Little Mr Bouncer and His Friend Verdant Green/Chapter 23
CHAPTER XXIII.
LITTLE MR. BOUNCER IS UNAVOIDABLY DETAINED AT BARHAM.
S the mutton-pie was held forth by its owner and vendor for little Mr. Bouncer's approval and purchase, an aroma stole from it that altogether overpowered the sweet scent of the newly-mown grass by which the July air was exquisitely perfumed. Loose-shirted rustics, sweltering in the heat of a noon-day sun, were tossing up and turning over the fragrant shocks of tedded hay in the fields that lay around the Barham Station, doing their best to practically carry out the proverb that directs us to make hay while the sun shines; and although his calling was different and less poetical than that of the haymaker, yet the seller of mutton-pies, who had appeared before Mr. Bouncer in the character of the peripatetic refreshment-room of the Barham of the Station, was, in effect, endeavouring to make his hay while the sun shone, by trying to procure a sale from the beneficent patronage of Mr. Bouncer.
Now, to purchase mutton-pies—and that, too, under a hot July sun—from a gentleman whom you have casually met, and the antecedents of whom (and his pies) are altogether hidden from your knowledge, must be a daring experiment under any circumstances and to any person. And as, in the present instance, the outward appearance of the vendor did not offer a sufficient guarantee for the inward excellence of the proffered pie, the proposed transaction did not by any means recommend itself to Mr. Bouncer, who, therefore, promptly and curtly declined the proposal of the individual who represented the peripatetic refreshment-room of the Barham Station. Nevertheless, that greasy-looking personage continued to hold out the specimen of his wares, and to beg the little gentleman to purchase it
"Do try one, sir! it 's only tuppence; and it 's cheap and nourishin' for the money. The finest mutton-pies in Barham or hanywares; made by myself out o' the very primest and juiciest cuts. Just try one, sir! you can do so, free, gracious, and for nothin'; and if you don't like it, you need n't pay for it, and no questions shall be ever axed. You can wash it down with some o' this first-rate pop—only a penny a bottle, and likewise made by myself. The best pop, remember! recommended by the faculty as the primest and wholesomest drink in 'ot weather. Warranted to cure the colic and the gout, pains within and pains without; and all for the small charge of a penny a bottle. One bottle taken with one mutton-pie 'as been known to make the face shine like the best bear's grease; and two bottles, swallered in conjunction with two mutton-pies, 'as produced effects upon the curlin' of the 'uman 'air and whiskers, which must be seen to be believed."
But Mr. Bouncer remained proof against the temptation of the mutton-pie, even with the addition of the ginger-beer; and, as he gazed on the delicacy that was held out to him from the man's basket, he wondered how much dyspepsia—to call it by its mildest name—was compressed within the narrow limits of that two-pennyworth of paste and meat. And he thought of Dr. Wm. Brinton's clever Frazer parody of Campbell's "Hohenlinden," where the railway passengers took their hurried meal at Swindon—
When the train came at dead of night,
Commanding oil and gas to light
Much stale confectionery.
After which occurred the pangs—
Where curious tart and heavy bun
Lie in dyspeptic sympathy.
Few, few digest where many eat,
The nightmare shall wind up their feat,
Each carpet-bag beneath their feet
Shall seem a yawning sepulchre.
But, although Mr. Bouncer considered it highly probable that a like result would ensue on his patronage of the contents of the man's basket, yet, with Huz and Buz, it was a very different matter. Those intelligent animals struggled hard at the chain by which their master held them and made every outward demonstration of their desire to obtain possession of the dainty, the very whiff of which was to them so appetising. Mr. Bouncer, being tender-hearted and fond of his pets, and being, moreover, amused with the man's quaint and persistent recommendation of his viands, patronised the peripatetic refreshment-room by expending the sum of fourpence in the purchase of two mutton-pies for the express delectation of Huz and Buz; and, as he watched them greedily devouring their pasties, he hummed a fragment of a popular song—
They gave me mutton pies
In which I did recognise
The flavour of my old Dog Tray.
At any rate, Mr. Bouncer had spared himself from any similar recognition; and he was quite satisfied with witnessing the enjoyment of Huz and Buz, who, however, did not appear to be equally well satisfied, but, like Oliver, asked for more. "No, no," said their master; "it won't do, my doggies. A little of that sort of thing goes a long way on a railway journey; and, if you were to eat more of them, they might interfere with your digestive apparatus, and then you 'd get the mulligrubs in your collywobbles." So, he removed Huz and Buz out of the sight of the unwholesome dainties, and was glad when the vendor of the mutton-pies had taken himself from off the platform.
Except when trains came in, there was not much life to be seen at the Barham Station; and, as it was situated in a deep cutting, there was but little view from the platform. There was a coal dépôt, and there was a spasmodic engine, vaguely wandering up and down, with the ultimate object of getting some trucks out of a siding. The entire staff of the station (two men and a boy) was so fully engaged in this noisy duty, that, on Mr. Bouncer's arrival, Mr. Small's coachman had taken the luggage on to the platform while Mr. Bouncer held the horse. Of course, as there was no refreshment for the body—except the mutton-pie man—so, there was no refreshment for the mind, in the shape of a bookstall or newspaper stand; and, if Mr. Bouncer desired to purchase the latest copy of the "Barham Mercury and Poynton Gazette," he must do so elsewhere than at the Barham Station. His train was already due; and, while he was debating whether he should have time to make his way to an inn that he had passed, not far from the station—the same inn that had supplied Dr. Dustacre with the chaise—and there have a glass of beer, the ticket-taker told him, in answer to his inquiry, that the up-train would not be in for at least an hour; for, the line was blocked further up.
"Not a serious accident, I hope?" inquired Mr. Bouncer.
"Oh, no," was the prompt reply; "only a coal run into a cattle." Experience had taught him to look on these events with official calm.
Now, it would be wearisome to pass at least an hour of unavoidable delay at so uninteresting a place as the Barham Station. There were the usual notices and time-tables hanging in frames on the wall; but, the mind would soon be fatigued with attempting to unravel the wild enigmas of "Bradshaw," or spelling out the large-lettered advertisements of somebody's Cocoa and some one else's Tea. There was a waiting-room, it was true; but, it was not inviting, with its hard benches and its haggard and dirty aspect, as though it had sat up ever so many nights, and had not washed itself in the morning. There was nothing else, except the impenetrable wooden screen that concealed from view the form of the ticket-taker; but, as he was a youth of fourteen, with an unwholesome face, and an appearance of having lived chiefly on pickles, the screen was a merciful interposition, more especially at such times as the ticket-taker's wooden window was tightly closed. There was nothing, in short, in the aspect of the Barham Station to induce any sane person to try the experiment of wiling away a long hour in its precincts. So, Mr. Bouncer made friends with a porter, who was temporarily disengaged from his shunting duties, and Huz and Buz were shut up in a lamp-and-grease room until the time was come when the line should be cleared and his train in readiness to take him to "the little village."
Then he went to the inn and had a glass of beer; but did not care to remain there, as he saw the driver of Dr. Dustacre's chaise, who recognised him with a familiar grin, and pointed him out to an ostler and chambermaid as "the party who was took for a loonattic." As Mr. Bouncer did not care for this particular kind of notoriety, he thought that he would consume the hour of his detention by walking through the little market-town of Barham; but, as the town was not very large, and did not contain many greater objects of attraction than the old market-place, the town-hall, and town-pump, his survey of it was soon exhausted. Then he beguiled himself by looking in at the shop-windows, and thereby raising hopes in the breasts of several shopkeepers that were doomed to be disappointed.
But, there was one exception. In one of the windows were two wax busts of a very pink-cheeked gentleman and a very large-eyed lady, who were attired in nothing to speak of except a little fancy satin and their own luxuriant heads of hair. The contemplation of these florid works of art suggested to Mr. Bouncer the notion that he might as well consume the time profitably by having his hair cut. Over the door was the name of Quickfall, with the further information that Mr. Quickfall was a hairdresser and perfumer, and that, in Quickfall's spacious hair-cutting saloons, ladies and gentlemen would be waited upon by the proprietor and competent assistants from London and Paris. So, Mr. Bouncer went into the shop.