Nicholas Nickleby

anding with the luggage in the road, to amusethemselves by looking at the coach as it change

ead at Nicholas, andeyeing him coldly from top to toe.　　‘He’ll take a meal with us tonight,’ said Squeers, ‘and go amongthe boys tomorrow morning. You can give him a shake-down here,tonight, can’t you?’　　‘We must manage it somehow,’ replied the lady. ‘You don’tmuch mind how you sleep, I suppose, sir?’　　No, indeed,’ replied Nicholas, ‘I am not particular.’　　‘That’s lucky,’ said Mrs Squeers. And as the lady’s humour wasconsidered to lie chiefly in retort, Mr Squeers laughed heartily,and seemed to expect that Nicholas should do the same.　　After some further conversation between the master andmistress relative to the success of Mr Squeers’s trip and the peoplewho had paid, and the people who had made default in payment, ayoung servant girl brought in a Yorkshire pie and some cold beef,which being set upon the table, the boy Smike appeared with a jugof ale.　　Mr Squeers was emptying his great-coat pockets of letters todifferent boys, and other small documents, which he had broughtdown in them. The boy glanced, with an anxious and timidexpression, at the papers, as if with a sickly hope that one amongthem might relate to him. The look was a very painful one, andwent to Nicholas’s heart at once; for it told a long and very sadhistory.　　It induced him to consider the boy more attentively, and he was surprised to observe the extraordinary mixture of garments whichformed his dress. Although he could not have been less thaneighteen or nineteen years old, and was tall for that age, he wore askeleton suit, such as is usually put upon very little boys, andwhich, though most absurdly short in the arms and legs, was quitewide enough for his attenuated frame. In order that the lower partof his legs might be in perfect keeping with this singular dress, hehad a very large pair of boots, originally made for tops, whichmight have been once worn by some stout farmer, but were nowtoo patched and tattered for a beggar. Heaven knows how long hehad been there, but he still wore the same linen which he had firsttaken down; for, round his neck, was a tattered child’s frill, onlyhalf concealed by a coarse, man’s neckerchief. He was lame; andas he feigned to be busy in arranging the table, glanced at theletters with a look so keen, and yet so dispirited and hopeless, thatNicholas could hardly bear to watch him.　　‘What are you bothering about there, Smike?’ cried MrsSqueers; ‘let the things alone, can’t you?’　　‘Eh!’ said Squeers, looking up. ‘Oh! it’s you, is it?’　　‘Yes, sir,’ replied the youth, pressing his hands together, asthough to control, by force, the nervous wandering of his fingers.　　‘Is there—’　　‘Well!’ said Squeers.　　‘Have you—did anybody—has nothing been heard—about me?’　　‘Devil a bit,’ replied Squeers testily.　　The lad withdrew his eyes, and, putting his hand to his face,moved towards the door.　　‘Not a word,’ resumed Squeers, ‘and never will be. Now, this isa pretty sort of thing, isn’t it, that you should have been left here, all these years, and no money paid after the first six—nor nonotice taken, nor no clue to be got who you belong to? It’s a prettysort of thing that I should have to feed a great fellow like you, andnever hope to get one penny for it, isn’t it?’　　The boy put his hand to his head as if he were making an effortto recollect something, and then, looking vacantly at hisquestioner, gradually broke into a smile, and limped away.　　‘I’ll tell you what, Squeers,’ remarked his wife as the doorclosed, ‘I think that young chap’s turning silly.’　　‘I hope not,’ said the schoolmaster; ‘for he’s a handy fellow outof doors, and worth his meat and drink, anyway. I should thinkhe’d have wit enough for us though, if he was. But come; let’s havesupper, for I am hungry and tired, and want to get to bed.’　　This reminder brought in an exclusive steak for Mr Squeers,who speedily proceeded to do it ample justice. Nicholas drew uphis chair, but his appetite was effectually taken away.　　‘How’s the steak, Squeers?’ said Mrs S.　　‘Tender as a lamb,’ replied Squeers. ‘Have a bit.’　　‘I couldn’t eat a morsel,’ replied his wife. ‘What’ll the youngman take, my dear?’　　‘Whatever he likes that’s present,’ rejoined Squeers, in a mostunusual burst of generosity.　　‘What do you say, Mr Knuckleboy?’ inquired Mrs Squeers.　　‘I’ll take a little of the pie, if you please,’ replied Nicholas. ‘Avery little, for I’m not hungry.’　　Well, it’s a pity to cut the pie if you’re not hungry, isn’t it?’ saidMrs Squeers. ‘Will you try a bit of the beef?’　　‘Whatever you please,’ replied Nicholas abstractedly; ‘it’s all thesame to me.’　　 Mrs Squeers looked vastly gracious on receiving this reply; andnodding to Squeers, as much as to say that she was glad to find theyoung man knew his station, assisted Nicholas to a slice of meatwith her own fair hands.　　‘Ale, Squeery?’ inquired the lady, winking and frowning to givehim to understand that the question propounded, was, whetherNicholas should have ale, and not whether he (Squeers) wouldtake any.　　‘Certainly,’ said Squeers, re-telegraphing in the same manner.　　‘A glassful.’　　So Nicholas had a glassful, and being occupied with his ownreflections, drank it, in happy innocence of all the foregoneproceedings.　　‘Uncommon juicy steak that,’ said Squeers, as he laid down hisknife and fork, after plying it, in silence, for some time.　　‘It’s prime meat,’ rejoined his lady. ‘I bought a good large pieceof it myself on purpose for—’　　‘For what!’ exclaimed Squeers hastily. ‘Not for the—’　　‘No, no; not for them,’ rejoined Mrs Squeers; ‘on purpose foryou against you came home. Lor! you didn’t think I could havemade such a mistake as that.’　　‘Upon my word, my dear, I didn’t know what you were going tosay,’ said Squeers, who had turned pale.　　‘You needn’t m