Nicholas Nickleby
‘Tender as a lamb,’ replied Squeers. ‘Have a bit.’
‘I couldn’t eat a morsel,’ replied his wife. ‘What’ll the young man
take, my dear?’
‘Whatever he likes that’s present,’ rejoined Squeers, in a most unusual
burst of generosity.
‘What do you say, Mr. Knuckleboy?’ inquired Mrs. Squeers.
‘I’ll take a little of the pie, if you please,’ replied Nicholas. ‘A
very little, for I’m not hungry.’
Well, it’s a pity to cut the pie if you’re not hungry, isn’t it?’ said
Mrs. Squeers. ‘Will you try a bit of the beef?’
‘Whatever you please,’ replied Nicholas abstractedly; ‘it’s all the same
to me.’
Mrs. Squeers looked vastly gracious on receiving this reply; and nodding
to Squeers, as much as to say that she was glad to find the young man
knew his station, assisted Nicholas to a slice of meat with her own fair
hands.
‘Ale, Squeery?’ inquired the lady, winking and frowning to give him to
understand that the question propounded, was, whether Nicholas should
have ale, and not whether he (Squeers) would take any.
‘Certainly,’ said Squeers, re-telegraphing in the same manner. ‘A
glassful.’
So Nicholas had a glassful, and being occupied with his own reflections,
drank it, in happy innocence of all the foregone proceedings.
‘Uncommon juicy steak that,’ said Squeers, as he laid down his knife and
fork, after plying it, in silence, for some time.
‘It’s prime meat,’ rejoined his lady. ‘I bought a good large piece of it
myself on purpose for--’
‘For what!’ exclaimed Squeers hastily. ‘Not for the--’
‘No, no; not for them,’ rejoined Mrs. Squeers; ‘on purpose for you
against you came home. Lor! you didn’t think I could have made such a
mistake as that.’
‘Upon my word, my dear, I didn’t know what you were going to say,’ said
Squeers, who had turned pale.
‘You needn’t make yourself uncomfortable,’ remarked his wife, laughing
heartily. ‘To think that I should be such a noddy! Well!’
This part of the conversation was rather unintelligible; but popular
rumour in the neighbourhood asserted that Mr. Squeers, being amiably
opposed to cruelty to animals, not unfrequently purchased for boy
consumption the bodies of horned cattle who had died a natural death;
possibly he was apprehensive of having unintentionally devoured some
choice morsel intended for the young gentlemen.
Supper being over, and removed by a small servant girl with a hungry
eye, Mrs. Squeers retired to lock it up, and also to take into safe
custody the clothes of the five boys who had just arrived, and who were
half-way up the troublesome flight of steps which leads to death’s door,
in consequence of exposure to the cold. They were then regaled with
a light supper of porridge, and stowed away, side by side, in a small
bedstead, to warm each other, and dream of a substantial meal with
something hot after it, if their fancies set that way: which it is not
at all improbable they did.
Mr. Squeers treated himself to a stiff tumbler of brandy and water, made
on the liberal half-and-half principle, allowing for the dissolution of
the sugar; and his amiable helpmate mixed Nicholas the ghost of a small
glassful of the same compound. This done, Mr. and Mrs. Squeers drew
close up to the fire, and sitting with their feet on the fender, talked
confidentially in whispers; while Nicholas, taking up the tutor’s
assistant, read the interesting legends in the miscellaneous questions,
and all the figures into the bargain, with as much thought or
consciousness of what he was doing, as if he had been in a magnetic
slumber.
At length, Mr. Squeers yawned fearfully, and opined that it was high time
to go to bed; upon which signal, Mrs. Squeers and the girl dragged in a
small straw mattress and a couple of blankets, and arranged them into a
couch for Nicholas.
‘We’ll put you into your regular bedroom tomorrow, Nickelby,’ said
Squeers. ‘Let me see! Who sleeps in Brooks’s bed, my dear?’
‘In Brooks’s,’ said Mrs. Squeers, pondering. ‘There’s Jennings, little
Bolder, Graymarsh, and what’s his name.’
‘So there is,’ rejoined Squeers. ‘Yes! Brooks is full.’
‘Full!’ thought Nicholas. ‘I should think he was.’
‘There’s a place somewhere, I know,’ said Squeers; ‘but I can’t at this
moment call to mind where it is. However, we’ll have that all settled
tomorrow. Good-night, Nickleby. Seven o’clock in the morning, mind.’
‘I shall be ready, sir,’ replied Nicholas. ‘Good-night.’
‘I’ll come in myself and show you where the well is,’ said Squeers.
‘You’ll always find a little bit of soap in the kitchen window; that
belongs to you.’
Nicholas opened his eyes, but not his mouth; and Squeers was again going
away, when he once more turned back.
‘I don’t know, I am sure,’ he said, ‘whose towel to put you on; but
if you’ll make shift with something tomorrow morning, Mrs. Squeers will
arrange that, in the course of the day. My dear, don’t forget.’
‘I’ll take care,’ replied Mrs. Squeers; ‘and mind YOU take care, young
man, and get first wash. The teacher ought always to have it; but they
get the better of him if they can.’
Mr. Squeers then nudged Mrs. Squeers to bring away the brandy bottle, lest
Nicholas should help himself in the night; and the lady having seized it
with great precipitation, they retired together.
Nicholas, being left alone, took half-a-dozen turns up and down the room
in a condition of much agitation and excitement; but, growing gradually
calmer, sat himself down in a chair, and mentally resolved that, come
what come might, he would endeavour, for a time, to bear whatever
wretchedness might be in store for him, and that remembering the
helplessness of his mother and sister, he would give his uncle no
plea for deserting them in their need. Good resolutions seldom fail of
producing some good effect in the mind from which they spring. He grew
less desponding, and--so sanguine and buoyant is youth--even hoped that
affairs at Dotheboys Hall might yet prove better than they promised.
He was preparing for bed, with something like renewed cheerfulness,
when a sealed letter fell from his coat pocket. In the hurry of leaving
London, it had escaped his attention, and had not occurred to him since,
but it at once brought back to him the recollection of the mysterious
behaviour of Newman Noggs.
‘Dear me!’ said Nicholas; ‘what an extraordinary hand!’
It was directed to himself, was written upon very dirty paper, and in
such cramped and crippled writing as to be almost illegible. After great
difficulty and much puzzling, he contrived to read as follows:--
My dear young Man.
I know the world. Your father did not, or he would not have done me a
kindness when there was no hope of return. You do not, or you would not
be bound on such a journey.
If ever you want a shelter in London (don’t be angry at this, I once
thought I never should), they know where I live, at the sign of the
Crown, in Silver Street, Golden Square. It is at the corner of Silver
Street and James Street, with a bar door both ways. You can come at
night. Once, nobody was ashamed--never mind that. It’s all over.
Excuse errors. I should forget how to wear a whole coat now. I have
forgotten all my old ways. My spelling may have gone with them.
NEWMAN NOGGS.
P.S. If you should go near Barnard Castle, there is good ale at the
King’s Head. Say you know me, and I am sure they will not charge you
for it. You may say Mr. Noggs there, for I was a gentleman then. I was
indeed.
It may be a very undignified circumstances to record, but after he had
folded this letter and placed it in his pocket-book, Nicholas Nickleby’s
eyes were dimmed with a moisture that might have been taken for tears.
CHAPTER 8
Of the Internal Economy of Dotheboys Hall
A ride of two hundred and odd miles in severe weather, is one of the
best softeners of a hard bed that ingenuity can devise. Perhaps it is
even a sweetener of dreams, for those which hovered over the rough couch
of Nicholas, and whispered their airy nothings in his ear, were of an
agreeable and happy kind. He was making his fortune very fast indeed,
when the faint glimmer of an expiring candle shone before his eyes, and
a voice he had no difficulty in recognising as part and parcel of Mr
Squeers, admonished him that it was time to rise.
‘Past seven, Nickleby,’ said Mr. Squeers.
‘Has morning come already?’ asked Nicholas, sitting up in bed.
‘Ah! that has it,’ replied Squeers, ‘and ready iced too. Now, Nickleby,
come; tumble up, will you?’
Nicholas needed no further admonition, but ‘tumbled up’ at once, and
proceeded to dress himself by the light of the taper, which Mr. Squeers
carried in his hand.
‘Here’s a pretty go,’ said that gentleman; ‘the pump’s froze.’
‘Indeed!’ said Nicholas, not much interested in the intelligence.
‘Yes,’ replied Squeers. ‘You can’t wash yourself this morning.’
‘Not wash myself!’ exclaimed Nicholas.
‘No, not a bit of it,’ rejoined Squeers tartly. ‘So you must be content
with giving yourself a dry polish till we break the ice in the well, and
can get a bucketful out for the boys. Don’t stand staring at me, but do
look sharp, will you?’
Offering no further observation, Nicholas huddled on his clothes.
Squeers, meanwhile, opened the shutters and blew the candle out; when
the voice of his amiable consort was heard in the passage, demanding
admittance.
‘Come in, my love,’ said Squeers.
Mrs. Squeers came in, still habited in the primitive night-jacket which
had displayed the symmetry of her figure on the previous night, and
further ornamented with a beaver bonnet of some antiquity, which she
wore, with much ease and lightness, on the top of the nightcap before
mentioned.
‘Drat the things,’ said the lady, opening the cupboard; ‘I can’t find
the school spoon anywhere.’
‘Never mind it, my dear,’ observed Squeers in a soothing manner; ‘it’s
of no consequence.’
‘No consequence, why how you talk!’ retorted Mrs. Squeers sharply; ‘isn’t
it brimstone morning?’
‘I forgot, my dear,’ rejoined Squeers; ‘yes, it certainly is. We purify
the boys’ bloods now and then, Nickleby.’
‘Purify fiddlesticks’ ends,’ said his lady. ‘Don’t think, young man,
that we go to the expense of flower of brimstone and molasses, just to
purify them; because if you think we carry on the business in that way,
you’ll find yourself mistaken, and so I tell you plainly.’
‘My dear,’ said Squeers frowning. ‘Hem!’
‘Oh! nonsense,’ rejoined Mrs. Squeers. ‘If the young man comes to be
a teacher here, let him understand, at once, that we don’t want any
foolery about the boys. They have the brimstone and treacle, partly
because if they hadn’t something or other in the way of medicine they’d
be always ailing and giving a world of trouble, and partly because it
spoils their appetites and comes cheaper than breakfast and dinner. So,
it does them good and us good at the same time, and that’s fair enough
I’m sure.’
Having given this explanation, Mrs. Squeers put her head into the closet
and instituted a stricter search after the spoon, in which Mr. Squeers
assisted. A few words passed between them while they were thus engaged,
but as their voices were partially stifled by the cupboard, all that
Nicholas could distinguish was, that Mr. Squeers said what Mrs. Squeers
had said, was injudicious, and that Mrs. Squeers said what Mr. Squeers
said, was ‘stuff.’
A vast deal of searching and rummaging ensued, and it proving fruitless,
Smike was called in, and pushed by Mrs. Squeers, and boxed by Mr. Squeers;
which course of treatment brightening his intellects, enabled him to
suggest that possibly Mrs. Squeers might have the spoon in her pocket,
as indeed turned out to be the case. As Mrs. Squeers had previously
protested, however, that she was quite certain she had not got it,