Nicholas Nickleby
Yorkshire this cold winter’s weather, Mr. Nickleby?’ said Miss La Creevy.
‘I heard something of it last night.’
‘I do, indeed,’ replied Nicholas. ‘Needs must, you know, when somebody
drives. Necessity is my driver, and that is only another name for the
same gentleman.’
‘Well, I am very sorry for it; that’s all I can say,’ said Miss La
Creevy; ‘as much on your mother’s and sister’s account as on yours.
Your sister is a very pretty young lady, Mr. Nickleby, and that is
an additional reason why she should have somebody to protect her. I
persuaded her to give me a sitting or two, for the street-door case.
‘Ah! she’ll make a sweet miniature.’ As Miss La Creevy spoke, she held
up an ivory countenance intersected with very perceptible sky-blue
veins, and regarded it with so much complacency, that Nicholas quite
envied her.
‘If you ever have an opportunity of showing Kate some little kindness,’
said Nicholas, presenting his hand, ‘I think you will.’
‘Depend upon that,’ said the good-natured miniature painter; ‘and God
bless you, Mr. Nickleby; and I wish you well.’
It was very little that Nicholas knew of the world, but he guessed
enough about its ways to think, that if he gave Miss La Creevy one
little kiss, perhaps she might not be the less kindly disposed towards
those he was leaving behind. So, he gave her three or four with a kind
of jocose gallantry, and Miss La Creevy evinced no greater symptoms of
displeasure than declaring, as she adjusted her yellow turban, that she
had never heard of such a thing, and couldn’t have believed it possible.
Having terminated the unexpected interview in this satisfactory manner,
Nicholas hastily withdrew himself from the house. By the time he had
found a man to carry his box it was only seven o’clock, so he walked
slowly on, a little in advance of the porter, and very probably with not
half as light a heart in his breast as the man had, although he had no
waistcoat to cover it with, and had evidently, from the appearance of
his other garments, been spending the night in a stable, and taking his
breakfast at a pump.
Regarding, with no small curiosity and interest, all the busy
preparations for the coming day which every street and almost every
house displayed; and thinking, now and then, that it seemed rather hard
that so many people of all ranks and stations could earn a livelihood in
London, and that he should be compelled to journey so far in search of
one; Nicholas speedily arrived at the Saracen’s Head, Snow Hill. Having
dismissed his attendant, and seen the box safely deposited in the
coach-office, he looked into the coffee-room in search of Mr. Squeers.
He found that learned gentleman sitting at breakfast, with the three
little boys before noticed, and two others who had turned up by some
lucky chance since the interview of the previous day, ranged in a row on
the opposite seat. Mr. Squeers had before him a small measure of coffee,
a plate of hot toast, and a cold round of beef; but he was at that
moment intent on preparing breakfast for the little boys.
‘This is twopenn’orth of milk, is it, waiter?’ said Mr. Squeers, looking
down into a large blue mug, and slanting it gently, so as to get an
accurate view of the quantity of liquid contained in it.
‘That’s twopenn’orth, sir,’ replied the waiter.
‘What a rare article milk is, to be sure, in London!’ said Mr. Squeers,
with a sigh. ‘Just fill that mug up with lukewarm water, William, will
you?’
‘To the wery top, sir?’ inquired the waiter. ‘Why, the milk will be
drownded.’
‘Never you mind that,’ replied Mr. Squeers. ‘Serve it right for being so
dear. You ordered that thick bread and butter for three, did you?’
‘Coming directly, sir.’
‘You needn’t hurry yourself,’ said Squeers; ‘there’s plenty of time.
Conquer your passions, boys, and don’t be eager after vittles.’ As he
uttered this moral precept, Mr. Squeers took a large bite out of the cold
beef, and recognised Nicholas.
‘Sit down, Mr. Nickleby,’ said Squeers. ‘Here we are, a breakfasting you
see!’
Nicholas did NOT see that anybody was breakfasting, except Mr. Squeers;
but he bowed with all becoming reverence, and looked as cheerful as he
could.
‘Oh! that’s the milk and water, is it, William?’ said Squeers. ‘Very
good; don’t forget the bread and butter presently.’
At this fresh mention of the bread and butter, the five little boys
looked very eager, and followed the waiter out, with their eyes;
meanwhile Mr. Squeers tasted the milk and water.
‘Ah!’ said that gentleman, smacking his lips, ‘here’s richness! Think of
the many beggars and orphans in the streets that would be glad of this,
little boys. A shocking thing hunger, isn’t it, Mr. Nickleby?’
‘Very shocking, sir,’ said Nicholas.
‘When I say number one,’ pursued Mr. Squeers, putting the mug before the
children, ‘the boy on the left hand nearest the window may take a drink;
and when I say number two, the boy next him will go in, and so till we
come to number five, which is the last boy. Are you ready?’
‘Yes, sir,’ cried all the little boys with great eagerness.
‘That’s right,’ said Squeers, calmly getting on with his breakfast;
‘keep ready till I tell you to begin. Subdue your appetites, my dears,
and you’ve conquered human natur. This is the way we inculcate strength
of mind, Mr. Nickleby,’ said the schoolmaster, turning to Nicholas, and
speaking with his mouth very full of beef and toast.
Nicholas murmured something--he knew not what--in reply; and the little
boys, dividing their gaze between the mug, the bread and butter (which
had by this time arrived), and every morsel which Mr. Squeers took into
his mouth, remained with strained eyes in torments of expectation.
‘Thank God for a good breakfast,’ said Squeers, when he had finished.
‘Number one may take a drink.’
Number one seized the mug ravenously, and had just drunk enough to make
him wish for more, when Mr. Squeers gave the signal for number two, who
gave up at the same interesting moment to number three; and the process
was repeated until the milk and water terminated with number five.
‘And now,’ said the schoolmaster, dividing the bread and butter for
three into as many portions as there were children, ‘you had better look
sharp with your breakfast, for the horn will blow in a minute or two,
and then every boy leaves off.’
Permission being thus given to fall to, the boys began to eat
voraciously, and in desperate haste: while the schoolmaster (who was
in high good humour after his meal) picked his teeth with a fork, and
looked smilingly on. In a very short time, the horn was heard.
‘I thought it wouldn’t be long,’ said Squeers, jumping up and producing
a little basket from under the seat; ‘put what you haven’t had time to
eat, in here, boys! You’ll want it on the road!’
Nicholas was considerably startled by these very economical
arrangements; but he had no time to reflect upon them, for the little
boys had to be got up to the top of the coach, and their boxes had to
be brought out and put in, and Mr. Squeers’s luggage was to be seen
carefully deposited in the boot, and all these offices were in his
department. He was in the full heat and bustle of concluding these
operations, when his uncle, Mr. Ralph Nickleby, accosted him.
‘Oh! here you are, sir!’ said Ralph. ‘Here are your mother and sister,
sir.’
‘Where?’ cried Nicholas, looking hastily round.
‘Here!’ replied his uncle. ‘Having too much money and nothing at all to
do with it, they were paying a hackney coach as I came up, sir.’
‘We were afraid of being too late to see him before he went away from
us,’ said Mrs. Nickleby, embracing her son, heedless of the unconcerned
lookers-on in the coach-yard.
‘Very good, ma’am,’ returned Ralph, ‘you’re the best judge of course. I
merely said that you were paying a hackney coach. I never pay a hackney
coach, ma’am; I never hire one. I haven’t been in a hackney coach of my
own hiring, for thirty years, and I hope I shan’t be for thirty more, if
I live as long.’
‘I should never have forgiven myself if I had not seen him,’ said Mrs
Nickleby. ‘Poor dear boy--going away without his breakfast too, because
he feared to distress us!’
‘Mighty fine certainly,’ said Ralph, with great testiness. ‘When I first
went to business, ma’am, I took a penny loaf and a ha’porth of milk for
my breakfast as I walked to the city every morning; what do you say to
that, ma’am? Breakfast! Bah!’
‘Now, Nickleby,’ said Squeers, coming up at the moment buttoning his
greatcoat; ‘I think you’d better get up behind. I’m afraid of one of
them boys falling off and then there’s twenty pound a year gone.’
‘Dear Nicholas,’ whispered Kate, touching her brother’s arm, ‘who is
that vulgar man?’
‘Eh!’ growled Ralph, whose quick ears had caught the inquiry. ‘Do you
wish to be introduced to Mr. Squeers, my dear?’
‘That the schoolmaster! No, uncle. Oh no!’ replied Kate, shrinking back.
‘I’m sure I heard you say as much, my dear,’ retorted Ralph in his cold
sarcastic manner. ‘Mr. Squeers, here’s my niece: Nicholas’s sister!’
‘Very glad to make your acquaintance, miss,’ said Squeers, raising his
hat an inch or two. ‘I wish Mrs. Squeers took gals, and we had you for a
teacher. I don’t know, though, whether she mightn’t grow jealous if we
had. Ha! ha! ha!’
If the proprietor of Dotheboys Hall could have known what was passing
in his assistant’s breast at that moment, he would have discovered, with
some surprise, that he was as near being soundly pummelled as he had
ever been in his life. Kate Nickleby, having a quicker perception of her
brother’s emotions, led him gently aside, and thus prevented Mr. Squeers
from being impressed with the fact in a peculiarly disagreeable manner.
‘My dear Nicholas,’ said the young lady, ‘who is this man? What kind of
place can it be that you are going to?’
‘I hardly know, Kate,’ replied Nicholas, pressing his sister’s hand. ‘I
suppose the Yorkshire folks are rather rough and uncultivated; that’s
all.’
‘But this person,’ urged Kate.
‘Is my employer, or master, or whatever the proper name may be,’ replied
Nicholas quickly; ‘and I was an ass to take his coarseness ill. They are
looking this way, and it is time I was in my place. Bless you, love,
and goodbye! Mother, look forward to our meeting again someday! Uncle,
farewell! Thank you heartily for all you have done and all you mean to
do. Quite ready, sir!’
With these hasty adieux, Nicholas mounted nimbly to his seat, and waved
his hand as gallantly as if his heart went with it.
At this moment, when the coachman and guard were comparing notes for the
last time before starting, on the subject of the way-bill; when porters
were screwing out the last reluctant sixpences, itinerant newsmen
making the last offer of a morning paper, and the horses giving the last
impatient rattle to their harness; Nicholas felt somebody pulling softly
at his leg. He looked down, and there stood Newman Noggs, who pushed up
into his hand a dirty letter.
‘What’s this?’ inquired Nicholas.
‘Hush!’ rejoined Noggs, pointing to Mr. Ralph Nickleby, who was saying a
few earnest words to Squeers, a short distance off: ‘Take it. Read it.
Nobody knows. That’s all.’
‘Stop!’ cried Nicholas.
‘No,’ replied Noggs.
Nicholas cried stop, again, but Newman Noggs was gone.
A minute’s bustle, a banging of the coach doors, a swaying of the
vehicle to one side, as the heavy coachman, and still heavier guard,
climbed into their seats; a cry of all right, a few notes from the horn,
a hasty glance of two sorrowful faces below, and the hard features of Mr
Ralph Nickleby--and the coach was gone too, and rattling over the stones
of Smithfield.
The little boys’ legs being too short to admit of their feet