Billy Bunter of Greyfriars School and Billy Bunter's ... by Frank Richards

contained only sixty
seconds. But they seemed to crawl by on leaden feet.
Billy Bunter was not bright. He was not quick on the uptake. But he sensed
something unusual in the atmosphere. He had a feeling of deep disquiet. He did
not understand the expression on Quelch’s face. He could not guess of what the
Remove master was thinking, as he sat silent, with his gimlet-eyes almost
boring into that fat member of his form.
Bunter did not know why he had been sent for. But be had too many sins on his
fat conscience, to be able to feel easy in his mind.
Had Quelch told him to bend over, and handed out “six”, it would have been very
unpleasant, but Bunter would have understood. He had been there before, so to
speak. Had Quelch given him a “royal jaw”, it would have been disagreeable but
normal: the sort of thing that often happened. But why Quelch sat regarding him
in grim and thoughtful silence, Bunter did not know, and could
guess, and it made him very uneasy. Matters were as usual: something was going
to happen.
Only a minute—merely sixty brief seconds—but it seemed quite an age to Bunter,
before Mr. Quelch spoke at last. Even then he did not speak angrily. Somehow or
other, Bunter would have felt more assured if he had. It would have been more
natural!
“Bunter!” His voice was quiet: almost mild. “I told you, on the day you evaded
detention, that I should consider the matter—that I should consider it very
carefully. I have done so.”
Quelch paused. Bunter concluded that he had paused, like Brutus, for a reply.
So he weighed in,
“T-thank you, sir! M-mum-may I go now?”
Quelch did not reply to that question. He did not seem even to hear it. He
regarded Bunter still with that thoughtful gaze.
“I have come to the conclusion, Bunter, that you are wasting your time here—and
my time. You are lazy, idle, greedy, undutiful, slack in class and slack at
games— in no respect whatever a credit to this school.”
Bunter blinked at him.
He was quite taken by surprise. He had had, perhaps, a vague idea that Quelch
did not entertain a high opinion of him. But this was altogether too thick.
“Me, sir!” he ejaculated.
“Your stupidity,” said Mr. Quelch, “I can excuse—I can make allowance for that.
But your idleness—your slackness—your incorrigible untruthfulness—these are
faults that you could amend, if you chose. You are a disgrace to your form,
Bunter.”
“Not me, sir!” gasped Bunter. “Perhaps you’re mixing me up with some other
fellow, sir.”
“What?”
“I—I mean, perhaps you’re thinking of Wharton, sir, or Cherry—or—or Nugent—or
Toddy—!” stammered Bunter.
“That you are the most obtuse boy in the Remove, is not perhaps your fault,”
went on Mr. Quelch, regardless. “Yet you could make some effort, Bunter, if you
chose to do so. Your idleness is phenomenal. Your preparation is always
neglected—your construe invariably bad. You  are consistently inattentive in
class—you have even,” said Mr. Quelch, in a very deep voice, “gone to sleep in
class.’
“Oh, no, sir! I—I listen so much better with my eyes shut—.”
“If you compensated for slackness in class by keenness at games, some excuse
could be found for you,” said Mr. Quelch. “But you are frequently punished for
evading games practice—only last week the Head of the Games punished you for
this—.”
“I—I had a pain sir,” mumbled Bunter. “I—I told Wingate I had a touch of
plumbago, sir—.”
“Frequently,” said Mr. Quelch, “your greediness has caused you to purloin food
from other boys’ studies—.”
“If you mean the jam, sir, it wasn’t Smithy’s—and—and that cake wasn’t
Wharton’s—.”
“Lines and detentions, even canings, seem to effect no improvement.” said Mr.
Quelch. “You are incorrigible, Bunter. Greyfriars School is no place for a boy
who has proved incorrigible.”
Bunter jumped.
His eyes grew round behind his spectacles. Was the awful beast hinting at