"I have not the slightest doubt of it, old cock," replied the little gentleman.
As soon as Dr. Dustacre had arrived at the conclusion that there must be a slight mistake, the end had virtually arrived of what Peter Quince would have called "the most lamentable comedy," or of what old Polonius would have termed the "tragical-comical" piece, that had been unconsciously enacted, with little Mr. Bouncer and the Doctor for the two chief performers. Mr. Smalls was the deus ex machinâ whose arrival on the scene released the hero of the piece from the predicament in which he had so unexpectedly been placed, and the dénouement had now been reached when the principal characters must say a few words before they are hidden by the fall of the curtain.
The younger Mr. Smalls had pulled up, wheeled round his pair of horses, and reined them in by the side of the chaise. He was the first to speak, and his words broke the spell that had held Dr. Dustacre enthralled. "Hallo, Bouncer! who 'd have thought of seeing you? Where are you off to?"
"That 's just what I want to know! These two people seem to have taken a fancy to me. Whether it 's kidnapping or imprisonment I shall be glad to be told."
While these words were being uttered by little Mr. Bouncer, whose head appeared at that window of the chaise which was nearest to the mail-phaeton, Dr. Dustacre had let himself out at the opposite door, and had gone round to the elder Mr. Smalls, with whom he exchanged a few words that were abundantly sufficient to clear up the mistake under which he lay. He advanced to the side of the chaise at which Mr. Bouncer's head appeared, made the little gentleman a most profound
