Little Mr Bouncer and His Friend Verdant Green/Chapter 22
CHAPTER XXII.
LITTLE MR. BOUNCER LEAVES THE WOODLANDS FOR "THE LITTLE VILLAGE."
ECLINING on the grassy slope of Firs Hill were other patients of the Institution, who were not joining in the dance to the music of the band; but poor Mrs. Flabby sat apart from these, and sheltering herself from the hot sun with a large parasol, looked sadly towards the fair stretch of landscape that was spread before her. In accordance with the sanction that he had received from Dr. Dustacre, little Mr. Bouncer went to her and introduced himself, in true English fashion, by a remark upon the weather.
"How highly favoured we are, ma'am; it is just the very day for a pic-nic, is it not? I hope that you have enjoyed it."
Mrs. Flabby graciously bent her head, evidently pleased that she should be addressed by one of the gentlemen visitors. She accepted it as a recognition of her former rank in society, and, therefore, felt much flattered.
"I," said Mr. Bouncer, "have enjoyed coming here very much indeed; and I should be glad to light a cigar, if smoking will not be any annoyance to you, ma'am?"
"Oh, dear no!" replied Mrs. Flabby; "pray smoke! it will remind me of my poor dear husband. He always smoked, night and day. In my happier hours, I called him my limekiln; but, it was not his fault, poor dear soul! it was his misfortune. He was compelled to smoke, you know, in consequence of that bond with the Great Mogul."
"With the Great Mogul?" echoed Mr. Bouncer, who was busily engaged in lighting a cigar from his fusee-box, as he sat on the grassy slope near to Mrs. Flabby: "dear me! I never heard of that."
"No, perhaps not; it was tried to be hushed up," replied Mrs. Flabby, in the most serious, matter-of-fact way; "but, murder will out. Yes, the Great Mogul was his particular friend. They had formed an early intimacy when searching for the North Pole, and the recollection of that terrible incident with the Great Bear was never effaced from his memory, and cemented a friendship which resulted in an impediment of the speech, from which my poor husband suffered most acutely, more particularly when he put on a clean shirt, with which I always kept him well supplied, and he had never to complain of the want of a button."
"That is a very unusual circumstance," said Mr. Bouncer, as he puffed away at his cigar, while the strains of the dance-music floated merrily in the summer air. "But what did he do about the smoking and the Great Mogul?"
"Ah, that was very sad!" said poor Mrs. Flabby, with a sigh; "I grieve to speak ill of any one; but, I am sorry to say that the Great Mogul was no gentleman, and that I was quite deceived in him."
"Why, what did he do?" asked Mr. Bouncer.
"What did he do?" echoed Mrs. Flabby, most solemnly, "why, he poisoned Victoria's mind, and led her to act towards me in the way that she did."
"What Victoria? You don't mean her gracious Majesty, do you?"
"Hush! not for worlds!" hoarsely whispered Mrs. Flabby, "people are hung for high treason! I should not like to see your head cut off for any indiscretion."
"I should n't like to see it myself, as Paddy would say," replied Mr. Bouncer. "So the Great Mogul poisoned Victoria's mind, did he?"
"Yes! he told her lies—base calumnies, as I can prove. It all arose from jealousy. I had written a poem, called 'The Plaintive Periwinkle: A lay of the Affections.' It taught an excellent moral, my young friend! Buy it for your children, if you can meet with a copy; but, I fear that Victoria has suppressed the edition."
"Why should she do so?"
"She was so jealous of me—of my fame as a writer, you will understand. But I was resolved to persevere, and to surmount all obstacles. A voice within told me that I should be ultimately rewarded by a nation's gratitude, and that generations yet unborn would grow up to bless the author of 'The Plaintive Periwinkle,' and to drop a silent tear over her gorgeous tomb in the Poets' Corner. As a beginning I had twenty millions of copies printed for immediate distribution. They were to be sown broadcast; thrown into cabs and omnibuses, and dropped down areas. Victoria heard of it!"
"Do you think," asked Mr. Bouncer, as though deeply interested in the narrative, "do you think that the Great Mogul could have told her?"
"Of course! who else could have told her?" replied Mrs. Flabby.
"Of course! no one!" observed Mr. Bouncer, as though that matter were now sufficiently self-evident.
"He never forgot the North Pole!" said Mrs. Flabby, solemnly. "I had warned my poor husband against him from the first; but he would not take my advice. It was entirely through him that he lost half his fortune in that unfortunate speculation in Train Oil and Whales' Blubber. And yet, I told him how it would be."
"I should like to hear what Victoria did about your book—'The Plaintive Periwinkle,'" said Mr. Bouncer, anxious to divert Mrs. Flabby from her reminiscences of the Great Mogul.
"She at once come down from—But, no! high treason!" whispered the poor lady. "She took lodgings over a pastry-cook's, just opposite to my window. Could you have believed it?"
"Not unless you had told me!" replied Mr. Bouncer, politely.
"Alas, it is too true!" said Mrs. Flabby. "There she sat and watched me, all the day long. My poems were seized by her spies and myrmidons. They waylaid my messengers, and robbed them of the precious packets that were intended to do so much good. And this, after all my years of labour, and after having ruined myself to get the work printed. Oh, what an effect it had upon me! I have had no such blow until now! My poor, poor cat!"
"Your cat?" asked Mr. Bouncer.
"She died yesterday; she breathed her last in these arms. Oh, that I could recall her! she was my only solace. But how could it be otherwise, when my dear daughter's spirit was in her?" Here the poor demented lady burst into convulsive sobs. Mr. Bouncer, with kindly words, endeavoured to soothe her; but in vain. "My poor cat!" she sobbed; "she was all that was left to me. I shall never have another daughter. Oh, she was so good and loving!"
The conversation had taken an unexpected turn, and Mr. Bouncer began to fear he should be doing harm if he continued the interview with Mrs. Flabby; so, with a few more cheering and reassuring words, he got up from the grass, and said, "I will go and see how the dancers are getting on. They seem to be enjoying themselves. Won't you come nearer to them, ma'am?"
"Not just yet! soon. Oh, how kind you have been to me!" said poor Mrs. Flabby.
After Mr. Bouncer had rejoined the party on the summit of Firs Hill, he mentioned to Dr. Dustacre a portion of Mrs. Flabby's conversation, and asked if there were any foundation for her statements.
"For her poem, I know there is," answered the Doctor. "She published some little book for children, of which she thought highly, and from which she expected to gain both money and reputation. She was deceived, as other authors have been; and, I daresay, it preyed upon her mind. As to her cat, that is, unfortunately, true. When a kitten, it belonged to the master of the institution. Mrs. Flabby begged to have it, and her request was granted. I think she must have had it nearly five years. Unfortunately, it died about a fortnight ago; and Mrs. Flabby has felt its death the more keenly as she believed that it was animated by the spirit of a deceased daughter. Such a belief is by no means rare. A similar fancy, you may remember, is mentioned in Byron's 'Bride of Abydos,' where, in the notes to the poem, mention is made of a wealthy lady at Worcester, who believed that her deceased daughter existed in the shape of a singing-bird; and who, in consequence, was allowed to furnish her pew in the Cathedral with cages of birds, whose songs must have somewhat interfered with the service."
Poor Mrs. Flabby had dried her tears and recovered her composure by dinner-time, though Mr. Bouncer did not attempt to renew his conversation with her concerning either her cat or the Great Mogul. The pic-nic dinner was laid out, as the luncheon had been, on the summit of the hill, in the shade of the group of Scotch firs. Three o'clock was the hour fixed for it; and by that time, as everyone's appetite was sharpened by air and exercise, full justice could be done to the beefsteak pies, and the joints of cold meat, and the pastry, and other good things provided for the occasion. Even poor Mrs. Flabby, seated between the matron and Dr. Plimmer, appeared, for a time, to forget her sorrow; and one and all, patients and visitors, enjoyed the social gathering. After dinner, music and dancing alternated for the remainder of the evening; and little Mr. Bouncer not only persuaded Mrs. Flabby to be his partner in a country dance, but also covered himself with glory by singing Dibdin's "Tight Little Island," which he had often sung at wine-parties at Brazenface, where, however, the chorus to that patriotic song had never been so enthusiastically rendered as it was by the pic-nic company assembled on Firs Hill. It did Mr. Bouncer's heart good to hear the full chorus of voices proclaiming—
For, oh! she 's a right little island,
A tight little, right little island;
Search the world round,
There ne'er will be found,
Such another sweet, beautiful island.
There was quite an al fresco concert. One of the female patients sang "Auld Robin Gray," in a manner to bring tears to many eyes; though these tears were soon chased away by that male patient, who had acted as drummer of the band, singing, with admirable humour, two comic songs, one of which was "Villikins and his Dinah," then in the height of its Robsonian fame. And so, with music, song, and dance, the happy day drew to its close; and they, for whose healthy amusement this pic-nic had been designed, took back with them, it is to be hoped, many sunny fancies wherewith to cheer less happy moments. The party from the Woodlands had bidden adieu to Dr. Dustacre and Dr. Plimmer an hour or so before poor Mrs. Flabby and her companions
were driven away from Firs Hill—a spot which Mr. Bouncer long remembered.
After spending a few more pleasant days at the Woodlands, it was time for him to get home, which he sought to do by way of what he termed "The Little Village;" so he said good-bye to the Squire and to his college friend, whom he would not meet again until they had got back to Oxford at the end of the Long Vacation. A groom drove him to the station in a dog-cart, which was somewhat heavily weighted with luggage, and, to the back seat of which, Huz and Buz were securely chained. Mr. Smalls' late guest pulled up at the tiny lodge to give a tip to the woman who opened the gate; then they drove along the road where he had walked with Dr. Dustacre; past the plantation, with its undergrowth of evergreens; then, round the corner, by the cross-roads, where had stood the chaise into which he had been forcibly hoisted by the broad-shouldered Brand; and, so on, past the point where he had been opportunely rescued by the Squire in his mail-phaeton. Little Mr. Bouncer laughed to himself as he recalled the scene.
He was in good time at the Barham Station. Dismissing the groom and dog-cart, he saw to his luggage, and took Huz and Buz, tethered by a chain, on to the platform. It was a hot July day, and it struck Mr. Bouncer that it would be advisable to refresh himself with a glass of bitter beer. He, therefore, went in search of the refreshment-room; but, he sought for it in vain; the small Barham Station could not boast of so valuable an addition to its provision for the public wants. At the same moment, there walked on to the platform a seedy and battered-looking man, who carried on his arm a large basket, the contents of which made it self-evident that it was, in fact, the peripatetic refreshment-room of the Barham Station. Any doubt on this subject would have been removed from Mr. Bouncer's mind, by the man approaching him with the query, "Refreshments, sir?" and holding out to him, as the most tempting sample of the contents of his basket, a greasy mutton-pie, the sight and smell of which delicacy were not so agreeable to Mr. Bouncer as to Huz and Buz, who tugged and tore at their chain, in the vain endeavour to possess themselves of so choice a dainty.