Nicholas Nickleby

e words emblazoned, in all the legibility of giltletters and dark shading, on the north-country coaches,take Snow Hill to be? All people have some undefined andshadowy notion of a place whose na

the oil and colour way. My name is Snawley, sir,’ saidthe stranger.　　Squeers inclined his head as much as to say, ‘And a remarkablypretty name, too.’　　The stranger continued. ‘I have been thinking, Mr Squeers, ofplacing 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 hadnever considered the proposition before. ‘Let me see; four fives istwenty, double that, and deduct the—well, a pound either wayshall not stand betwixt us. You must recommend me to yourconnection, 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’tconsider the boys’ appetites at our establishment.’ This wasstrictly true; they did not.　　‘Every wholesome luxury, sir, that Yorkshire can afford,’　　continued Squeers; ‘every beautiful moral that Mrs Squeers caninstil; every—in short, every comfort of a home that a boy couldwish for, will be theirs, Mr Snawley.’　　‘I should wish their morals to be particularly attended to,’ saidMr Snawley.　　‘I am glad of that, sir,’ replied the schoolmaster, drawinghimself 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. ‘Iasked 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 youspeak to your new playfellow a minute or two? That is one of myboys, sir. Belling his name is,—a Taunton boy that, sir.’　　‘Is he, indeed?’ rejoined Mr Snawley, looking at the poor littleurchin as if he were some extraordinary natural curiosity.　　‘He goes down with me tomorrow, sir,’ said Squeers. ‘That’s hisluggage that he is a sitting upon now. Each boy is required tobring, sir, two suits of clothes, six shirts, six pair of stockings, twonightcaps, two pocket-handkerchiefs, two pair of shoes, two hats,and a razor.’　　‘A razor!’ exclaimed Mr Snawley, as they walked into the nextbox. ‘What for?’　　‘To shave with,’ replied Squeers, in a slow and measured tone.　　There was not much in these three words, but there must havebeen something in the manner in which they were said, to attractattention; for the schoolmaster and his companion looked steadilyat each other for a few seconds, and then exchanged a verymeaning smile. Snawley was a sleek, flat-nosed man, clad insombre garments, and long black gaiters, and bearing in hiscountenance 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?’ heasked at length.　　‘Just as long as their friends make the quarterly payments tomy agent in town, or until such time as they run away,’ repliedSqueers. ‘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 goodmany of them; that boy’s one.’　　‘Him in the next box?’ said Snawley.　　Squeers nodded in the affirmative; his companion took anotherpeep at the little boy on the trunk, and, turning round again,looked as if he were quite disappointed to see him so much likeother boys, and said he should hardly have thought it.　　‘He is,’ cried Squeers. ‘But about these boys of yours; youwanted to speak to me?’　　‘Yes,’ replied Snawley. ‘The fact is, I am not their father, MrSqueers. 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 toYorkshire for. Ha! ha! Oh, I understand now.’　　‘You see I have married the mother,’ pursued Snawley; ‘it’sexpensive keeping boys at home, and as she has a little money inher 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 theirruin, 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 themto some school a good distance off, where there are no holidays—none of those ill-judged coming home twice a year that unsettlechildren’s minds so—and where they may rough it a little—youcomprehend?’　　‘The payments regular, and no questions asked,’ said Squeers,nodding his head.　　 ‘That’s it, exactly,’ rejoined the other. ‘Morals strictly attendedto, though.’　　‘Strictly,’ said Squeers.　　‘Not too much writing home allowed, I suppose?’ said thefather-in-law, hesitating.　　‘None, except a circular at Christmas, to say they never were sohappy, and hope they may never be sent for,’ rejoined Squeers.　　‘Nothing could be better,’ said the father-in-law, rubbing hishands.　　‘Then, as we understand each other,’ said Squeers, ‘will youallow 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 placethe strongest confidence in my unimpeachable integrity, liberality,religious principles, and ability?’　　‘Certainly I do,’ replied the father-in-law, reciprocating theschoolmaster’s grin.　　‘Perhaps you won’t object to say that, if I make you areference?’　　‘Not the least in the world.’　　‘That’s your sort!’ said Squeers, taking up a pen; ‘this is doingbusiness, and that’s what I like.’　　Having entered Mr Snawley’s address, the schoolmaster hadnext to perform the still more agreeable office of entering thereceipt of the first quarter’s payment in advance, which he hadscarcely completed, when another voice was heard inquiring forMr 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 advertisementof yours in the papers this morning?’　　‘There was, sir. This way, if you please,’ said Squeers, who hadby this time got back to the box by the fire-place. ‘Won’t you beseated?’　　‘Why, I think I will,’ replied Ralph, suiting the action to theword, and placing his hat on the table before him. ‘This is mynephew, sir, Mr Nicholas Nickleby.’　　‘How do you do, sir?’ said Squeers.　　Nicholas bowed, said he was very well, and seemed very muchastonished at the outward appearance of the proprietor ofDotheboys Hall: as indeed he was.　　‘Perhaps you recollect me?’ said Ralph, looking narrowly at theschoolmaster.　　‘You paid me a small account at each of my half-yearly visits totown, 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, finishingthe 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; theattention, sir, that was bestowed upon that boy in his illness! Drytoast and warm tea offered him every night and morning when hecouldn’t swallow anything—a candle in his bedroom on the verynight he died—the best dictionary sent up for him to lay his headupon—I don’t regret it though. It is a pleasant thing to reflect thatone 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 thefloor, 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 becomeacquainted. ‘This gentleman, sir, is a parent who is kind enough tocompliment me upon the course of education adopted atDotheboys Hall, which is situated, sir, at the delightful village ofDotheboys, near Greta Bridge in Yorkshire, where youth areboarded, clothed, booked, washed, furnished with pocket-money—’　　‘Yes, we know all about that, sir,’ interrupted Ralph, testily. ‘It’sin the advertisement.’　　‘You are very right, sir; it is in the advertisement,’ repliedSqueers.　　‘And in the matter of fact besides,’ interrupted Mr Snawley. ‘Ifeel bound to assure you, sir, and I am proud to have thisopportunity of assuring you, that I consider Mr Squeers ag