Nicholas Nickleby
second daughter by her flaxen tail, and covered his face with his
pocket-handkerchief. Morleena fell, all stiff and rigid, into the baby’s
chair, as she had seen her mother fall when she fainted away, and the
two remaining little Kenwigses shrieked in affright.
‘My children, my defrauded, swindled infants!’ cried Mr. Kenwigs, pulling
so hard, in his vehemence, at the flaxen tail of his second daughter,
that he lifted her up on tiptoe, and kept her, for some seconds, in that
attitude. ‘Villain, ass, traitor!’
‘Drat the man!’ cried the nurse, looking angrily around. ‘What does he
mean by making that noise here?’
‘Silence, woman!’ said Mr. Kenwigs, fiercely.
‘I won’t be silent,’ returned the nurse. ‘Be silent yourself, you
wretch. Have you no regard for your baby?’
‘No!’ returned Mr. Kenwigs.
‘More shame for you,’ retorted the nurse. ‘Ugh! you unnatural monster.’
‘Let him die,’ cried Mr. Kenwigs, in the torrent of his wrath. ‘Let him
die! He has no expectations, no property to come into. We want no babies
here,’ said Mr. Kenwigs recklessly. ‘Take ‘em away, take ‘em away to the
Fondling!’
With these awful remarks, Mr. Kenwigs sat himself down in a chair, and
defied the nurse, who made the best of her way into the adjoining room,
and returned with a stream of matrons: declaring that Mr. Kenwigs had
spoken blasphemy against his family, and must be raving mad.
Appearances were certainly not in Mr. Kenwigs’s favour, for the exertion
of speaking with so much vehemence, and yet in such a tone as should
prevent his lamentations reaching the ears of Mrs. Kenwigs, had made him
very black in the face; besides which, the excitement of the occasion,
and an unwonted indulgence in various strong cordials to celebrate it,
had swollen and dilated his features to a most unusual extent. But,
Nicholas and the doctor--who had been passive at first, doubting very
much whether Mr. Kenwigs could be in earnest--interfering to explain the
immediate cause of his condition, the indignation of the matrons was
changed to pity, and they implored him, with much feeling, to go quietly
to bed.
‘The attention,’ said Mr. Kenwigs, looking around with a plaintive air,
‘the attention that I’ve shown to that man! The hyseters he has eat, and
the pints of ale he has drank, in this house--!’
‘It’s very trying, and very hard to bear, we know,’ said one of the
married ladies; ‘but think of your dear darling wife.’
‘Oh yes, and what she’s been a undergoing of, only this day,’ cried a
great many voices. ‘There’s a good man, do.’
‘The presents that have been made to him,’ said Mr. Kenwigs, reverting
to his calamity, ‘the pipes, the snuff-boxes--a pair of india-rubber
goloshes, that cost six-and-six--’
‘Ah! it won’t bear thinking of, indeed,’ cried the matrons generally;
‘but it’ll all come home to him, never fear.’
Mr. Kenwigs looked darkly upon the ladies, as if he would prefer its all
coming home to HIM, as there was nothing to be got by it; but he said
nothing, and resting his head upon his hand, subsided into a kind of
doze.
Then, the matrons again expatiated on the expediency of taking the good
gentleman to bed; observing that he would be better tomorrow, and that
they knew what was the wear and tear of some men’s minds when their
wives were taken as Mrs. Kenwigs had been that day, and that it did him
great credit, and there was nothing to be ashamed of in it; far from it;
they liked to see it, they did, for it showed a good heart. And one lady
observed, as a case bearing upon the present, that her husband was often
quite light-headed from anxiety on similar occasions, and that once,
when her little Johnny was born, it was nearly a week before he came to
himself again, during the whole of which time he did nothing but cry ‘Is
it a boy, is it a boy?’ in a manner which went to the hearts of all his
hearers.
At length, Morleena (who quite forgot she had fainted, when she
found she was not noticed) announced that a chamber was ready for her
afflicted parent; and Mr. Kenwigs, having partially smothered his four
daughters in the closeness of his embrace, accepted the doctor’s arm on
one side, and the support of Nicholas on the other, and was conducted
upstairs to a bedroom which been secured for the occasion.
Having seen him sound asleep, and heard him snore most satisfactorily,
and having further presided over the distribution of the toys, to the
perfect contentment of all the little Kenwigses, Nicholas took his
leave. The matrons dropped off one by one, with the exception of six
or eight particular friends, who had determined to stop all night; the
lights in the houses gradually disappeared; the last bulletin was issued
that Mrs. Kenwigs was as well as could be expected; and the whole family
were left to their repose.
CHAPTER 37
Nicholas finds further Favour in the Eyes of the brothers Cheeryble and
Mr. Timothy Linkinwater. The brothers give a Banquet on a great Annual
Occasion. Nicholas, on returning Home from it, receives a mysterious and
important Disclosure from the Lips of Mrs. Nickleby
The square in which the counting-house of the brothers Cheeryble
was situated, although it might not wholly realise the very sanguine
expectations which a stranger would be disposed to form on hearing
the fervent encomiums bestowed upon it by Tim Linkinwater, was,
nevertheless, a sufficiently desirable nook in the heart of a busy town
like London, and one which occupied a high place in the affectionate
remembrances of several grave persons domiciled in the neighbourhood,
whose recollections, however, dated from a much more recent period,
and whose attachment to the spot was far less absorbing, than were the
recollections and attachment of the enthusiastic Tim.
And let not those whose eyes have been accustomed to the aristocratic
gravity of Grosvenor Square and Hanover Square, the dowager barrenness
and frigidity of Fitzroy Square, or the gravel walks and garden seats
of the Squares of Russell and Euston, suppose that the affections of
Tim Linkinwater, or the inferior lovers of this particular locality, had
been awakened and kept alive by any refreshing associations with leaves,
however dingy, or grass, however bare and thin. The city square has no
enclosure, save the lamp-post in the middle: and no grass, but the
weeds which spring up round its base. It is a quiet, little-frequented,
retired spot, favourable to melancholy and contemplation, and
appointments of long-waiting; and up and down its every side the
Appointed saunters idly by the hour together wakening the echoes with
the monotonous sound of his footsteps on the smooth worn stones, and
counting, first the windows, and then the very bricks of the tall silent
houses that hem him round about. In winter-time, the snow will linger
there, long after it has melted from the busy streets and highways. The
summer’s sun holds it in some respect, and while he darts his cheerful
rays sparingly into the square, keeps his fiery heat and glare for
noisier and less-imposing precincts. It is so quiet, that you can
almost hear the ticking of your own watch when you stop to cool in
its refreshing atmosphere. There is a distant hum--of coaches, not of
insects--but no other sound disturbs the stillness of the square. The
ticket porter leans idly against the post at the corner: comfortably
warm, but not hot, although the day is broiling. His white apron flaps
languidly in the air, his head gradually droops upon his breast, he
takes very long winks with both eyes at once; even he is unable to
withstand the soporific influence of the place, and is gradually falling
asleep. But now, he starts into full wakefulness, recoils a step or two,
and gazes out before him with eager wildness in his eye. Is it a job, or
a boy at marbles? Does he see a ghost, or hear an organ? No; sight
more unwonted still--there is a butterfly in the square--a real, live
butterfly! astray from flowers and sweets, and fluttering among the iron
heads of the dusty area railings.
But if there were not many matters immediately without the doors of
Cheeryble Brothers, to engage the attention or distract the thoughts of
the young clerk, there were not a few within, to interest and amuse him.
There was scarcely an object in the place, animate or inanimate, which
did not partake in some degree of the scrupulous method and punctuality
of Mr. Timothy Linkinwater. Punctual as the counting-house dial, which he
maintained to be the best time-keeper in London next after the clock
of some old, hidden, unknown church hard by, (for Tim held the fabled
goodness of that at the Horse Guards to be a pleasant fiction, invented
by jealous West-enders,) the old clerk performed the minutest actions
of the day, and arranged the minutest articles in the little room, in a
precise and regular order, which could not have been exceeded if it had
actually been a real glass case, fitted with the choicest curiosities.
Paper, pens, ink, ruler, sealing-wax, wafers, pounce-box, string-box,
fire-box, Tim’s hat, Tim’s scrupulously-folded gloves, Tim’s other
coat--looking precisely like a back view of himself as it hung against
the wall--all had their accustomed inches of space. Except the clock,
there was not such an accurate and unimpeachable instrument in existence
as the little thermometer which hung behind the door. There was not a
bird of such methodical and business-like habits in all the world, as
the blind blackbird, who dreamed and dozed away his days in a large
snug cage, and had lost his voice, from old age, years before Tim first
bought him. There was not such an eventful story in the whole range
of anecdote, as Tim could tell concerning the acquisition of that very
bird; how, compassionating his starved and suffering condition, he had
purchased him, with the view of humanely terminating his wretched life;
how he determined to wait three days and see whether the bird revived;
how, before half the time was out, the bird did revive; and how he
went on reviving and picking up his appetite and good looks until he
gradually became what--‘what you see him now, sir,’--Tim would say,
glancing proudly at the cage. And with that, Tim would utter a melodious
chirrup, and cry ‘Dick;’ and Dick, who, for any sign of life he had
previously given, might have been a wooden or stuffed representation of
a blackbird indifferently executed, would come to the side of the cage
in three small jumps, and, thrusting his bill between the bars, turn his
sightless head towards his old master--and at that moment it would be
very difficult to determine which of the two was the happier, the bird
or Tim Linkinwater.
Nor was this all. Everything gave back, besides, some reflection of the
kindly spirit of the brothers. The warehousemen and porters were such
sturdy, jolly fellows, that it was a treat to see them. Among the
shipping announcements and steam-packet lists which decorated the
counting-house wall, were designs for almshouses, statements of
charities, and plans for new hospitals. A blunderbuss and two swords
hung above the chimney-piece, for the terror of evil-doers, but the
blunderbuss was rusty and shattered, and the swords were broken and
edgeless. Elsewhere, their open display in such a condition would have
realised a smile; but, there, it seemed as though even violent and
offensive weapons partook of the reigning influence, and became emblems
of mercy and forbearance.
Such thoughts as these occurred to Nicholas very strongly, on the
morning when he first took possession of the vacant stool, and looked
about him, more freely and at ease, than he had before enjoyed an
opportunity of doing. Perhaps they encouraged and stimulated him to
exertion, for, during the next two weeks, all his spare hours, late at