make that will bring every master and prefect within earshot here. Do you want to explain to them how my bed got into the mess?'
Had Bunter not being frightened out of his wits, he might have wondered how Smithy would have explained his being fully dressed in the middle of the night.
So it was that Bunter reluctantly crawled into the inky, sooty, pasty bed that Vernon-Smith was to have got into unawares, while the Bounder spent a much more comfortable night in Bunters bed. Once again Bunter found that the way of the transgressor was hard.