September 2010
William Wibley, the erstwhile President, Principal Actor and general leading light of the Remove Dramatic Society was busily engaged in a shopping expedition for provender to celebrate the forthcoming opening of his new play. All of the former members of the RDS, including Harry Wharton & Co., Herbert Vernon Smith and Lord Maleverer were invited and some others of the Remove or Lower 4th form of Greyfriars, with one notable exception.
Busily engaged in selecting from the foodstuffs on display at the food counters of Fortnum & Mason, Wibley didn’t notice a bespectacled, rather plump young man making his way towards him.
“I say, Wibley, it’s me – Bunter. Do you remember me?”
“How could I forget you, you fat ass?” groaned Wib.
“Oh, really, Wibley. I say, you’re buying quite a lot of tuck, aren’t you? Is it for a party or something?” The fat owl’s eyes fairly beamed behind his thick spectacles at the wondrous provender in Wibley’s basket; hams, smoked salmon, meringues, éclairs and cakes of every description.
“Actually it’s for a blow-out after the Premiere of my new play tonight at the Adelphi.”
There seemed to be no harm in telling Billy Bunter about the purpose of the food, as there was little chance of him gate-crashing the party. Also, Wib was no shy violet when it came to boasting of his theatrical achievements.
“Any chance of me coming along, Wib? I . . . I may just happen to be in the area tonight.”
“You haven’t changed in five years, have you, you fat villain? Still attracted to other fellows’ grub.”
“Oh, really, Wibley. I hope I’m not the sort of chap who only thinks of food.”
“Oh, my hat, hopeful chap is our Bunter. No, sorry, old fat man, can’t be done this time. Entrance to the function-room is strictly by invitation only and all the tickets have been allocated.”
“Beast! I mean, dear old chap. I say, don’t walk away when a fellow’s talking to you.”
Later that evening, following the first performance of Wibley’s play, which, it has to be said, was not an unqualified success on its opening night, Wibley and his guests were chatting behind the stage, before making their way to the First Night Party in Wib’s dressing room.
“You’ll never guess who I bumped into when I was out shopping for tonight’s little bean feast – Billy Bunter!” said Wibley.
“No! – really.” exclaimed Bob Cherry, arm in arm with his fiancé Marjorie Hazledean, Peter Hazeldean’s sister and former classmate of Billy’s sister, Bessie.
“So, that fat slacker’s still around, eh? I hope you didn’t invite him tonight, Wib?”
“No, don’t worry; even if he got in backstage somehow, he couldn’t get into the dressing room without a ticket.”
“Thank goodness for that.” said Harry Wharton, the former Captain of the Remove. “We wouldn’t get a look-in with the tuck!”
“Anyway, talking of tuck, why don’t we adjourn to the feast? I assure you there’s more than enough to go round, especially as there’s no Bunter to hog it.”
So it was that the merry playgoers made their way to Wib’s dressing room, where upon entering, Frank Nugent uttered just one word: “Bunter!”
The rest of the fellows followed him in and beheld the sight of William George Bunter reclining more or less elegantly in an armchair and devouring cake after cake at an alarming rate.
“You podgy pirate, how did you get in?”
“Oh, er, hello, you fellows. I just turned up in a Greyfriars tie and said to the Stage Manager chap that I thought you wouldn’t mind my starting on the grub while I was waiting. I’ve left you a couple of éclairs.”
“You pervious porker.” Screamed Wibley, Come on, you fellows, let’s kick him out of the theatre.”
Thus it was that Bunter once again found that the way of the transgressor was hard and the Removites discovered that the five years since he left Greyfriars had not improved his manners or customs.
It was the same old Bunter.