A host of unpleasant misgivings, which had been crowding upon Nicholas during the whole journey, thronged into his mind with redoubled force when he was left alone. His great distance from home and the impossibility of reaching it, except on foot, should he feel ever so anxious to return, presented itself to him in most alarming colours; and as he looked up at the dreary house and dark windows, and upon the wild country round, covered with snow, he felt a depression of heart and spirit which he had never experienced before.
“Now then!” cried Squeers, poking his head out at the front-door. “Where are you, Nickleby?”
“Here, sir,” replied Nicholas.
“Come in, then,” said Squeers, “the wind blows in, at this door, fit to knock a man off his legs.”
Nicholas sighed, and hurried in. Mr. Squeers, having bolted the door to keep it shut, ushered him into a small parlour scantily furnished with a few chairs, a yellow map hung against the wall, and a couple of tables; one of which bore some preparations for supper; while, on the other, a tutor’s assistant, a Murray’s grammar, half-a-dozen cards of terms, and a worn letter directed to Wackford Squeers, Esquire, were arranged in picturesque confusion.
They had not been in this apartment a couple of minutes, when a female bounced into the room, and, seizing Mr. Squeers by the throat, gave him two loud kisses: one close after the other, like a postman’s knock. The lady, who was of a large rawboned figure, was about half a head taller than Mr. Squeers, and was dressed in a dimity night-jacket; with her hair in papers; she had also a dirty nightcap on, relieved by a yellow cotton handkerchief which tied it under the chin.
“How is my Squeery?” said this lady in a playful manner, and a very hoarse voice.
“Quite well, my love,” replied Squeers. “How’s the cows?”
“All right, every one of’em,” answered the lady.
“And the pigs?” said Squeers.
“As well as they were when you went away.”
“Come; that’s a blessing,” said Squeers, pulling off his greatcoat. “The boys are all as they were, I suppose?”
“Oh, yes, they’re well enough,” replied Mrs. Squeers, snappishly. “That young Pitcher’s had a fever.”
“No!” exclaimed Squeers. “Damn that boy, he’s always at something of that sort.”
“Never was such a boy, I do believe,” said Mrs. Squeers; “whatever he has is always catching too. I say it’s obstinacy, and nothing shall ever convince me that it isn’t. I’d beat it out of him; and I told you that, six months ago.”
“So you did, my love,” rejoined Squeers. “We’ll try what can be done.”
Pending these little endearments, Nicholas had stood, awkwardly enough, in the middle of the room: not very well knowing whether he was expected to retire into the passage, or to remain where he was. He was now relieved from his perplexity by Mr. Squeers.
“This is the new young man, my dear,” said that gentleman.
“Oh,” replied Mrs. Squeers, nodding her head at Nicholas, and eyeing him coldly from top to toe.
“He’ll take a meal with us tonight,” said Squeers, “and go among the boys tomorrow morning. You can give him a shakedown here, tonight, can’t you?”
“We must manage it somehow,” replied the lady. “You don’t much 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 was considered 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 and mistress relative to the success of Mr. Squeers’s trip and the people who had paid, and the people who had made default in payment, a young servant girl brought in a Yorkshire pie and some cold beef, which being set upon the table, the boy Smike appeared with a jug of ale.
Mr. Squeers was emptying his greatcoat pockets of letters to different boys, and other small documents, which he had brought down in them. The boy glanced, with an anxious and timid expression, at the papers, as if with a sickly hope that one among them might relate to him. The look was a very painful one, and went to Nicholas’s heart at once; for it told a long and very sad history.
It induced him to consider the boy more attentively, and he was surprised to observe the extraordinary mixture of garments which formed his dress. Although he could not have been less than eighteen or nineteen years old, and was tall for that age, he wore a skeleton suit, such as is usually put upon very little boys, and which, though most absurdly short in the arms and legs, was quite wide enough for his attenuated frame. In order that the lower part of his legs might be in perfect keeping with this singular dress, he had a very large pair of boots, originally made for tops, which might have been once worn by some stout farmer, but were now too patched and tattered for a beggar. Heaven knows how long he had been there, but he still wore the same linen which he had first taken down; for, round his neck, was a tattered child’s frill, only half concealed by a coarse, man’s neckerchief. He was lame; and as he feigned to be busy in arranging the table, glanced at the letters with a look so keen, and yet so dispirited and hopeless, that Nicholas could hardly bear to watch him.
“What are you bothering about there, Smike?” cried Mrs. Squeers; “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, as though 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
