Nicholas Nickleby
it should have been from such a speaker, and there was such a cordiality
in the manner, that Nicholas was emboldened to speak again.
‘A great many opportunities here, sir,’ he said, half smiling as he
motioned towards the window.
‘A great many people willing and anxious to be employed have seriously
thought so very often, I dare say,’ replied the old man. ‘Poor fellows,
poor fellows!’
He moved away as he said this; but seeing that Nicholas was about to
speak, good-naturedly slackened his pace, as if he were unwilling to
cut him short. After a little of that hesitation which may be sometimes
observed between two people in the street who have exchanged a nod,
and are both uncertain whether they shall turn back and speak, or not,
Nicholas found himself at the old man’s side.
‘You were about to speak, young gentleman; what were you going to say?’
‘Merely that I almost hoped--I mean to say, thought--you had some object
in consulting those advertisements,’ said Nicholas.
‘Ay, ay? what object now--what object?’ returned the old man, looking
slyly at Nicholas. ‘Did you think I wanted a situation now--eh? Did you
think I did?’
Nicholas shook his head.
‘Ha! ha!’ laughed the old gentleman, rubbing his hands and wrists as
if he were washing them. ‘A very natural thought, at all events, after
seeing me gazing at those bills. I thought the same of you, at first;
upon my word I did.’
‘If you had thought so at last, too, sir, you would not have been far
from the truth,’ rejoined Nicholas.
‘Eh?’ cried the old man, surveying him from head to foot. ‘What! Dear
me! No, no. Well-behaved young gentleman reduced to such a necessity! No
no, no no.’
Nicholas bowed, and bidding him good-morning, turned upon his heel.
‘Stay,’ said the old man, beckoning him into a bye street, where they
could converse with less interruption. ‘What d’ye mean, eh?’
‘Merely that your kind face and manner--both so unlike any I have ever
seen--tempted me into an avowal, which, to any other stranger in this
wilderness of London, I should not have dreamt of making,’ returned
Nicholas.
‘Wilderness! Yes, it is, it is. Good! It IS a wilderness,’ said the old
man with much animation. ‘It was a wilderness to me once. I came here
barefoot. I have never forgotten it. Thank God!’ and he raised his hat
from his head, and looked very grave.
‘What’s the matter? What is it? How did it all come about?’ said the old
man, laying his hand on the shoulder of Nicholas, and walking him up the
street. ‘You’re--Eh?’ laying his finger on the sleeve of his black coat.
‘Who’s it for, eh?’
‘My father,’ replied Nicholas.
‘Ah!’ said the old gentleman quickly. ‘Bad thing for a young man to lose
his father. Widowed mother, perhaps?’
Nicholas sighed.
‘Brothers and sisters too? Eh?’
‘One sister,’ rejoined Nicholas.
‘Poor thing, poor thing! You are a scholar too, I dare say?’ said the
old man, looking wistfully into the face of the young one.
‘I have been tolerably well educated,’ said Nicholas.
‘Fine thing,’ said the old gentleman, ‘education a great thing: a very
great thing! I never had any. I admire it the more in others. A very
fine thing. Yes, yes. Tell me more of your history. Let me hear it all.
No impertinent curiosity--no, no, no.’
There was something so earnest and guileless in the way in which
all this was said, and such a complete disregard of all conventional
restraints and coldnesses, that Nicholas could not resist it. Among
men who have any sound and sterling qualities, there is nothing so
contagious as pure openness of heart. Nicholas took the infection
instantly, and ran over the main points of his little history without
reserve: merely suppressing names, and touching as lightly as possible
upon his uncle’s treatment of Kate. The old man listened with great
attention, and when he had concluded, drew his arm eagerly through his
own.
‘Don’t say another word. Not another word’ said he. ‘Come along with me.
We mustn’t lose a minute.’
So saying, the old gentleman dragged him back into Oxford Street, and
hailing an omnibus on its way to the city, pushed Nicholas in before
him, and followed himself.
As he appeared in a most extraordinary condition of restless excitement,
and whenever Nicholas offered to speak, immediately interposed with:
‘Don’t say another word, my dear sir, on any account--not another word,’
the young man thought it better to attempt no further interruption.
Into the city they journeyed accordingly, without interchanging any
conversation; and the farther they went, the more Nicholas wondered what
the end of the adventure could possibly be.
The old gentleman got out, with great alacrity, when they reached
the Bank, and once more taking Nicholas by the arm, hurried him along
Threadneedle Street, and through some lanes and passages on the right,
until they, at length, emerged in a quiet shady little square. Into the
oldest and cleanest-looking house of business in the square, he led the
way. The only inscription on the door-post was ‘Cheeryble, Brothers;’
but from a hasty glance at the directions of some packages which were
lying about, Nicholas supposed that the brothers Cheeryble were German
merchants.
Passing through a warehouse which presented every indication of a
thriving business, Mr. Cheeryble (for such Nicholas supposed him to
be, from the respect which had been shown him by the warehousemen
and porters whom they passed) led him into a little partitioned-off
counting-house like a large glass case, in which counting-house there
sat--as free from dust and blemish as if he had been fixed into the
glass case before the top was put on, and had never come out since--a
fat, elderly, large-faced clerk, with silver spectacles and a powdered
head.
‘Is my brother in his room, Tim?’ said Mr. Cheeryble, with no less
kindness of manner than he had shown to Nicholas.
‘Yes, he is, sir,’ replied the fat clerk, turning his spectacle-glasses
towards his principal, and his eyes towards Nicholas, ‘but Mr. Trimmers
is with him.’
‘Ay! And what has he come about, Tim?’ said Mr. Cheeryble.
‘He is getting up a subscription for the widow and family of a man who
was killed in the East India Docks this morning, sir,’ rejoined Tim.
‘Smashed, sir, by a cask of sugar.’
‘He is a good creature,’ said Mr. Cheeryble, with great earnestness. ‘He
is a kind soul. I am very much obliged to Trimmers. Trimmers is one of
the best friends we have. He makes a thousand cases known to us that we
should never discover of ourselves. I am VERY much obliged to Trimmers.’
Saying which, Mr. Cheeryble rubbed his hands with infinite delight, and
Mr. Trimmers happening to pass the door that instant, on his way out,
shot out after him and caught him by the hand.
‘I owe you a thousand thanks, Trimmers, ten thousand thanks. I take it
very friendly of you, very friendly indeed,’ said Mr. Cheeryble, dragging
him into a corner to get out of hearing. ‘How many children are there,
and what has my brother Ned given, Trimmers?’
‘There are six children,’ replied the gentleman, ‘and your brother has
given us twenty pounds.’
‘My brother Ned is a good fellow, and you’re a good fellow too,
Trimmers,’ said the old man, shaking him by both hands with trembling
eagerness. ‘Put me down for another twenty--or--stop a minute, stop a
minute. We mustn’t look ostentatious; put me down ten pound, and Tim
Linkinwater ten pound. A cheque for twenty pound for Mr. Trimmers, Tim.
God bless you, Trimmers--and come and dine with us some day this week;
you’ll always find a knife and fork, and we shall be delighted. Now, my
dear sir--cheque from Mr. Linkinwater, Tim. Smashed by a cask of sugar,
and six poor children--oh dear, dear, dear!’
Talking on in this strain, as fast as he could, to prevent any friendly
remonstrances from the collector of the subscription on the large amount
of his donation, Mr. Cheeryble led Nicholas, equally astonished and
affected by what he had seen and heard in this short space, to the
half-opened door of another room.
‘Brother Ned,’ said Mr. Cheeryble, tapping with his knuckles, and
stooping to listen, ‘are you busy, my dear brother, or can you spare
time for a word or two with me?’
‘Brother Charles, my dear fellow,’ replied a voice from the inside, so
like in its tones to that which had just spoken, that Nicholas started,
and almost thought it was the same, ‘don’t ask me such a question, but
come in directly.’
They went in, without further parley. What was the amazement of Nicholas
when his conductor advanced, and exchanged a warm greeting with another
old gentleman, the very type and model of himself--the same face, the
same figure, the same coat, waistcoat, and neckcloth, the same breeches
and gaiters--nay, there was the very same white hat hanging against the
wall!
As they shook each other by the hand: the face of each lighted up by
beaming looks of affection, which would have been most delightful to
behold in infants, and which, in men so old, was inexpressibly touching:
Nicholas could observe that the last old gentleman was something stouter
than his brother; this, and a slight additional shade of clumsiness in
his gait and stature, formed the only perceptible difference between
them. Nobody could have doubted their being twin brothers.
‘Brother Ned,’ said Nicholas’s friend, closing the room-door, ‘here is a
young friend of mine whom we must assist. We must make proper inquiries
into his statements, in justice to him as well as to ourselves, and if
they are confirmed--as I feel assured they will be--we must assist him,
we must assist him, brother Ned.’
‘It is enough, my dear brother, that you say we should,’ returned the
other. ‘When you say that, no further inquiries are needed. He SHALL be
assisted. What are his necessities, and what does he require? Where is
Tim Linkinwater? Let us have him here.’
Both the brothers, it may be here remarked, had a very emphatic and
earnest delivery; both had lost nearly the same teeth, which imparted
the same peculiarity to their speech; and both spoke as if, besides
possessing the utmost serenity of mind that the kindliest and most
unsuspecting nature could bestow, they had, in collecting the plums from
Fortune’s choicest pudding, retained a few for present use, and kept
them in their mouths.
‘Where is Tim Linkinwater?’ said brother Ned.
‘Stop, stop, stop!’ said brother Charles, taking the other aside. ‘I’ve
a plan, my dear brother, I’ve a plan. Tim is getting old, and Tim has
been a faithful servant, brother Ned; and I don’t think pensioning Tim’s
mother and sister, and buying a little tomb for the family when his poor
brother died, was a sufficient recompense for his faithful services.’
‘No, no, no,’ replied the other. ‘Certainly not. Not half enough, not
half.’
‘If we could lighten Tim’s duties,’ said the old gentleman, ‘and prevail
upon him to go into the country, now and then, and sleep in the fresh
air, besides, two or three times a week (which he could, if he began
business an hour later in the morning), old Tim Linkinwater would grow
young again in time; and he’s three good years our senior now. Old Tim
Linkinwater young again! Eh, brother Ned, eh? Why, I recollect old Tim
Linkinwater quite a little boy, don’t you? Ha, ha, ha! Poor Tim, poor
Tim!’
And the fine old fellows laughed pleasantly together: each with a tear
of regard for old Tim Linkinwater standing in his eye.
‘But hear this first--hear this first, brother Ned,’ said the old man,
hastily, placing two chairs, one on each side of Nicholas: ‘I’ll tell it
you myself, brother Ned, because the young gentleman is modest, and is
a scholar, Ned, and I shouldn’t feel it right that he should tell us
his story over and over again as if he was a beggar, or as if we doubted