They found on reaching it, that it was a lonely place with no very great accommodation in the way of apartments—that portion of its resources being all comprised in one public room with a sanded floor, and a chair or two. However, a large faggot and a plentiful supply of coals being heaped upon the fire, the appearance of things was not long in mending; and, by the time they had washed off all effaceable marks of the late accident, the room was warm and light, which was a most agreeable exchange for the cold and darkness out of doors.
“Well, Mr. Nickleby,” said Squeers, insinuating himself into the warmest corner, “you did very right to catch hold of them horses. I should have done it myself if I had come to in time, but I am very glad you did it. You did it very well; very well.”
“So well,” said the merry-faced gentleman, who did not seem to approve very much of the patronising tone adopted by Squeers, “that if they had not been firmly checked when they were, you would most probably have had no brains left to teach with.”
This remark called up a discourse relative to the promptitude Nicholas had displayed, and he was overwhelmed with compliments and commendations.
“I am very glad to have escaped, of course,” observed Squeers: “every man is glad when he escapes from danger; but if any one of my charges had been hurt—if I had been prevented from restoring any one of these little boys to his parents whole and sound as I received him—what would have been my feelings? Why the wheel atop of my head would have been far preferable to it.”
“Are they all brothers, sir?” inquired the lady who had carried the “Davy” or safety-lamp.
“In one sense they are, ma’am,” replied Squeers, diving into his greatcoat pocket for cards. “They are all under the same parental and affectionate treatment. Mrs. Squeers and myself are a mother and father to every one of ’em. Mr. Nickleby, hand the lady them cards, and offer these to the gentleman. Perhaps they might know of some parents that would be glad to avail themselves of the establishment.”
Expressing himself to this effect, Mr. Squeers, who lost no opportunity of advertising gratuitously, placed his hands upon his knees, and looked at the pupils with as much benignity as he could possibly affect, while Nicholas, blushing with shame, handed round the cards as directed.
“I hope you suffer no inconvenience from the overturn, ma’am?” said the merry-faced gentleman, addressing the fastidious lady, as though he were charitably desirous to change the subject.
“No bodily inconvenience,” replied the lady.
“No mental inconvenience, I hope?”
“The subject is a very painful one to my feelings, sir,” replied the lady with strong emotion; “and I beg you as a gentleman, not to refer to it.”
“Dear me,” said the merry-faced gentleman, looking merrier still, “I merely intended to inquire—”
“I hope no inquiries will be made,” said the lady, “or I shall be compelled to throw myself on the protection of the other gentlemen. Landlord, pray direct a boy to keep watch outside the door—and if a green chariot passes in the direction of Grantham, to stop it instantly.”
The people of the house were evidently overcome by this request, and when the lady charged the boy to remember, as a means of identifying the expected green chariot, that it would have a coachman with a gold-laced hat on the box, and a footman, most probably in silk stockings, behind, the attentions of the good woman of the inn were redoubled. Even the box-passenger caught the infection, and growing wonderfully deferential, immediately inquired whether there was not very good society in that neighbourhood, to which the lady replied yes, there was: in a manner which sufficiently implied that she moved at the very tiptop and summit of it all.
“As the guard has gone on horseback to Grantham to get another coach,” said the good-tempered gentleman when they had been all sitting round the fire, for some time, in silence, “and as he must be gone a couple of hours at the very least, I propose a bowl of hot punch. What say you, sir?”
This question was addressed to the broken-headed inside, who was a man of very genteel appearance, dressed in mourning. He was not past the middle age, but his hair was grey; it seemed to have been prematurely turned by care or sorrow. He readily acceded to the proposal, and appeared to be prepossessed by the frank good-nature of the individual from whom it emanated.
This latter personage took upon himself the office of tapster when the punch was ready, and after dispensing it all round, led the conversation to the antiquities of York, with which both he and the grey-haired gentleman appeared to be well acquainted. When this topic flagged, he turned with a smile to the grey-headed gentleman, and asked if he could sing.
“I cannot indeed,” replied gentleman, smiling in his turn.
“That’s a pity,” said the owner of the good-humoured countenance. “Is there nobody here who can sing a song to lighten the time?”
The passengers, one and all, protested that they could not; that they wished they could; that they couldn’t remember the words of anything without the book; and so forth.
“Perhaps the lady would not object,” said the president with
