Read Online Billy Bunter of Greyfriars School and Billy Bunter's ... by Frank Richards - Free Book Online Page B

I
slack at games. If I get into Remove games, it will make a big difference. Good
in class and good at games—that’s the idea! Mens sankey in corpus sancho —you
know what I mean.”
“Ha, ha, ha!” roared Wharton. “Do you mean mens ana in corpore sano ?”
“No, I don’t,” snapped Bunter. “I mean what I say— mens sankey in corpus
sancho . You can’t teach me Latin, Wharton.”
“I’d rather not try,” said Harry, laughing. “That’s Quelch’s job—and I wish him
joy of it. Now you’re finished—.”
“That’s where I want your help. You’ve often said that I slack at games—just
like Quelch. You needn’t deny it— you have!”
“Guilty, my lord.”
“Well, what I want is a chance,” said Bunter. “You needn’t give me a place in
the team for Highcliffe—.”
“Thanks! I won’t.”
“I prefer to play in a Home match,” explained Bunter. “I want Quelch’s eye on
me. St. Jim’s will be coming over soon, and Carcroft, and Sparshott, and
Topham—well. I’m not particular which match I play in—I’ll leave that to you,”
said Bunter, generously. “Put me in one fairly soon, that’s all.”
“Ha, ha, ha!” roared Wharton.
“What are you cackling at?” demanded Bunter.
“Your little joke.”
“I’m not joking—!” howled Bunter.
“Your mistake: you are!” Wharton assured him. “Now roll away and be funny in
some other study. I really want to go over this list before nets.”
“Are you going to put me down for a Remove match or not?” demanded Bunter.
“Not!”
“If I make a good show, it will help to keep Quelch quiet. You see that?”
argued Bunter. “This isn’t a time for paltry jealousy of a better man, Harry
Wharton. Put that right aside for once.”
“You howling ass—!”
“The sooner the better,” said Bunter. “I want to get on Quelch’s right
side—delays are dangerous, you know. If he sees my name on the cricket list, he
will sit up and take notice.”
“I’ll bet he would!” chuckled Wharton.
“Well, will you put my name down for the next cricket match at home—?”
“Hardly!”
“Quelch would see me play—!”
“We can’t chuck cricket matches away, simply to provide Quelch with a funny
entertainment.”
“You silly ass!” roared Bunter. “I can play your head off, and chance it. Mind,
I don’t want to be a regular member of the eleven. I haven’t time. But I want
to play in the next home game, to keep Quelch quiet, see? That’s the  important
point. I suppose you don’t think your dashed cricket is so important as my
staying on at Greyfriars——!”
“More!”
“Beast!”
“But I’ll tell you what I’ll do for you,” said Harry. He rose from the table,
and put the cricket list in his pocket. ‘If you’re keen on cricket—.”
“Frightfully keen!” assured Bunter.
“Well, I’ll see that you don’t cut nets, I’ll back you up all along the line in
getting lots of practice—.”
“I don’t need the practice you do!” said Bunter, disdainfully. “The fact is, I
can’t come down today—I’ve got a pain in my leg—.”
“Which leg?”
“I forget—I mean, the right leg. A pain like a burning dagger,” said Bunter. “A
touch of plumbago, I think—there’s a lot of plumbago in my family. Otherwise
I’d come like a—a shot. But with this bad wrist—.”
“A bad wrist as well as a bad leg?”
“I mean this bad leg! With this bad leg, I should only be in the way,” said
Bunter. “You can explain to Wingate if he asks why I’m not there.”
Harry Wharton chuckled. Bunter, apparently, was on the path of reform. But he
had not progressed very far along that thorny path. He was still the same old
Bunter.
The door of No. 1 Study was hurled open, a sturdy figure in flannels appeared
in the doorway, and Bob Cherry’s ruddy face looked in. He had a bat under his
arm.
“Hallo, hallo, hallo!” roared Bob. “Time you changed, if you’re not going to be
late, old scout.”
“Right-ho! Come on,