# Little Mr Bouncer and His Friend Verdant Green/Chapter 20

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CHAPTER XX.
LITTLE MR. BOUNCER IS GRATIFIED TO FIND THAT DR. DUSTACRE HAS MADE A SLIGHT MISTAKE.
TRUGGLING and kicking, and with his hat knocked off, little Mr. Bouncer, uttering a few powerful Saxon expletives, was forced into the car. By compulsion he was hoisted there into by the burly, broad-shouldered individual who had been addressed by the name of Brand, and who quickly followed Mr. Bouncer, and took a seat opposite to him. The clerical-looking gentleman, with the raven-beaked nose and gold-mounted spectacles, nimbly jumped in after them, shut to the door, popped his head through the window, cried "All right! drive on! lose no time!" and then, turning to Mr. Bouncer, by the side of whom he had seated him self, said, in the most affable manner, "Excuse my apparent rudeness; but I am so very anxious to have the pleasure of your company; and this is a lovely day for a drive. How beautiful the play of light and shade is on the side of that wood!"
But Mr. Bouncer sulkily replied, "Bother the play of light and shade! I want to know what 's the ​meaning of all this, and what game you chaps are up to."
"Pray don't agitate yourself," said the gentleman in spectacles; "it is only a drive to do you good."
But Mr. Bouncer could not see the transaction in this light, and did not approve of being rapidly whirled away, a captive in the old bald-pate's car, sitting knee to knee with a burly individual who appeared to be prepared to pounce upon him if he gave the slightest evidence of attempting resistance or escape. What would the three inmates of the car have felt, or said, had they known that young Mr. Winstanley had watched the whole scene of Mr. Bouncer's abduction, and, from his covert of shrubs in the plantation, was, even then, chuckling with joy as he gazed upon the lessening shape of the four-wheeled chaise as it grew smaller in the distance, until a bend in the road removed it out of sight! When he had witnessed this, young Winstanley executed a species of wild fandango, as a pas d'extase, expressive of his unbounded satisfaction at what he had seen; and then leaving the covert of the box and berberis and laurels that composed the undergrowth of the plantation, calmed his outward deportment to its ordinary seeming, and returned, placidly, across the small park to the Woodlands.
When he got there, he said to the footman, "Has the gentleman gone?"
"Dr. Dustacre, sir?"
Young Winstanley nodded an affirmative.
"Yes, sir; he let himself out, sir. Leastways, I suppose Mr. Bouncer let him out; for I saw them walking towards the lodge together. That was more than a quarter of an hour ago."
​"Then Mr. Bouncer is not in the house now?"
"No, sir; he has not yet returned."
"I think I should like to see him when he comes in: I shall be in the study. Perhaps you will send him to me?"
"Yes, sir."
Whereupon young Winstanley, who had looked quite grave during the brief colloquy, walked into the study, shut the door, and then, throwing himself into the easy chair in which Mr. Bouncer had sat during his interview with Dr. Dustacre, burst into laughter, which was none the less hearty because it was noiseless.
While Simon Pure was thus enjoying his brief time of victory, his innocent victim was being whirled on in the four-wheeled chaise to the Barham Station, sitting in uncomfortable proximity to the burly, broad-shouldered individual who had hoisted him, by main force, into the vehicle. When Mr. Bouncer was enabled to look at this person more closely, it struck him that, both in appearance and costume, he was very like a bailiff. Now, the only bailiff with whom the little gentleman had any sort of an acquaintance, was Dibbs, his own farm-bailiff in Herefordshire. But Dibbs, although he was burly, and had broad shoulders, conveyed to the spectator's mind a very different impression to that left upon it by a survey of the individual who was now Mr. Bouncer's vis-à-vis. This person seemed to belong to the class of obnoxious people who tap impecunious gentlemen on their shoulders, and show them slips of paper in which the name of her Majesty is brought forward in an unpleasant manner. Mr. Bouncer had a general idea of this particular kind of bailiff, whose official duty it is to arrest debtors; but, happily, he had not hitherto formed ​their acquaintance. Perhaps that uncomfortable experience (so it struck him) was now to be his.
It is said that drowning men can review the deeds of a lifetime in a minute, and that, in a few moments of acute danger, the actions of many years pass swiftly through the brain, as though made visible in a rapidly rolled out panorama. Certainly little Mr. Bouncer, in less time than it would have taken to utter the words, thought to himself—or, as he phrased it, "deeply pondering, like those old classical Greek parties,"—that certain events in his college career might be turned against him in an unpleasant manner. Glancing mentally at these, as he looked into the face of the burly, broad-shouldered individual, he said to himself—I know that I have a great amount of ticks—a fearful lot I 'm afraid; but I 've never been pressed for them, and I had no fear of running a horrid mucker. Yet I seem to be in Queer Street. Is this old bald-pate some species of attorney? They often wear black togs and white chokers. If so, he has got his bailiff in attendance, and has, perhaps, come to arrest me, and carry me off to the limbo of a debtor's prison. If that's their game, although they are two to one, I must show fight, and demand an explanation. I am not going to be pulled up without a struggle.
These thoughts rapidly coursed through Mr. Bouncer's brain; and, acting upon the idea that they conveyed to him, that he was being arrested for unpaid debts, and was being clandestinely conveyed to a sponging-house, of which his two companions were, respectively, the proprietor and gaoler, he turned to the bald-pated gentleman, and asked, "Do I owe you any money?"
"Owe me money?" repeated Dr. Dustacre.
​"Yes," replied Mr. Bouncer; "owe money. You know what owing money means, don't you? Have you any ticks in my name; because, if so, you had better say so at once. I can refer you to Stump and Rowdy, my bankers; and, I daresay, they 'll soon make it all square with you."
Thought the Doctor—Poor young man! his head wanders sadly! But he replied, "Pray do not agitate yourself, my dear young friend."
"Oh," said Mr. Bouncer, with scorn, "you need n't come the dear young friend dodge with me! I daresay you get your fifty per cent.; and, no doubt, you propose to take half of it out in bad pictures and worse claret! If you want me to fork out for anything that you 've got against me, I daresay Stump and Rowdy can find the cash, without my having to go to the Jews for it." Little Mr. Bouncer put in this home-thrust, because, in connection with the ideas to which he was giving expression, it suddenly occurred to him that his unknown bald-pated companion, with the very prominent nose, had something of the Hebrew in his countenance.
Dr. Dustacre was about to reply, as best he might, to Mr. Bouncer's observation, when there clattered past them a mail-phaeton and pair, driven by a young gentleman, beside whom an older gentleman was seated. Mr. Bouncer spied them at once, and quickly thrusting his head out of the window, before the broad-shouldered man could prevent the act, shouted, lustily, "Hoi! Smalls! stop! pull up! Bouncer! prisoner!" He was unable to say more that was audible to the occupants of the mail-phaeton, as the burly individual who had been addressed as Brand forcibly pulled him back to his seat.
​But both the Mr. Smalls had recognized his voice, and the mail-phaeton had been at once pulled up; while Mr. Smalls, in his turn, stood up, and shouted to the cab-driver, "Stop! there is some mistake!"
At the same moment, Dr. Dustacre had put his head out of the window of the chaise, and, with his gold-headed ebony cane, had tapped the driver on his arm, and told him to pull up. "I fear," said the Doctor, turning to Mr. Bouncer, "that there is a slight mistake."
​"I have not the slightest doubt of it, old cock," replied the little gentleman.
As soon as Dr. Dustacre had arrived at the conclusion that there must be a slight mistake, the end had virtually arrived of what Peter Quince would have called "the most lamentable comedy," or of what old Polonius would have termed the "tragical-comical" piece, that had been unconsciously enacted, with little Mr. Bouncer and the Doctor for the two chief performers. Mr. Smalls was the deus ex machinâ whose arrival on the scene released the hero of the piece from the predicament in which he had so unexpectedly been placed, and the dénouement had now been reached when the principal characters must say a few words before they are hidden by the fall of the curtain.
The younger Mr. Smalls had pulled up, wheeled round his pair of horses, and reined them in by the side of the chaise. He was the first to speak, and his words broke the spell that had held Dr. Dustacre enthralled. "Hallo, Bouncer! who 'd have thought of seeing you? Where are you off to?"
"That 's just what I want to know! These two people seem to have taken a fancy to me. Whether it 's kidnapping or imprisonment I shall be glad to be told."
While these words were being uttered by little Mr. Bouncer, whose head appeared at that window of the chaise which was nearest to the mail-phaeton, Dr. Dustacre had let himself out at the opposite door, and had gone round to the elder Mr. Smalls, with whom he exchanged a few words that were abundantly sufficient to clear up the mistake under which he lay. He advanced to the side of the chaise at which Mr. Bouncer's head appeared, made the little gentleman a most profound ​bow, opened the chaise door for him to step out, and said, "Mr. Bouncer, I ought to have believed you when you told me your name; but I construed your words to mean what, in vulgar parlance, is called 'a bouncer;' and I thought that you were purposely deceiving me. I owe you more apologies than I can express, and I know not how sufficiently to ask your pardon. Through a series of misconceptions, I arrived at the conclusion that you were the young Mr. Winstanley whom Mr. Smalls is entrusting, for a time, to my care as a patient; and, in point of fact, I was escorting you to my house for that purpose. I beg you ten thousand pardons for the mistake I have so stupidly made, and also for any inconvenience to which I may have put you. Any reparation that I can make, or any apology that you think fit to require, shall be most cheerfully proffered to you."
Little Mr. Bouncer cut short the Doctor's speech by laughter that could not be controlled. He was not only the essence of good-nature, but was also keenly alive to a joke; and the absurdity of the scene through which he had passed was too much for his feelings, as he thought how he and the Doctor had been mutually deceived. The sight of the Doctor standing bowing to him and revealing glimpses of his bald ostrich-egg-looking head, and then covering it up again with his hat, as though he were performing a juggling trick, moved Mr. Bouncer's risible faculties. "It 's as good as a play," he managed to say, between his bursts of laughter; "the richest thing I 've known for a long time! Forgive you? Of course I do, sir! You 've got the worst of the joke, I think; for you 've had all your trouble for nothing. I 'm quite right, and have no need ​to be your patient. Though, perhaps, I 'm not quite as wise as a judge, yet I 'm thankful to say that I 've my wits about me, and have not got a tile off; or, as they say down in my part of the country—I 've got all my buttons on, and they 're all shanked."
Mr. Bouncer's laughter was infectious. Mr. Smalls and his son joined in it; the cabman grinned; the broad-shouldered Brand chuckled; and even the solemn bird-like face of Dr. Dustacre was transiently lit up by a wan smile. He murmured profuse thanks, and then conferred with the Squire. His going on to Barham to meet the train by which he had desired to return, was now out of the question. He must go back to the Woodlands and there see the real Simon Pure; and, if it should be found needful, take him to Barham by a later train. This plan was, therefore, adopted. The broad-shouldered Brand mounted the driving-seat of the chaise, into which the Squire and Dr. Dustacre entered, in order to talk over young Winstanley's case; while little Mr. Bouncer and his friend Mr. Smalls drove back in the mail-phaeton, Mr. Bouncer giving his friend a graphic description of the scene that had occurred, and the impressions he had received during his interview and walk and drive with "the old bald-pate." "I think," added Mr. Bouncer, "that he began to be afraid I should pull him up for assault and battery. If so, the old cove has had a greater fright from me than I had from him. So, it 's about square between us."
Luncheon followed their arrival at the Woodlands, and the Squire contrived that his nephew, Tom Winstanley, should not escape from an interview with the Doctor. The result of that interview was, that it was deemed expedient to place the Squire's nephew, for a ​period, under the Doctor's care; and, by four o'clock, the chaise was again at the door, and Winstanley was the companion of Dr. Dustacre and Brand, to meet the five o'clock train at Barham. He went quite willingly; and, as we shall not again meet with him in this history, it may here be said, that, under the Doctor's skilful care and judicious treatment, he returned to the Woodlands, perfectly restored to health, in time to see his cousin before he went back to Oxford at the end of the Long Vacation.
The Squire was very pleased with Mr. Bouncer. As they sat together, after dinner, he said, "You let the Doctor off lightly. You might, as you say, have had him up for assault and battery; though it would have been rather awkward for me, if you had asked me, as a magistrate, to grant the warrant."
"I 'll warrant you would n't have granted it, if I had asked for it," said Mr. Bouncer.
So this episode in Mr. Bouncer's life ended with a laugh, and was treated as a joke.