Nicholas Nickleby. Чарльз Диккенс

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      ‘Stand back,’ cried Squeers, brandishing his weapon.

      ‘I have a long series of insults to avenge,’ said Nicholas, flushed with passion; ‘and my indignation is aggravated by the dastardly cruelties practised on helpless infancy in this foul den. Have a care; for if you do raise the devil within me, the consequences shall fall heavily upon your own head!’

      He had scarcely spoken, when Squeers, in a violent outbreak of wrath, and with a cry like the howl of a wild beast, spat upon him, and struck him a blow across the face with his instrument of torture, which raised up a bar of livid flesh as it was inflicted. Smarting with the agony of the blow, and concentrating into that one moment all his feelings of rage, scorn, and indignation, Nicholas sprang upon him, wrested the weapon from his hand, and pinning him by the throat, beat the ruffian till he roared for mercy.

      The boys – with the exception of Master Squeers, who, coming to his father’s assistance, harassed the enemy in the rear – moved not, hand or foot; but Mrs. Squeers, with many shrieks for aid, hung on to the tail of her partner’s coat, and endeavoured to drag him from his infuriated adversary; while Miss Squeers, who had been peeping through the keyhole in expectation of a very different scene, darted in at the very beginning of the attack, and after launching a shower of inkstands at the usher’s head, beat Nicholas to her heart’s content; animating herself, at every blow, with the recollection of his having refused her proffered love, and thus imparting additional strength to an arm which (as she took after her mother in this respect) was, at no time, one of the weakest.

      Nicholas, in the full torrent of his violence, felt the blows no more than if they had been dealt with feathers; but, becoming tired of the noise and uproar, and feeling that his arm grew weak besides, he threw all his remaining strength into half-a-dozen finishing cuts, and flung Squeers from him with all the force he could muster. The violence of his fall precipitated Mrs. Squeers completely over an adjacent form; and Squeers striking his head against it in his descent, lay at his full length on the ground, stunned and motionless.

      Having brought affairs to this happy termination, and ascertained, to his thorough satisfaction, that Squeers was only stunned, and not dead (upon which point he had had some unpleasant doubts at first), Nicholas left his family to restore him, and retired to consider what course he had better adopt. He looked anxiously round for Smike, as he left the room, but he was nowhere to be seen.

      After a brief consideration, he packed up a few clothes in a small leathern valise, and, finding that nobody offered to oppose his progress, marched boldly out by the front-door, and shortly afterwards, struck into the road which led to Greta Bridge.

      When he had cooled sufficiently to be enabled to give his present circumstances some little reflection, they did not appear in a very encouraging light; he had only four shillings and a few pence in his pocket, and was something more than two hundred and fifty miles from London, whither he resolved to direct his steps, that he might ascertain, among other things, what account of the morning’s proceedings Mr. Squeers transmitted to his most affectionate uncle.

      Lifting up his eyes, as he arrived at the conclusion that there was no remedy for this unfortunate state of things, he beheld a horseman coming towards him, whom, on nearer approach, he discovered, to his infinite chagrin, to be no other than Mr. John Browdie, who, clad in cords and leather leggings, was urging his animal forward by means of a thick ash stick, which seemed to have been recently cut from some stout sapling.

      ‘I am in no mood for more noise and riot,’ thought Nicholas, ‘and yet, do what I will, I shall have an altercation with this honest blockhead, and perhaps a blow or two from yonder staff.’

      In truth, there appeared some reason to expect that such a result would follow from the encounter, for John Browdie no sooner saw Nicholas advancing, than he reined in his horse by the footpath, and waited until such time as he should come up; looking meanwhile, very sternly between the horse’s ears, at Nicholas, as he came on at his leisure.

      ‘Servant, young genelman,’ said John.

      ‘Yours,’ said Nicholas.

      ‘Weel; we ha’ met at last,’ observed John, making the stirrup ring under a smart touch of the ash stick.

      ‘Yes,’ replied Nicholas, hesitating. ‘Come!’ he said, frankly, after a moment’s pause, ‘we parted on no very good terms the last time we met; it was my fault, I believe; but I had no intention of offending you, and no idea that I was doing so. I was very sorry for it, afterwards. Will you shake hands?’

      ‘Shake honds!’ cried the good-humoured Yorkshireman; ‘ah! that I weel;’ at the same time, he bent down from the saddle, and gave Nicholas’s fist a huge wrench: ‘but wa’at be the matther wi’ thy feace, mun? it be all brokken loike.’

      ‘It is a cut,’ said Nicholas, turning scarlet as he spoke, – ‘a blow; but I returned it to the giver, and with good interest too.’

      ‘Noa, did ‘ee though?’ exclaimed John Browdie. ‘Well deane! I loike ‘un for thot.’

      ‘The fact is,’ said Nicholas, not very well knowing how to make the avowal, ‘the fact is, that I have been ill-treated.’

      ‘Noa!’ interposed John Browdie, in a tone of compassion; for he was a giant in strength and stature, and Nicholas, very likely, in his eyes, seemed a mere dwarf; ‘dean’t say thot.’

      ‘Yes, I have,’ replied Nicholas, ‘by that man Squeers, and I have beaten him soundly, and am leaving this place in consequence.’

      ‘What!’ cried John Browdie, with such an ecstatic shout, that the horse quite shied at it. ‘Beatten the schoolmeasther! Ho! ho! ho! Beatten the schoolmeasther! who ever heard o’ the loike o’ that noo! Giv’ us thee hond agean, yoongster. Beatten the schoolmeasther! Dang it, I loov’ thee for’t.’

      With these expressions of delight, John Browdie laughed and laughed again – so loud that the echoes, far and wide, sent back nothing but jovial peals of merriment – and shook Nicholas by the hand meanwhile, no less heartily. When his mirth had subsided, he inquired what Nicholas meant to do; on his informing him, to go straight to London, he shook his head doubtfully, and inquired if he knew how much the coaches charged to carry passengers so far.

      ‘No, I do not,’ said Nicholas; ‘but it is of no great consequence to me, for I intend walking.’

      ‘Gang awa’ to Lunnun afoot!’ cried John, in amazement.

      ‘Every step of the way,’ replied Nicholas. ‘I should be many steps further on by this time, and so goodbye!’

      ‘Nay noo,’ replied the honest countryman, reining in his impatient horse, ‘stan’ still, tellee. Hoo much cash hast thee gotten?’

      ‘Not much,’ said Nicholas, colouring, ‘but I can make it enough. Where there’s a will, there’s a way, you know.’

      John Browdie made no verbal answer to this remark, but putting his hand in his pocket, pulled out an old purse of solid leather, and insisted that Nicholas should borrow from him whatever he required for his present necessities.

      ‘Dean’t be afeard, mun,’ he said; ‘tak’ eneaf to carry thee whoam. Thee’lt pay me yan day, a’ warrant.’

      Nicholas could by no means be prevailed upon to borrow more than a sovereign, with which loan Mr. Browdie, after many entreaties that he would accept of more (observing, with a touch of СКАЧАТЬ