Nicholas laughed, and entering no further into the subject of this lengthened harangue, reverted to the pleasant tone of the little birthday party. And as Mrs. Nickleby instantly became very curious respecting it, and made a great number of inquiries touching what they had had for dinner, and how it was put on table, and whether it was overdone or underdone, and who was there, and what “the Mr. Cherrybles’ said, and what Nicholas said, and what the Mr. Cherrybles said when he said that; Nicholas described the festivities at full length, and also the occurrences of the morning.
“Late as it is,” said Nicholas, “I am almost selfish enough to wish that Kate had been up to hear all this. I was all impatience, as I came along, to tell her.”
“Why, Kate,” said Mrs. Nickleby, putting her feet upon the fender, and drawing her chair close to it, as if settling herself for a long talk. “Kate has been in bed—oh! a couple of hours—and I’m very glad, Nicholas my dear, that I prevailed upon her not to sit up, for I wished very much to have an opportunity of saying a few words to you. I am naturally anxious about it, and of course it’s a very delightful and consoling thing to have a grownup son that one can put confidence in, and advise with; indeed I don’t know any use there would be in having sons at all, unless people could put confidence in them.”
Nicholas stopped in the middle of a sleepy yawn, as his mother began to speak: and looked at her with fixed attention.
“There was a lady in our neighbourhood,” said Mrs. Nickleby, “speaking of sons puts me in mind of it—a lady in our neighbourhood when we lived near Dawlish, I think her name was Rogers; indeed I am sure it was if it wasn’t Murphy, which is the only doubt I have—”
“Is it about her, mother, that you wished to speak to me?” said Nicholas quietly.
“About her!” cried Mrs. Nickleby. “Good gracious, Nicholas, my dear, how can you be so ridiculous! But that was always the way with your poor dear papa—just his way—always wandering, never able to fix his thoughts on any one subject for two minutes together. I think I see him now!” said Mrs. Nickleby, wiping her eyes, “looking at me while I was talking to him about his affairs, just as if his ideas were in a state of perfect conglomeration! Anybody who had come in upon us suddenly, would have supposed I was confusing and distracting him instead of making things plainer; upon my word they would.”
“I am very sorry, mother, that I should inherit this unfortunate slowness of apprehension,” said Nicholas, kindly; “but I’ll do my best to understand you, if you’ll only go straight on: indeed I will.”
“Your poor pa!” said Mrs. Nickleby, pondering. “He never knew, till it was too late, what I would have had him do!”
This was undoubtedly the case, inasmuch as the deceased Mr. Nickleby had not arrived at the knowledge when he died. Neither had Mrs. Nickleby herself; which is, in some sort, an explanation of the circumstance.
“However,” said Mrs. Nickleby, drying her tears, “this has nothing to do—certainly nothing whatever to do—with the gentleman in the next house.”
“I should suppose that the gentleman in the next house has as little to do with us,” returned Nicholas.
“There can be no doubt,” said Mrs. Nickleby, “that he is a gentleman, and has the manners of a gentleman, and the appearance of a gentleman, although he does wear smalls and grey worsted stockings. That may be eccentricity, or he may be proud of his legs. I don’t see why he shouldn’t be. The Prince Regent was proud of his legs, and so was Daniel Lambert, who was also a fat man; he was proud of his legs. So was Miss Biffin: she was—no,” added Mrs. Nickleby, correcting, herself, “I think she had only toes, but the principle is the same.”
Nicholas looked on, quite amazed at the introduction of this new theme. Which seemed just what Mrs. Nickleby had expected him to be.
“You may well be surprised, Nicholas, my dear,” she said, “I am sure I was. It came upon me like a flash of fire, and almost froze my blood. The bottom of his garden joins the bottom of ours, and of course I had several times seen him sitting among the scarlet-beans in his little arbour, or working at his little hotbeds. I used to think he stared rather, but I didn’t take any particular notice of that, as we were newcomers, and he might be curious to see what we were like. But when he began to throw his cucumbers over our wall—”
“To throw his cucumbers over our wall!” repeated Nicholas, in great astonishment.
“Yes, Nicholas, my dear,” replied Mrs. Nickleby in a very serious tone; “his cucumbers over our wall. And vegetable marrows likewise.”
“Confound his impudence!” said Nicholas, firing immediately. “What does he mean by that?”
“I don’t think he means it impertinently at all,” replied Mrs. Nickleby.
“What!” said Nicholas, “cucumbers and vegetable marrows flying at the heads of the family as they walk in their own garden, and not meant impertinently! Why, mother—”
Nicholas stopped short; for there was an indescribable expression of placid triumph, mingled with a modest
