Nicholas Nickleby
night and early in the morning, were incessantly devoted to acquiring
the mysteries of book-keeping and some other forms of mercantile
account. To these, he applied himself with such steadiness and
perseverance that, although he brought no greater amount of previous
knowledge to the subject than certain dim recollections of two or three
very long sums entered into a ciphering-book at school, and relieved for
parental inspection by the effigy of a fat swan tastefully flourished
by the writing-master’s own hand, he found himself, at the end of a
fortnight, in a condition to report his proficiency to Mr. Linkinwater,
and to claim his promise that he, Nicholas Nickleby, should now be
allowed to assist him in his graver labours.
It was a sight to behold Tim Linkinwater slowly bring out a massive
ledger and day-book, and, after turning them over and over, and
affectionately dusting their backs and sides, open the leaves here and
there, and cast his eyes, half mournfully, half proudly, upon the fair
and unblotted entries.
‘Four-and-forty year, next May!’ said Tim. ‘Many new ledgers since then.
Four-and-forty year!’
Tim closed the book again.
‘Come, come,’ said Nicholas, ‘I am all impatience to begin.’
Tim Linkinwater shook his head with an air of mild reproof. Mr. Nickleby
was not sufficiently impressed with the deep and awful nature of his
undertaking. Suppose there should be any mistake--any scratching out!
Young men are adventurous. It is extraordinary what they will rush upon,
sometimes. Without even taking the precaution of sitting himself down
upon his stool, but standing leisurely at the desk, and with a smile
upon his face--actually a smile--there was no mistake about it; Mr
Linkinwater often mentioned it afterwards--Nicholas dipped his pen
into the inkstand before him, and plunged into the books of Cheeryble
Brothers!
Tim Linkinwater turned pale, and tilting up his stool on the two legs
nearest Nicholas, looked over his shoulder in breathless anxiety.
Brother Charles and brother Ned entered the counting-house together; but
Tim Linkinwater, without looking round, impatiently waved his hand as a
caution that profound silence must be observed, and followed the nib of
the inexperienced pen with strained and eager eyes.
The brothers looked on with smiling faces, but Tim Linkinwater smiled
not, nor moved for some minutes. At length, he drew a long slow breath,
and still maintaining his position on the tilted stool, glanced at
brother Charles, secretly pointed with the feather of his pen towards
Nicholas, and nodded his head in a grave and resolute manner, plainly
signifying ‘He’ll do.’
Brother Charles nodded again, and exchanged a laughing look with brother
Ned; but, just then, Nicholas stopped to refer to some other page,
and Tim Linkinwater, unable to contain his satisfaction any longer,
descended from his stool, and caught him rapturously by the hand.
‘He has done it!’ said Tim, looking round at his employers and shaking
his head triumphantly. ‘His capital B’s and D’s are exactly like mine;
he dots all his small i’s and crosses every t as he writes it. There
an’t such a young man as this in all London,’ said Tim, clapping
Nicholas on the back; ‘not one. Don’t tell me! The city can’t produce
his equal. I challenge the city to do it!’
With this casting down of his gauntlet, Tim Linkinwater struck the desk
such a blow with his clenched fist, that the old blackbird tumbled off
his perch with the start it gave him, and actually uttered a feeble
croak, in the extremity of his astonishment.
‘Well said, Tim--well said, Tim Linkinwater!’ cried brother Charles,
scarcely less pleased than Tim himself, and clapping his hands gently
as he spoke. ‘I knew our young friend would take great pains, and I was
quite certain he would succeed, in no time. Didn’t I say so, brother
Ned?’
‘You did, my dear brother; certainly, my dear brother, you said so, and
you were quite right,’ replied Ned. ‘Quite right. Tim Linkinwater is
excited, but he is justly excited, properly excited. Tim is a fine
fellow. Tim Linkinwater, sir--you’re a fine fellow.’
‘Here’s a pleasant thing to think of!’ said Tim, wholly regardless of
this address to himself, and raising his spectacles from the ledger to
the brothers. ‘Here’s a pleasant thing. Do you suppose I haven’t often
thought of what would become of these books when I was gone? Do you
suppose I haven’t often thought that things might go on irregular and
untidy here, after I was taken away? But now,’ said Tim, extending his
forefinger towards Nicholas, ‘now, when I’ve shown him a little more,
I’m satisfied. The business will go on, when I’m dead, as well as it did
when I was alive--just the same--and I shall have the satisfaction of
knowing that there never were such books--never were such books! No, nor
never will be such books--as the books of Cheeryble Brothers.’
Having thus expressed his sentiments, Mr. Linkinwater gave vent to
a short laugh, indicative of defiance to the cities of London and
Westminster, and, turning again to his desk, quietly carried seventy-six
from the last column he had added up, and went on with his work.
‘Tim Linkinwater, sir,’ said brother Charles; ‘give me your hand, sir.
This is your birthday. How dare you talk about anything else till you
have been wished many happy returns of the day, Tim Linkinwater? God
bless you, Tim! God bless you!’
‘My dear brother,’ said the other, seizing Tim’s disengaged fist, ‘Tim
Linkinwater looks ten years younger than he did on his last birthday.’
‘Brother Ned, my dear boy,’ returned the other old fellow, ‘I believe
that Tim Linkinwater was born a hundred and fifty years old, and
is gradually coming down to five-and-twenty; for he’s younger every
birthday than he was the year before.’
‘So he is, brother Charles, so he is,’ replied brother Ned. ‘There’s not
a doubt about it.’
‘Remember, Tim,’ said brother Charles, ‘that we dine at half-past five
today instead of two o’clock; we always depart from our usual custom on
this anniversary, as you very well know, Tim Linkinwater. Mr. Nickleby,
my dear sir, you will make one. Tim Linkinwater, give me your snuff-box
as a remembrance to brother Charles and myself of an attached and
faithful rascal, and take that, in exchange, as a feeble mark of our
respect and esteem, and don’t open it until you go to bed, and never
say another word upon the subject, or I’ll kill the blackbird. A dog! He
should have had a golden cage half-a-dozen years ago, if it would have
made him or his master a bit the happier. Now, brother Ned, my dear
fellow, I’m ready. At half-past five, remember, Mr. Nickleby! Tim
Linkinwater, sir, take care of Mr. Nickleby at half-past five. Now,
brother Ned.’
Chattering away thus, according to custom, to prevent the possibility
of any thanks or acknowledgment being expressed on the other side, the
twins trotted off, arm-in-arm; having endowed Tim Linkinwater with a
costly gold snuff-box, enclosing a bank note worth more than its value
ten times told.
At a quarter past five o’clock, punctual to the minute, arrived,
according to annual usage, Tim Linkinwater’s sister; and a great to-do
there was, between Tim Linkinwater’s sister and the old housekeeper,
respecting Tim Linkinwater’s sister’s cap, which had been dispatched,
per boy, from the house of the family where Tim Linkinwater’s sister
boarded, and had not yet come to hand: notwithstanding that it had
been packed up in a bandbox, and the bandbox in a handkerchief, and the
handkerchief tied on to the boy’s arm; and notwithstanding, too, that
the place of its consignment had been duly set forth, at full length,
on the back of an old letter, and the boy enjoined, under pain of divers
horrible penalties, the full extent of which the eye of man could not
foresee, to deliver the same with all possible speed, and not to loiter
by the way. Tim Linkinwater’s sister lamented; the housekeeper condoled;
and both kept thrusting their heads out of the second-floor window to
see if the boy was ‘coming’--which would have been highly satisfactory,
and, upon the whole, tantamount to his being come, as the distance to
the corner was not quite five yards--when, all of a sudden, and when he
was least expected, the messenger, carrying the bandbox with elaborate
caution, appeared in an exactly opposite direction, puffing and panting
for breath, and flushed with recent exercise; as well he might be; for
he had taken the air, in the first instance, behind a hackney coach that
went to Camberwell, and had followed two Punches afterwards and had seen
the Stilts home to their own door. The cap was all safe, however--that
was one comfort--and it was no use scolding him--that was another;
so the boy went upon his way rejoicing, and Tim Linkinwater’s sister
presented herself to the company below-stairs, just five minutes after
the half-hour had struck by Tim Linkinwater’s own infallible clock.
The company consisted of the brothers Cheeryble, Tim Linkinwater, a
ruddy-faced white-headed friend of Tim’s (who was a superannuated bank
clerk), and Nicholas, who was presented to Tim Linkinwater’s sister with
much gravity and solemnity. The party being now completed, brother Ned
rang for dinner, and, dinner being shortly afterwards announced, led
Tim Linkinwater’s sister into the next room, where it was set forth with
great preparation. Then, brother Ned took the head of the table, and
brother Charles the foot; and Tim Linkinwater’s sister sat on the left
hand of brother Ned, and Tim Linkinwater himself on his right: and an
ancient butler of apoplectic appearance, and with very short legs, took
up his position at the back of brother Ned’s armchair, and, waving his
right arm preparatory to taking off the covers with a flourish, stood
bolt upright and motionless.
‘For these and all other blessings, brother Charles,’ said Ned.
‘Lord, make us truly thankful, brother Ned,’ said Charles.
Whereupon the apoplectic butler whisked off the top of the soup tureen,
and shot, all at once, into a state of violent activity.
There was abundance of conversation, and little fear of its ever
flagging, for the good-humour of the glorious old twins drew
everybody out, and Tim Linkinwater’s sister went off into a long and
circumstantial account of Tim Linkinwater’s infancy, immediately after
the very first glass of champagne--taking care to premise that she was
very much Tim’s junior, and had only become acquainted with the facts
from their being preserved and handed down in the family. This history
concluded, brother Ned related how that, exactly thirty-five years ago,
Tim Linkinwater was suspected to have received a love-letter, and how
that vague information had been brought to the counting-house of his
having been seen walking down Cheapside with an uncommonly handsome
spinster; at which there was a roar of laughter, and Tim Linkinwater
being charged with blushing, and called upon to explain, denied that the
accusation was true; and further, that there would have been any harm in
it if it had been; which last position occasioned the superannuated bank
clerk to laugh tremendously, and to declare that it was the very best
thing he had ever heard in his life, and that Tim Linkinwater might say
a great many things before he said anything which would beat THAT.
There was one little ceremony peculiar to the day, both the matter and
manner of which made a very strong impression upon Nicholas. The cloth
having been removed and the decanters sent round for the first time, a
profound silence succeeded, and in the cheerful faces of the brothers
there appeared an expression, not of absolute melancholy, but of quiet
thoughtfulness very unusual at a festive table. As Nicholas, struck