Little Mr Bouncer and His Friend Verdant Green/Chapter 11
CHAPTER XI.
LITTLE MR. BOUNCER'S FRIEND PRELUDES THE DUEL WITH SOME TEA-TRAY AND POKER MUSIC.
ES," said little Mr. Bouncer to Mr. Smirke, "I 'll be your second; and I daresay, Effingham, that you will act as second to Bulpit?"
"Very happy, I 'm sure; if you wish me, Bulpit?" said the host of the evening.
"Oh, yes; I should like it of all things!" rejoined that individual; feeling, however, very much more disposed to ask Mr. Smirke to shake hands and be friends, and to forgive him for beginning the fracas by throwing the slice of tongue in his face. But Mr. Bulpit thought within himself, "If I do so, they 'll all think I 'm showing the white feather." So, out of the fear of being thought to possess and exhibit that most unpopular plume, Mr. Bulpit smothered his real feelings, being the more disposed to do so, as Mr. Smirke appeared to be in a highly valorous state, and, like Bob Acres—before his duel—was ready to cry, "Odds flints, pans, and triggers! odds bullets and blades! odds balls and bullets!" so that Mr. Bouncer might have given him the advice of Sir Lucius in the comedy, and have urged him to decide the matter that evening; and then, "let the worst come of it, it will be off your mind to-morrow." In fact, Mr. Smirke became so very noisy and disagreeable, that his further presence at Effingham's Little-go Wine was unanimously voted to be undesirable; and he was summarily conveyed back to Balliol by two sympathising friends of his own college, who saw him safely to bed "in his room in the uppermost storey," where, like the hero of Dr. Maginn's parody, they "left him alone in his glory," prepared to give him the next morning,
A couple of red
Herrings and soda-water.
Little Mr. Bouncer had seen them safely out of the Brazenface gates, and had said to Mr. Smirke, "I shall be with you at six o'clock, sharp; and mind that I find you all ready for the duel. Effingham and I will arrange the place, and the time must not be later than seven."
"All ri'! all ri'!" was Mr. Smirke's response, as he once more essayed to explain to his friends what he considered to be the true state of the case. "He shed that I shed shute me. Quia mishtake! I shed"
"There, old fellow, cut it short!" said Mr. Bouncer. "Never mind what he said, or what you said. Go to bed, and get to sleep, and don't get up with a shaky hand."
"Shaky," cried Mr. Smirke; "what d' ye mean by shultin' me? You 're no great shakes."
"There! go off, and get to bed!" said Mr. Bouncer. "I don't want to insult you. I 'm your second."
This sent off Mr. Smirke's thoughts in a fresh direction or train. "Shecond class! I always travel firsht. Tickets ready, gents! 'Timesh'! 'Shtandard'! 'Lustrated Noos'! 'Punsh'!—Yesh; just one more glash cold punsh. Thankee! Bousher old bird! fren' of my shoul, this goblet sip! Give me a lock of your hair, old fel'! I shall prishe it immenshely!" On which Mr. Bouncer got rid of him, and the little wicket in the Brazenface gates was then closed upon him and his friends.
On returning to Emngham's rooms, Mr. Bouncer found that Mr. Bulpit had drunk to drown dull care, or to give himself fictitious courage for the morning's encounter—like the man in the song, who tried "to keep his spirits up by pouring spirits down;" and he also was taken away, and seen safely to his rooms in "Skimmery." Then a consultation was held as to the programme of the duel. Effingham proposed the Port Meadow as the place, and seven o'clock as the time. The two men were to be taken there by their respective seconds, with two others to watch the proceedings and to give the word to fire. The pistols were to be loaded with paper pellets. The seconds were to express to their principals their sorrow that no doctor was in attendance, and their assurance that no time should be lost in conveying the wounded to the nearest surgeon. The two combatants being thus primed for the duel, and placed in position, the word to fire would be given. The probability was that each of them would fire in the air; but even if they did not, no harm would ensue. Then the seconds were to interfere, and declare that outraged honour was satisfied; and Messrs. Smirke and Bulpit were to be led away from the Port Meadow, to be thoroughly laughed at for having been victimised, and with a caution to behave themselves better for the future, especially in the matter of shying their supper in each other's faces.
Little Mr. Bouncer was in favour of Shotover Hill for the place of meeting, not only from its appropriate name, but also from its being a more retired spot; but, as they came to discuss the matter, they found that there were numerous obstacles in the way of successfully carrying out their plan, either at the Port Meadow or Shotover Hill, not only from the Police, and the Proctor and his "bull-dogs," but also from the circumstance that the morrow would be the last morning of the Term, and, consequently, that not many hours would be at their disposal. Very reluctantly, therefore, the programme of the duel was abandoned, and a milder form of bringing the two quarrellers to their senses was determined upon. This decision was ultimately arrived at very much to the sorrow of little Mr. Bouncer, who had anticipated much amusement from the mock duel, and, as he snatched a brief sleep on Effingham's sofa, he dreamed that he and Mr. Smirke were posted on the top of Shotover Hill, firing with a heavy piece of ordnance, at Mr. Bulpit and Efingham, who were posted far away on the towing-path on the other side of the river, just where the Isis makes the bend towards Ifley. In his dream, Mr. Bouncer saw the well-known spot where he had so often boated—the fringe of willows on the bank—the flat stretch of meadows, and the rising ground beyond, with its trees, hedgerows, and scattered houses. It was all there, vividly and distinctly, and so were the combatants and their cannon; and little Mr. Bouncer awoke, to regret that the mock duel only took place in a dream. By that time, the hour had arrived when it was necessary for the two seconds to go in quest of the would-be principals.
Mr. Smirke had not passed the night in sleep. When his friends had left him, as they thought, safely in bed, he remained there but a very short time; for, within the next hour, he suddenly made a reappearance outside his rooms, attired in the airy costume of a night-gown, but armed with a tea-tray and poker. With these he proceeded to a neighbour's bedside, and roused him up to inquire if he was "all ri';" but, being persuaded to
go away, he wandered to another staircase, where he encountered another Balliol man, the Hon. Felix Festoon, son of Lord Garland, ascending the stairs. Mr. Festoon had been at a wine party, and was humming a merry tune, when, with no small dismay, he suddenly came upon the strange apparition which arrested his progress. The light of the moon, streaming through the staircase-window, fell upon the white-dressed figure with ghostly effect; and Mr. Festoon might well be excused if, for a moment, he felt somewhat alarmed. That the ghost was brandishing a poker was also a circumstance that was not reassuring to Mr. Festoon's peace of mind.
"Shtop, sir!" cried Mr. Smirke. "You 're making a mosht dishgusting noishe. You 're toshicated, sir—beashly toshicated! 't will be my painful duty—mosht painful duty to tell the Principal." Mr. Smirke had a considerable difficulty in pronouncing the last word; and it gave Mr. Festoon time to recover himself.
"You had better go to bed, Smirke," he said, "and let me pass to my bed. I 'm tired, and I 've a long journey in the morning."
"All ri', F'stoon! all ri'! Give my love to Garland—noble shwell, and ornament of Upper Houshe." And Mr. Smirke made a profound bow, and allowed Mr. Festoon to pass; but, instead of taking his advice, and going to bed, he wandered downstairs into the Quad, from whence tea-tray and poker music was presently heard, as though Balliol was hiving its bees.
Mr. Bulpit also distinguished himself on the same night. The friends who had taken him to his rooms at the "Skimmery," had not undressed him and put him to bed; and, after they had left him he wandered forth and amused himself in the donkey-like fashion of "kicking up his heels." Being shod with heavy boots, he tried their strength against the panels of various doors, and succeeded in smashing four, oaks. When afterwards asked why he had done so, he gave, by way of a reason, the answer that he had smashed two because he hated the owners of the rooms; and that he had smashed two others because he did not hate them, in order to make matters equal, and not create jealousy. This was an explanation which, probably, would not have been received with satisfaction by the authorities of St. Mary's Hall, who, in the interval of the Long Vacation, would have to see to the repair of the smashed oaks.