# Little Mr Bouncer and His Friend Verdant Green/Chapter 5

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CHAPTER V.
LITTLE MR. BOUNCER GIVES A BREAKFAST PARTY.
ERE are the notes, Giglamps," said little Mr. Bouncer, as he re-entered his friend's room at Brazenface, on his return from the interview with the Hon. Blucher Boots. "I had a squeeze to get them for the fellow cut up rather rusty. But here they are, and joy go with them."
"Oh, thank you, so much!" cried Verdant Green, heartily, as he once more handled the three five-pound notes that had been entrusted to the charge of the son of Lord Balmoral. "You are a real friend. What can I do to repay you?"
"Why you can do this," replied Mr. Bouncer. "In the first place, you must cut that fellow's acquaintance; he 's a bad lot, and will do you no good. In the second place, you must give me your word and honour, as a Brazenface man, that you 'll never bet again in a similar way."
Verdant Green readily gave the required promise.
"I 'm not over wise myself in some things," continued the little gentleman; "especially in reading and all that, and in those sort of things that the Examiners stump ​you with at the beastly Examinations. My first years must have been passed in healthful play, and not in books and works, as Dr. Whats-his-name says; and, I daresay, that what you call the intellectual faculties had n't a fair chance, and were kept dormouse, and all that sort of thing. But, in other things, I 'm wide awake and up to snuff, and not quite such a fool as I look; and I 'm wise enough to know that if you take to betting on horse-racing—of which you know no more than a kitten, and especially with men like Blucher Boots—you 'll soon make ducks and drakes with your money, and will go to the bad like a house a-fire. If you want to do it at all, it 's quite sufficient to keep to a little mild betting at Van John and Three-card Loo; not but what you may overdo that. But, as for horse-racing, keep clear of it, old fellow; and, if you take his advice in that particular, you 'll bless yours truly, Henry Bouncer. And now, I vote we do some bitters. My throat 's rather dry with so much speechifying."
So little Mr. Bouncer holloa'd "Robert!" and on Mr. Filcher's appearance ordered him to bring them a big pewter of that Buttery ale for which the College of Brazenface has a deserved reputation. "That 's the stuff to make your hair curl," he said, as he reluctantly took his lips away from the pewter. "Who was the cove who sang something about dipping his beak in the Gascon wine? Here, Giglamps; you dip your beak in that, and it will do you more good than any Gascon wine."
"I can't help thinking how kind you have been to me," said Verdant, who was now looking more cheerful than he had done when his friend had first entered the ​room on that morning. It was evident that the "blue funk" had nearly cleared away, and that the Freshman, having worked himself up to a state of feverish anxiety, was now experiencing the delightful sensation of unexpected relief.
"There! never mind about the kindness," replied Mr. Bouncer. "We 'll say no more about it. But, don't you ever bet on horse-racing again—more particularly with Blucher Boots."
"Indeed, I never will. This has been a lesson to me."
And it was something more than that; for this little episode in his life's history greatly helped to cement the friendship that Mr. Verdant Green already felt for little Mr. Bouncer. It showed him that, under all his peculiarities of language and manner, Mr. Bouncer was a person who was capable of giving him good advice and was ready to keep him from falling into those snares and temptations that beset every young man on his entrance into life, and none more so than a home-nurtured, inexperienced youth who is suddenly removed from a well-ordered household to the mixed society of a throng of undergraduates, in a beautiful city where he can freely procure all that he desires without troubling himself to think of present payment.
A fortnight after, when the memory of The Knight and the book on the Derby was beginning to fade from Mr. Verdant Green's mind, little Mr. Bouncer entering his room with a newspaper in his hand, said, "Giglamps, old fellow! your dark horse has been scratched."
"How cruel of them! why did they scratch it?" asked the Freshman.
"Oh, you sweet innocent!" laughed Mr. Bouncer. "The Knight's name has been scratched out of the list ​of horses for the Derby; so your fifteen pounds would n't have made your fortune. However, there was a good end to that business; and we 'll let bygones alone. What a splendiferous weedcase this is!" he said, as he took a cigar out of a blue velvet case that had been presented to him by Verdant Green, as a souvenir of the Blucher Boots transactions. "I think I was the only gainer by your book on the Derby."
"I gained experience and a lesson for life," said Verdant.
"So you did; and that 's worth something," replied Mr. Bouncer.
The days went by, and the end of the Term had arrived; but Mr, Verdant Green had not received another invitation to breakfast with Mr. Blucher Boots, nor had Lord Balmoral's son in any way condescended to notice him; in fact, when he next met him in the High Street he stared him full in the face, and cut him dead; the which Verdant by no means took sadly to heart, but ate his dinner that day in Hall as heartily as usual. But if he did not further cultivate an acquaintance with the Hon. Blucher Boots, he had made other friendships that would be more agreeable to him; and on the last morning but one of the summer Term he found himself at a breakfast party in little Mr. Bouncer's rooms, in company with his old friend Charles Larkyns, Mr. Flexible Shanks, Mr. Smalls, Mr. Blades, Mr. Fosbrooke, and others—in all a goodly company, blessed with good appetites and animal spirits. Perhaps there are no breakfasts more enjoyable than a College breakfast at the close of a Term, when the guests have not to run away to Lectures, and to prematurely part with their provisions in order to assume a forced acquaintanceship with Greek ​and Latin writers, or, still worse, with Euclid and mixed mathematics. On the present occasion, at little Mr. Bouncer's breakfast, they were able to partake of the good things provided for the occasion, and to linger over them with pleasurable zest.
The table presented the usual medley of eatables and drinkables, in which coffee and beer-cup, chickens and claret-cup, moselle and pigeon-pie, mutton cutlets and sardines, curaçoa and potted char, beef-steaks and grilled fish, cocoa and caviar, devilled kidneys and omelettes, anchovy toast and sangaree, found a place among various other refreshments, both heavy and light, that were fast disappearing before the attacks of the bevy of hungry undergraduates. Through the open windows was caught a glimpse of the City of Colleges, bathed in the radiant streams of summer sunshine, every turreted tower and soaring spire standing out clear and sharp against the blue sky. The grand avenue of limes for which Brazenface is celebrated, was filled with a murmur of bees. Below was the smoothly-shaven turf in the centre of the Quad, with the Hall on the one side, the Chapel on the other, and on either hand the rows of mullioned, heavy-headed windows, at some of which the unaccustomed sight was seen of young girls peering into the court below—an unusual but pretty look-out at Brazenface. For it had been the Commemoration week, when the feminine element puts in a strong appearance in Oxford, and for a few days in the year enlivens the old grey colleges with pretty pictures of beauty and fashion, and brightens up the rooms of happy undergraduates, of learned tutors, of stately dons, and miserable Fellows, whose tantalising lot it is to look and admire, but not to marry, under pain of resigning their ​incomes. So at many windows there were pleasant visions of dimpled cheeks and rosy lips and flashing eyes, and through many a casement came the sound of girlish laughter; but these sights and sounds were absent from Mr. Bouncer's rooms.
"I could n't get the Mum and Fanny to come," he said, referring to his mother and sister; "though I held out, as an inducement, that I would introduce them to you, Giglamps. That will be a treat in store, won't it? You must come and see us during the Long at our little shop in the country." In another day the Long Vacation would begin; and just at the time when the chief ​portion of its population was about to run away from it, Oxford was looking at its best.
The confused talk at Mr. Bouncer's breakfast-table was somewhat settling down into more regular conversation, as pipes and cigars were lighted, and a perfumed cloud began to float through the room and mingle its scent with the aroma of coffee and spiced ale. Huz
and Buz were making themselves happy with platefuls of chicken-bones, and their master was lolling at his ease, with his legs stretched over the arm of his easy-chair. Verdant Green and the greater portion of the guests lingered at the table, while others looked out of the windows, enjoying a smoke and the prospect—the latter including pleasant glimpses of the young ladies who appeared at the opened windows of rooms whose owners were, in that respect, more fortunate than was little Mr. Bouncer.
But what was said on that occasion by himself and his friends must be told in another chapter.