Little Mr Bouncer and His Friend Verdant Green/Chapter 16
CHAPTER XVI.
LITTLE MR. BOUNCER FORMS THE ACQUAINTANCE OF DR. DUSTACRE.
THEIR way from the Poynton Station to the Woodlands, Mr. Smalls had given some particulars of his family to the friend who was going to be his father's guest, but who, as yet, had only known him at Brazenface as a College friend. His mother was dead; his elder brother was in the army; a younger one was in the merchant service; his eldest sister was married; his younger sister and two younger brothers were at school, and would not be at home for some weeks to come. Except his father and the servants, the only other inmate of the house, at that time, was a cousin—a son of the Squire's sister—Thomas Winstanley by name, who had been early left an orphan, and had been adopted by his uncle, who had educated him with his own children. Young Winstanley was now eighteen years of age.
"It is a very sad case," said Mr. Smalls to Mr. Bouncer, as he drove him from the Poynton Station to the Woodlands; "he used to be the nicest lad possible; bright and intelligent. But he had a fever; and, since then, softening of the brain, or something of that sort, has come on. He is quite harmless, though he is not quite right in his head. He fancies all sorts of things; forgets his own name; thinks that he has not been at my
"Poor fellow!" said Mr. Bouncer. "I understand; and I will try not to annoy him."
Then they reached the Woodlands and had a hearty welcome from Mr. Smalls, the Squire. "You must kindly take us just as we are, Mr. Bouncer," he said. "Circumstances, unfortunately, have prevented my asking friends to meet you. We dine in an hour. Perhaps you would like to see your room?" So, Mr. Bouncer went upstairs, under the escort of a man-servant.
"How 's poor Tom?" asked young Mr. Smalls of his father when they were left alone.
"Your cousin is much worse," replied the Squire. "During the last week he has developed fresh symptoms, and seems inclined to be unruly. I think it will be needful to put him under restraint for a time, and remove him to some place where he can be properly attended to. Johnson"—this was their surgeon's name—"is quite of that opinion. He says that in these mental diseases the very kindest and wisest course to pursue is to place the patient at once under the strictest medical surveillance; and that, in nine cases out often, the disease, when thus taken in time, can be very greatly alleviated, if not wholly cured. As poor Tom's guardian, I, of course, stand to him in loco parentis; and I am bound to care for him, as I would do for one of my own children."
"Of course; Tom is one of us, and we all look upon him as a brother. What does Johnson advise?"
"He agreed with me that it would be better to refer poor Tom's case to Dr. Dustacre; and I did so," replied the Squire.
"Who is Dr. Dustacre? I don't remember his name."
"No; you don't know him," said the Squire. "But he is a medical man of very much experience and skill in mental diseases. I used to know him, some years ago, when, as a magistrate, I had to visit the County Lunatic Asylum, of which he had then the management. Since that time he has had a private establishment at Fairford, which is very well spoken of, and where poor Tom, if it were needful for him to go there, would find all the home-comforts that he has been used to. I have interchanged one or two letters with Dr. Dustacre on this painful subject, and have suggested that he should come here and see poor Tom. I daresay there will be a letter from him in the morning, to make an appointment. I am sorry that this should occur at the time of your friend's visit; but I hope that Mr. Bouncer will not allow it to interfere with any little amusement that he may be able to find at the Woodlands. Does he know about poor Tom?"
"Yes; as we came along from Poynton, I told him all that it was needful for him to know."
"Then, nothing more need be said on the subject in his presence. It is useless to obtrude upon him a painful family business in which he can have no personal interest, and in which he cannot render any aid."
As Mr. Smalls quite agreed with his father on this point no mention was made, that evening, to Mr. Bouncer, of young Tom Winstanley, who failed to put in an appearance at dinner, preferring to take that meal in his own room, where he could not be watched by the eyes of a stranger.
The letter-bag was not delivered at the Woodlands until after breakfast-time. It brought, the next morning, the expected letter from Dr. Dustacre to Mr. Smalls; and stated that he would pay a visit to the Woodlands on that day, and would take a conveyance from the Poynton Station, which he presumed would be his nearest point.
"So it is," said the Squire, to his son, as they talked together in the study, little Mr. Bouncer not being present. "Geographically speaking, Poynton is certainly our nearest station; but Dr. Dustacre is not aware that no vehicle of any description can be obtained there. Barham Station is the point that he ought to make for. There is nothing for it but to meet him at Poynton. I should think he would be there by the twelve-thirty-five train. You had better drive me; and then we can talk over matters with the Doctor without a servant listening to what we say. I daresay your friend, Mr. Bouncer, will excuse our absence, and we shall not be away long."
Mr. Smalls the younger therefore sought out his college friend and said, "My father wants me to drive him over to the Poynton Station on a matter connected with poor Tom. I hope you won't mind me leaving you for two or three hours. We shall be back to luncheon."
"Pray don't mind me. I 'll make myself happy, and poke about, and have a look over the premises," replied Mr. Bouncer.
So the two Mr. Smalls, father and son, drove off to the Poynton Station; and Mr. Bouncer lighted his pipe, and paid a visit to Huz and Buz, who were delighted to see him, and were still further pleased when he released them from the stable in which they had been penned, and took them with him for a stroll round the gardens and little park, which, from its fine and plentiful timber, justified the name of "The Woodlands" that had been given to the house. It was a fine summer's morning, and a quiet walk and meditative pipe under the shade of the wide-spreading trees was very agreeable to Mr. Bouncer and his canine pets. When he had brought his stroll to an end, and was passing by the house, he saw that he was furtively watched, from the window of the study, by a young man, whom he judged, and rightly so, to be Mr. Winstanley. Little Mr. Bouncer thought to himself, "I will go in and try to make friends with him." But when he had put Huz and Buz in their stable, and had returned to the house, he found the study deserted. Winstanley had seen him coming, and had crept out of doors into the garden through the open window.
The morning newspapers were on the table; so Mr. Bouncer concluded that he would have a look at them, and that, while he was doing so, young Winstanley would probably return. The atmosphere was warm, the chair was comfortable, the pipe that he had been smoking had exercised a soothing influence, and Mr. Bouncer found that the "Times" leader on the political crisis in Moldavia failed to convey to his mind any other feelings than those that invited slumber. He read dreamily through the well-phrased lines of exquisite English, and had just succeeded in dismissing Moldavia and its crisis to the realms of forgetfulness, when he was roused from his forty winks of sleep by some one entering the room.
This some one was no other person than Dr. Dustacre, who shut the door behind him, and made a low bow to little Mr. Bouncer.