Nicholas Nickleby
gentleman asking for you at the bar.’
‘Show the gentleman in, Richard,’ replied Mr. Squeers, in a soft voice.
‘Put your handkerchief in your pocket, you little scoundrel, or I’ll
murder you when the gentleman goes.’
The schoolmaster had scarcely uttered these words in a fierce whisper,
when the stranger entered. Affecting not to see him, Mr. Squeers feigned
to be intent upon mending a pen, and offering benevolent advice to his
youthful pupil.
‘My dear child,’ said Mr. Squeers, ‘all people have their trials. This
early trial of yours that is fit to make your little heart burst, and
your very eyes come out of your head with crying, what is it? Nothing;
less than nothing. You are leaving your friends, but you will have a
father in me, my dear, and a mother in Mrs. Squeers. At the delightful
village of Dotheboys, near Greta Bridge in Yorkshire, where youth are
boarded, clothed, booked, washed, furnished with pocket-money, provided
with all necessaries--’
‘It IS the gentleman,’ observed the stranger, stopping the schoolmaster
in the rehearsal of his advertisement. ‘Mr. Squeers, I believe, sir?’
‘The same, sir,’ said Mr. Squeers, with an assumption of extreme
surprise.
‘The gentleman,’ said the stranger, ‘that advertised in the Times
newspaper?’
‘--Morning Post, Chronicle, Herald, and Advertiser, regarding the
Academy called Dotheboys Hall at the delightful village of Dotheboys,
near Greta Bridge in Yorkshire,’ added Mr. Squeers. ‘You come on
business, sir. I see by my young friends. How do you do, my little
gentleman? and how do you do, sir?’ With this salutation Mr. Squeers
patted the heads of two hollow-eyed, small-boned little boys, whom the
applicant had brought with him, and waited for further communications.
‘I am in the oil and colour way. My name is Snawley, sir,’ said the
stranger.
Squeers inclined his head as much as to say, ‘And a remarkably pretty
name, too.’
The stranger continued. ‘I have been thinking, Mr. Squeers, of placing my
two boys at your school.’
‘It is not for me to say so, sir,’ replied Mr. Squeers, ‘but I don’t
think you could possibly do a better thing.’
‘Hem!’ said the other. ‘Twenty pounds per annewum, I believe, Mr
Squeers?’
‘Guineas,’ rejoined the schoolmaster, with a persuasive smile.
‘Pounds for two, I think, Mr. Squeers,’ said Mr. Snawley, solemnly.
‘I don’t think it could be done, sir,’ replied Squeers, as if he had
never considered the proposition before. ‘Let me see; four fives is
twenty, double that, and deduct the--well, a pound either way shall not
stand betwixt us. You must recommend me to your connection, sir, and
make it up that way.’
‘They are not great eaters,’ said Mr. Snawley.
‘Oh! that doesn’t matter at all,’ replied Squeers. ‘We don’t consider
the boys’ appetites at our establishment.’ This was strictly true; they
did not.
‘Every wholesome luxury, sir, that Yorkshire can afford,’ continued
Squeers; ‘every beautiful moral that Mrs. Squeers can instil; every--in
short, every comfort of a home that a boy could wish for, will be
theirs, Mr. Snawley.’
‘I should wish their morals to be particularly attended to,’ said Mr
Snawley.
‘I am glad of that, sir,’ replied the schoolmaster, drawing himself up.
‘They have come to the right shop for morals, sir.’
‘You are a moral man yourself,’ said Mr. Snawley.
‘I rather believe I am, sir,’ replied Squeers.
‘I have the satisfaction to know you are, sir,’ said Mr. Snawley. ‘I
asked one of your references, and he said you were pious.’
‘Well, sir, I hope I am a little in that line,’ replied Squeers.
‘I hope I am also,’ rejoined the other. ‘Could I say a few words with
you in the next box?’
‘By all means,’ rejoined Squeers with a grin. ‘My dears, will you speak
to your new playfellow a minute or two? That is one of my boys, sir.
Belling his name is,--a Taunton boy that, sir.’
‘Is he, indeed?’ rejoined Mr. Snawley, looking at the poor little urchin
as if he were some extraordinary natural curiosity.
‘He goes down with me tomorrow, sir,’ said Squeers. ‘That’s his luggage
that he is a sitting upon now. Each boy is required to bring, sir, two
suits of clothes, six shirts, six pair of stockings, two nightcaps, two
pocket-handkerchiefs, two pair of shoes, two hats, and a razor.’
‘A razor!’ exclaimed Mr. Snawley, as they walked into the next box. ‘What
for?’
‘To shave with,’ replied Squeers, in a slow and measured tone.
There was not much in these three words, but there must have been
something in the manner in which they were said, to attract attention;
for the schoolmaster and his companion looked steadily at each other for
a few seconds, and then exchanged a very meaning smile. Snawley was a
sleek, flat-nosed man, clad in sombre garments, and long black gaiters,
and bearing in his countenance an expression of much mortification
and sanctity; so, his smiling without any obvious reason was the more
remarkable.
‘Up to what age do you keep boys at your school then?’ he asked at
length.
‘Just as long as their friends make the quarterly payments to my agent
in town, or until such time as they run away,’ replied Squeers. ‘Let
us understand each other; I see we may safely do so. What are these
boys;--natural children?’
‘No,’ rejoined Snawley, meeting the gaze of the schoolmaster’s one eye.
‘They ain’t.’
‘I thought they might be,’ said Squeers, coolly. ‘We have a good many of
them; that boy’s one.’
‘Him in the next box?’ said Snawley.
Squeers nodded in the affirmative; his companion took another peep at
the little boy on the trunk, and, turning round again, looked as if he
were quite disappointed to see him so much like other boys, and said he
should hardly have thought it.
‘He is,’ cried Squeers. ‘But about these boys of yours; you wanted to
speak to me?’
‘Yes,’ replied Snawley. ‘The fact is, I am not their father, Mr. Squeers.
I’m only their father-in-law.’
‘Oh! Is that it?’ said the schoolmaster. ‘That explains it at once. I
was wondering what the devil you were going to send them to Yorkshire
for. Ha! ha! Oh, I understand now.’
‘You see I have married the mother,’ pursued Snawley; ‘it’s expensive
keeping boys at home, and as she has a little money in her own right, I
am afraid (women are so very foolish, Mr. Squeers) that she might be led
to squander it on them, which would be their ruin, you know.’
‘I see,’ returned Squeers, throwing himself back in his chair, and
waving his hand.
‘And this,’ resumed Snawley, ‘has made me anxious to put them to some
school a good distance off, where there are no holidays--none of those
ill-judged coming home twice a year that unsettle children’s minds
so--and where they may rough it a little--you comprehend?’
‘The payments regular, and no questions asked,’ said Squeers, nodding
his head.
‘That’s it, exactly,’ rejoined the other. ‘Morals strictly attended to,
though.’
‘Strictly,’ said Squeers.
‘Not too much writing home allowed, I suppose?’ said the father-in-law,
hesitating.
‘None, except a circular at Christmas, to say they never were so happy,
and hope they may never be sent for,’ rejoined Squeers.
‘Nothing could be better,’ said the father-in-law, rubbing his hands.
‘Then, as we understand each other,’ said Squeers, ‘will you allow me
to ask you whether you consider me a highly virtuous, exemplary, and
well-conducted man in private life; and whether, as a person whose
business it is to take charge of youth, you place the strongest
confidence in my unimpeachable integrity, liberality, religious
principles, and ability?’
‘Certainly I do,’ replied the father-in-law, reciprocating the
schoolmaster’s grin.
‘Perhaps you won’t object to say that, if I make you a reference?’
‘Not the least in the world.’
‘That’s your sort!’ said Squeers, taking up a pen; ‘this is doing
business, and that’s what I like.’
Having entered Mr. Snawley’s address, the schoolmaster had next to
perform the still more agreeable office of entering the receipt of the
first quarter’s payment in advance, which he had scarcely completed,
when another voice was heard inquiring for Mr. Squeers.
‘Here he is,’ replied the schoolmaster; ‘what is it?’
‘Only a matter of business, sir,’ said Ralph Nickleby, presenting
himself, closely followed by Nicholas. ‘There was an advertisement of
yours in the papers this morning?’
‘There was, sir. This way, if you please,’ said Squeers, who had by this
time got back to the box by the fire-place. ‘Won’t you be seated?’
‘Why, I think I will,’ replied Ralph, suiting the action to the word,
and placing his hat on the table before him. ‘This is my nephew, sir, Mr
Nicholas Nickleby.’
‘How do you do, sir?’ said Squeers.
Nicholas bowed, said he was very well, and seemed very much astonished
at the outward appearance of the proprietor of Dotheboys Hall: as indeed
he was.
‘Perhaps you recollect me?’ said Ralph, looking narrowly at the
schoolmaster.
‘You paid me a small account at each of my half-yearly visits to town,
for some years, I think, sir,’ replied Squeers.
‘I did,’ rejoined Ralph.
‘For the parents of a boy named Dorker, who unfortunately--’
‘--unfortunately died at Dotheboys Hall,’ said Ralph, finishing the
sentence.
‘I remember very well, sir,’ rejoined Squeers. ‘Ah! Mrs. Squeers, sir,
was as partial to that lad as if he had been her own; the attention,
sir, that was bestowed upon that boy in his illness! Dry toast and
warm tea offered him every night and morning when he couldn’t swallow
anything--a candle in his bedroom on the very night he died--the best
dictionary sent up for him to lay his head upon--I don’t regret it
though. It is a pleasant thing to reflect that one did one’s duty by
him.’
Ralph smiled, as if he meant anything but smiling, and looked round at
the strangers present.
‘These are only some pupils of mine,’ said Wackford Squeers, pointing
to the little boy on the trunk and the two little boys on the floor,
who had been staring at each other without uttering a word, and writhing
their bodies into most remarkable contortions, according to the custom
of little boys when they first become acquainted. ‘This gentleman,
sir, is a parent who is kind enough to compliment me upon the course
of education adopted at Dotheboys Hall, which is situated, sir, at the
delightful village of Dotheboys, near Greta Bridge in Yorkshire,
where youth are boarded, clothed, booked, washed, furnished with
pocket-money--’
‘Yes, we know all about that, sir,’ interrupted Ralph, testily. ‘It’s in
the advertisement.’
‘You are very right, sir; it IS in the advertisement,’ replied Squeers.
‘And in the matter of fact besides,’ interrupted Mr. Snawley. ‘I feel
bound to assure you, sir, and I am proud to have this opportunity OF
assuring you, that I consider Mr. Squeers a gentleman highly virtuous,
exemplary, well conducted, and--’
‘I make no doubt of it, sir,’ interrupted Ralph, checking the torrent of
recommendation; ‘no doubt of it at all. Suppose we come to business?’
‘With all my heart, sir,’ rejoined Squeers. ‘“Never postpone business,”
is the very first lesson we instil into our commercial pupils. Master
Belling, my dear, always remember that; do you hear?’
‘Yes, sir,’ repeated Master Belling.
‘He recollects what it is, does he?’ said Ralph.
‘Tell the gentleman,’ said Squeers.
‘“Never,”’ repeated Master Belling.
‘Very good,’ said Squeers; ‘go on.’
‘Never,’ repeated Master Belling again.
‘Very good indeed,’ said Squeers. ‘Yes.’
‘P,’ suggested Nicholas, good-naturedly.
‘Perform--business!’ said Master Belling. ‘Never--perform--business!’
‘Very well, sir,’ said Squeers, darting a withering look at the culprit.
‘You and I will perform a little business on our private account
by-and-by.’