Nicholas Nickleby

oduced, andhow kindly he proposed to make his Fortune atonce.　　Having rendered his zealous assistance towardsdispatching the lunch, with all that promptitude andenergy which are among

Ibelieve I am the only relation they have, and I think it right thatyou should know I can’t support them in their extravagances. Howlong have they taken these lodgings for?’　　‘Only from week to week,’ replied Miss La Creevy. ‘MrsNickleby paid the first week in advance.’　　‘Then you had better get them out at the end of it,’ said Ralph.　　‘They can’t do better than go back to the country, ma’am; they arein everybody’s way here.’　　‘Certainly,’ said Miss La Creevy, rubbing her hands, ‘if MrsNickleby took the apartments without the means of paying forthem, it was very unbecoming a lady.’　　‘Of course it was, ma’am,’ said Ralph.　　‘And naturally,’ continued Miss La Creevy, ‘I who am, atpresent—hem—an unprotected female, cannot afford to lose by theapartments.’　　 ‘Of course you can’t, ma’am,’ replied Ralph.　　‘Though at the same time,’ added Miss La Creevy, who wasplainly wavering between her good-nature and her interest, ‘Ihave nothing whatever to say against the lady, who is extremelypleasant and affable, though, poor thing, she seems terribly low inher spirits; nor against the young people either, for nicer, orbetter-behaved young people cannot be.’　　‘Very well, ma’am,’ said Ralph, turning to the door, for theseencomiums on poverty irritated him; ‘I have done my duty, andperhaps more than I ought: of course nobody will thank me forsaying what I have.’　　‘I am sure I am very much obliged to you at least, sir,’ said MissLa Creevy in a gracious manner. ‘Would you do me the favour tolook at a few specimens of my portrait painting?’　　‘You’re very good, ma’am,’ said Mr Nickleby, making off withgreat speed; ‘but as I have a visit to pay upstairs, and my time isprecious, I really can’t.’　　‘At any other time when you are passing, I shall be most happy,’　　said Miss La Creevy. ‘Perhaps you will have the kindness to take acard of terms with you? Thank you—good-morning!’　　‘Good-morning, ma’am,’ said Ralph, shutting the door abruptlyafter him to prevent any further conversation. ‘Now for my sister-in-law. Bah!’　　Climbing up another perpendicular flight, composed with greatmechanical ingenuity of nothing but corner stairs, Mr RalphNickleby stopped to take breath on the landing, when he wasovertaken by the handmaid, whom the politeness of Miss LaCreevy had dispatched to announce him, and who had apparentlybeen making a variety of unsuccessful attempts, since their last interview, to wipe her dirty face clean, upon an apron muchdirtier.　　‘What name?’ said the girl.　　‘Nickleby,’ replied Ralph.　　‘Oh! Mrs Nickleby,’ said the girl, throwing open the door,‘here’s Mr Nickleby.’　　A lady in deep mourning rose as Mr Ralph Nickleby entered,but appeared incapable of advancing to meet him, and leant uponthe arm of a slight but very beautiful girl of about seventeen, whohad been sitting by her. A youth, who appeared a year or twoolder, stepped forward and saluted Ralph as his uncle.　　‘Oh,’ growled Ralph, with an ill-favoured frown, ‘you areNicholas, I suppose?’　　‘That is my name, sir,’ replied the youth.　　‘Put my hat down,’ said Ralph, imperiously. ‘Well, ma’am, howdo you do? You must bear up against sorrow, ma’am; I always do.’　　‘Mine was no common loss!’ said Mrs Nickleby, applying herhandkerchief to her eyes.　　‘It was no uncommon loss, ma’am,’ returned Ralph, as he coollyunbuttoned his spencer. ‘Husbands die every day, ma’am, andwives too.’　　‘And brothers also, sir,’ said Nicholas, with a glance ofindignation.　　‘Yes, sir, and puppies, and pug-dogs likewise,’ replied his uncle,taking a chair. ‘You didn’t mention in your letter what mybrother’s complaint was, ma’am.’　　‘The doctors could attribute it to no particular disease,’ saidMrs Nickleby; shedding tears. ‘We have too much reason to fearthat he died of a broken heart.’　　 ‘Pooh!’ said Ralph, ‘there’s no such thing. I can understand aman’s dying of a broken neck, or suffering from a broken arm, or abroken head, or a broken leg, or a broken nose; but a brokenheart!—nonsense, it’s the cant of the day. If a man can’t pay hisdebts, he dies of a broken heart, and his widow’s a martyr.’　　‘Some people, I believe, have no hearts to break,’ observedNicholas, quietly.　　‘How old is this boy, for God’s sake?’ inquired Ralph, wheelingback his chair, and surveying his nephew from head to foot withintense scorn.　　‘Nicholas is very nearly nineteen,’ replied the widow.　　‘Nineteen, eh!’ said Ralph; ‘and what do you mean to do foryour bread, sir?’　　‘Not to live upon my mother,’ replied Nicholas, his heartswelling as he spoke.　　‘You’d have little enough to live upon, if you did,’ retorted theuncle, eyeing him contemptuously.　　‘Whatever it be,’ said Nicholas, flushed with anger, ‘I shall notlook to you to make it more.’　　‘Nicholas, my dear, recollect yourself,’ remonstrated MrsNickleby.　　‘Dear Nicholas, pray,’ urged the young lady.　　‘Hold your tongue, sir,’ said Ralph. ‘Upon my word! Finebeginnings, Mrs Nickleby—fine beginnings!’　　Mrs Nickleby made no other reply than entreating Nicholas bya gesture to keep silent; and the uncle and nephew looked at eachother for some seconds without speaking. The face of the old manwas stern, hard-featured, and forbidding; that of the young one,open, handsome, and ingenuous. The old man’s eye was keen with the twinklings of avarice and cunning; the young man’s brightwith the light of intelligence and spirit. His figure was somewhatslight, but manly and well formed; and, apart from all the grace ofyouth and comeliness, there was an emanation from the warmyoung heart in his look and bearing which kept the old man down.　　However striking such a contrast as this may be to lookers-on,none ever feel it with half the keenness or acuteness of perfectionwith which it strikes to the very soul of him whose inferiority itmarks. It galled Ralph to the heart’s core, and he hated Nicholasfrom that hour.　　The mutual inspection was at length brought to a close byRalph withdrawing his eyes, with a great show of disdain, andcalling Nicholas ‘a boy.’ This word is much used as a term ofreproach by elderly gentlemen towards their juniors: probablywith the view of deluding society into the belief that if they couldbe young again, they wouldn’t on any account.　　‘Well, ma’am,’ said Ralph, impatiently, ‘the creditors haveadministered, you tell me, and there’s nothing left for you?’　　‘Nothing,’ replied Mrs Nickleby.　　‘And you spent what little money you had, in coming all the wayto London, to see what I could do for you?’ pursued Ralph.　　‘I hoped,’ faltered Mrs Nickleby, ‘that you might have anopportunity of doing something for your brother’s children. It washis dying wish that I should appeal to you in their behalf.’　　‘I don’t know how it is,’ muttered Ralph, walking up and downthe room, ‘but whenever a man dies without any property of hisown, he always seems to think he has a right to dispose of otherpeople’s. What is your daughter fit for, ma’am?’　　‘Kate has been well educated,’ sobbed Mrs Nickleby. ‘Tell your uncle, my dear, how far you went in French and extras.’　　The poor girl was about to murmur something, when her unclestopped her, very unceremoniously.　　‘We must try and get you apprenticed at some boarding-school,’　　said Ralph. ‘You have not been brought up too delicately for that, Ihope?’　　‘No, indeed, uncle,’ replied the weeping girl. ‘I will try to doanything that will gain me a home and bread.’　　‘Well, well,’ said Ralph, a little softened, either by his niece’sbeauty or her distress (stretch a point, and say the latter). ‘Youmust try it, and if the life is too hard, perhaps dressmaking ortambour-work will come lighter. Have you ever done anything,sir?’ (turning to his nephew.)‘No,’ replied Nicholas, bluntly.　　‘No, I thought not!’ said Ralph. ‘This is the way my brotherbrought up his children, ma’am.’　　‘Nicholas has not l