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 is a 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 no notice taken, nor no clue to be got who you belong to? It’s a pretty sort of thing that I should have to feed a great fellow like you, and never hope to get one penny for it, isn’t it?”
The boy put his hand to his head as if he were making an effort to recollect something, and then, looking vacantly at his questioner, gradually broke into a smile, and limped away.
“I’ll tell you what, Squeers,” remarked his wife as the door closed, “I think that young chap’s turning silly.”
“I hope not,” said the schoolmaster; “for he’s a handy fellow out of doors, and worth his meat and drink, anyway. I should think he’d have wit enough for us though, if he was. But come; let’s have supper, 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 up his 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 young man take, my dear?”
“Whatever he likes that’s present,” rejoined Squeers, in a most unusual 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. “A very little, for I’m not hungry.”
“Well, it’s a pity to cut the pie if you’re not hungry, isn’t it?” said Mrs. Squeers. “Will you try a bit of the beef?”
“Whatever you please,” replied Nicholas abstractedly; “it’s all the same to me.”
Mrs. Squeers looked vastly gracious on receiving this reply; and nodding to Squeers, as much as to say that she was glad to find the young man knew his station, assisted Nicholas to a slice of meat with her own fair hands.
“Ale, Squeery?” inquired the lady, winking and frowning to give him to understand that the question propounded, was, whether Nicholas should have ale, and not whether he (Squeers) would take any.
“Certainly,” said Squeers, re-telegraphing in the same manner. “A glassful.”
So Nicholas had a glassful, and being occupied with his own reflections, drank it, in happy innocence of all the foregone proceedings.
“Uncommon juicy steak that,” said Squeers, as he laid down his knife and fork, after plying it, in silence, for some time.
“It’s prime meat,” rejoined his lady. “I bought a good large piece of it myself on purpose for—”
“For what!” exclaimed Squeers hastily. “Not for the—”
“No, no; not for them,” rejoined Mrs. Squeers; “on purpose for you against you came home. Lor! you didn’t think I could have made such a mistake as that.”
“Upon my word, my dear, I didn’t know what you were going to say,” said Squeers, who had turned pale.
“You needn’t make yourself uncomfortable,” remarked his wife, laughing heartily. “To think that I should be such a noddy! Well!”
This part of the conversation was rather unintelligible; but popular rumour in the neighbourhood asserted that Mr. Squeers, being amiably opposed to cruelty to animals, not unfrequently purchased for boy consumption the bodies of horned cattle who had died a natural death; possibly he was apprehensive of having unintentionally devoured some choice morsel intended for the young gentlemen.
Supper being over, and removed by a small servant girl with a hungry eye, Mrs. Squeers retired to lock it up, and also to take into safe custody the clothes of the five boys who had just arrived, and who were halfway up the troublesome flight of steps which leads to death’s door, in consequence of exposure to the cold. They were then regaled with a light supper of porridge, and stowed away, side by side, in a small bedstead, to warm each other, and dream of a substantial meal with something hot after it, if their fancies set that way: which it is not at all improbable they did.
Mr. Squeers treated himself to a stiff tumbler of brandy and water, made on the liberal half-and-half principle, allowing for the dissolution of the sugar; and his amiable helpmate mixed Nicholas the ghost of a small glassful of the same compound. This done, Mr. and Mrs. Squeers drew close up to the fire, and sitting with their feet on the fender, talked confidentially in whispers; while Nicholas, taking up the tutor’s assistant, read the interesting legends in the miscellaneous questions, and all the figures into the bargain, with as much thought or consciousness of what he was doing, as if he had been in a magnetic slumber.
At length, Mr. Squeers yawned fearfully, and opined that it was high time to go to bed; upon which signal, Mrs. Squeers and the girl dragged in a small straw mattress and a couple of blankets, and arranged them into a couch for Nicholas.
“We’ll put you into your regular bedroom tomorrow, Nickelby,” said Squeers. “Let me see! Who sleeps in Brooks’s bed, my dear?”
“In Brooks’s,” said Mrs. Squeers, pondering. “There’s Jennings, little Bolder, Graymarsh, and what’s his name.”
“So there is,” rejoined Squeers. “Yes! Brooks is full.”
“Full!” thought Nicholas. “I should think he was.”
“There’s a place somewhere, I know,” said Squeers; “but I can’t at this moment call to mind where it is. However, we’ll have that all settled tomorrow. Good night, Nickleby. Seven o’clock in the morning, mind.”
“I shall be ready, sir,” replied Nicholas. “Good night.”
“I’ll come in myself and show you where the well is,” said Squeers. “You’ll always find a little bit of soap in the kitchen window; that belongs to you.”
Nicholas opened his eyes, but not his mouth; and Squeers was again going away, when he once more turned back.
“I don’t know, I am sure,” he said,
