Nicholas, therefore, not being a high-spirited young man according to common parlance, and deeming it a greater degradation to borrow, for the supply of his necessities, from Newman Noggs, than to teach French to the little Kenwigses for five shillings a week, accepted the offer with the alacrity already described, and betook himself to the first floor with all convenient speed.
Here, he was received by Mrs. Kenwigs with a genteel air, kindly intended to assure him of her protection and support; and here, too, he found Mr. Lillyvick and Miss Petowker; the four Miss Kenwigses on their form of audience; and the baby in a dwarf porter’s chair with a deal tray before it, amusing himself with a toy horse without a head; the said horse being composed of a small wooden cylinder, not unlike an Italian iron, supported on four crooked pegs, and painted in ingenious resemblance of red wafers set in blacking.
“How do you do, Mr. Johnson?” said Mrs. Kenwigs. “Uncle—Mr. Johnson.”
“How do you do, sir?” said Mr. Lillyvick—rather sharply; for he had not known what Nicholas was, on the previous night, and it was rather an aggravating circumstance if a tax collector had been too polite to a teacher.
“Mr. Johnson is engaged as private master to the children, uncle,” said Mrs. Kenwigs.
“So you said just now, my dear,” replied Mr. Lillyvick.
“But I hope,” said Mrs. Kenwigs, drawing herself up, “that that will not make them proud; but that they will bless their own good fortune, which has born them superior to common people’s children. Do you hear, Morleena?”
“Yes, ma,” replied Miss Kenwigs.
“And when you go out in the streets, or elsewhere, I desire that you don’t boast of it to the other children,” said Mrs. Kenwigs; “and that if you must say anything about it, you don’t say no more than ‘We’ve got a private master comes to teach us at home, but we ain’t proud, because ma says it’s sinful.’ Do you hear, Morleena?”
“Yes, ma,” replied Miss Kenwigs again.
“Then mind you recollect, and do as I tell you,” said Mrs. Kenwigs. “Shall Mr. Johnson begin, uncle?”
“I am ready to hear, if Mr. Johnson is ready to commence, my dear,” said the collector, assuming the air of a profound critic. “What sort of language do you consider French, sir?”
“How do you mean?” asked Nicholas.
“Do you consider it a good language, sir?” said the collector; “a pretty language, a sensible language?”
“A pretty language, certainly,” replied Nicholas; “and as it has a name for everything, and admits of elegant conversation about everything, I presume it is a sensible one.”
“I don’t know,” said Mr. Lillyvick, doubtfully. “Do you call it a cheerful language, now?”
“Yes,” replied Nicholas, “I should say it was, certainly.”
“It’s very much changed since my time, then,” said the collector, “very much.”
“Was it a dismal one in your time?” asked Nicholas, scarcely able to repress a smile.
“Very,” replied Mr. Lillyvick, with some vehemence of manner. “It’s the war time that I speak of; the last war. It may be a cheerful language. I should be sorry to contradict anybody; but I can only say that I’ve heard the French prisoners, who were natives, and ought to know how to speak it, talking in such a dismal manner, that it made one miserable to hear them. Ay, that I have, fifty times, sir—fifty times!”
Mr. Lillyvick was waxing so cross, that Mrs. Kenwigs thought it expedient to motion to Nicholas not to say anything; and it was not until Miss Petowker had practised several blandishments, to soften the excellent old gentleman, that he deigned to break silence by asking,
“What’s the water in French, sir?”
“L’eau,” replied Nicholas.
“Ah!” said Mr. Lillyvick, shaking his head mournfully, “I thought as much. Lo, eh? I don’t think anything of that language—nothing at all.”
“I suppose the children may begin, uncle?” said Mrs. Kenwigs.
“Oh yes; they may begin, my dear,” replied the collector, discontentedly. “I have no wish to prevent them.”
This permission being conceded, the four Miss Kenwigses sat in a row, with their tails all one way, and Morleena at the top: while Nicholas, taking the book, began his preliminary explanations. Miss Petowker and Mrs. Kenwigs looked on, in silent admiration, broken only by the whispered assurances of the latter, that Morleena would have it all by heart in no time; and Mr. Lillyvick regarded the group with frowning and attentive eyes, lying in wait for something upon which he could open a fresh discussion on the language.
XVII
Follows the fortunes of Miss Nickleby.
It was with a heavy heart, and many sad forebodings which no effort could banish, that Kate Nickleby, on the morning appointed for the commencement of her engagement with Madame Mantalini, left the city when its clocks yet wanted a quarter of an hour of eight, and threaded her way alone, amid the noise and bustle of the streets, towards the west end of London.
At this early hour many sickly girls, whose business, like that of the poor worm, is to produce, with patient toil, the finery that bedecks the thoughtless and luxurious, traverse our streets, making towards the scene of their daily labour, and catching, as if by stealth, in their hurried walk, the only gasp of wholesome air and glimpse of sunlight which cheer their monotonous existence during the long train of hours that make a working day. As she drew nigh to the more fashionable quarter
