Nicholas Nickleby - The Original Classic Edition. Dickens Charles

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       '"I say," expostulated the figure, looking very much scared; "don't do that again."

       '"Why not?" demanded the baron.

       '"Because it gives me pain all over," replied the figure. "Sigh as much as you please: that does me good."

       'The baron sighed mechanically at the mention of the word; the figure, brightening up again, handed him the hunting-knife with

       most winning politeness.

       '"It's not a bad idea though," said the baron, feeling the edge of the weapon; "a man killing himself because he has too much

       money."

       '"Pooh!" said the apparition, petulantly, "no better than a man's killing himself because he has none or little."

       'Whether the genius unintentionally committed himself in saying this, or whether he thought the baron's mind was so thoroughly made up that it didn't matter what he said, I have no means of knowing. I only know that the baron stopped his hand, all of a sud-den, opened his eyes wide, and looked as if quite a new light had come upon him for the first time.

       '"Why, certainly," said Von Koeldwethout, "nothing is too bad to be retrieved."

       '"Except empty coffers," cried the genius.

       '"Well; but they may be one day filled again," said the baron.

       '"Scolding wives," snarled the genius.

       '"Oh! They may be made quiet," said the baron.

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       '"Thirteen children," shouted the genius.

       '"Can't all go wrong, surely," said the baron.

       'The genius was evidently growing very savage with the baron, for holding these opinions all at once; but he tried to laugh it off, and

       said if he would let him know when he had left off joking he should feel obliged to him.

       '"But I am not joking; I was never farther from it," remonstrated the baron.

       '"Well, I am glad to hear that," said the genius, looking very grim, "because a joke, without any figure of speech, IS the death of me.

       Come! Quit this dreary world at once."

       '"I don't know," said the baron, playing with the knife; "it's a dreary one certainly, but I don't think yours is much better, for you have not the appearance of being particularly comfortable. That puts me in mind--what security have I, that I shall be any the better for going out of the world after all!" he cried, starting up; "I never thought of that."

       '"Dispatch," cried the figure, gnashing his teeth.

       '"Keep off !" said the baron. 'I'll brood over miseries no longer, but put a good face on the matter, and try the fresh air and the bears again; and if that don't do, I'll talk to the baroness soundly, and cut the Von Swillenhausens dead.' With this the baron fell into his chair, and laughed so loud and boisterously, that the room rang with it.

       'The figure fell back a pace or two, regarding the baron meanwhile with a look of intense terror, and when he had ceased, caught up

       the stake, plunged it violently into its body, uttered a frightful howl, and disappeared.

       'Von Koeldwethout never saw it again. Having once made up his mind to action, he soon brought the baroness and the Von Swillenhausens to reason, and died many years afterwards: not a rich man that I am aware of, but certainly a happy one: leaving behind him a numerous family, who had been carefully educated in bear and boar-hunting under his own personal eye. And my advice to all men is, that if ever they become hipped and melancholy from similar causes (as very many men do), they look at both sides of the question, applying a magnifying-glass to the best one; and if they still feel tempted to retire without leave, that they smoke a large pipe and drink a full bottle first, and profit by the laudable example of the Baron of Grogzwig.'

       'The fresh coach is ready, ladies and gentlemen, if you please,' said a new driver, looking in.

       This intelligence caused the punch to be finished in a great hurry, and prevented any discussion relative to the last story. Mr Squeers was observed to draw the grey-headed gentleman on one side, and to ask a question with great apparent interest; it bore reference to the Five Sisters of York, and was, in fact, an inquiry whether he could inform him how much per annum the Yorkshire convents got in those days with their boarders.

       The journey was then resumed. Nicholas fell asleep towards morning, and, when he awoke, found, with great regret, that, during his nap, both the Baron of Grogzwig and the grey-haired gentleman had got down and were gone. The day dragged on uncomfortably enough. At about six o'clock that night, he and Mr Squeers, and the little boys, and their united luggage, were all put down together at the George and New Inn, Greta Bridge.

       CHAPTER 7

       Mr and Mrs Squeers at Home

       Mr Squeers, being safely landed, left Nicholas and the boys standing with the luggage in the road, to amuse themselves by looking at the coach as it changed horses, while he ran into the tavern and went through the leg-stretching process at the bar. After some minutes, he returned, with his legs thoroughly stretched, if the hue of his nose and a short hiccup afforded any criterion; and at the same time there came out of the yard a rusty pony-chaise, and a cart, driven by two labouring men.

       'Put the boys and the boxes into the cart,' said Squeers, rubbing his hands; 'and this young man and me will go on in the chaise. Get

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       in, Nickleby.'

       Nicholas obeyed. Mr. Squeers with some difficulty inducing the pony to obey also, they started off, leaving the cart-load of infant

       misery to follow at leisure.

       'Are you cold, Nickleby?' inquired Squeers, after they had travelled some distance in silence.

       'Rather, sir, I must say.'

       'Well, I don't find fault with that,' said Squeers; 'it's a long journey this weather.'

       'Is it much farther to Dotheboys Hall, sir?' asked Nicholas.

       'About three mile from here,' replied Squeers. 'But you needn't call it a Hall down here.'

       Nicholas coughed, as if he would like to know why.

       'The fact is, it ain't a Hall,' observed Squeers drily.

       'Oh, indeed!' said Nicholas, whom this piece of intelligence much astonished.

       'No,' replied Squeers. 'We call it a Hall up in London, because it sounds better, but they don't know it by that name in these parts. A

       man may call his house an island if he likes; there's no act of Parliament against that, I believe?'

       'I believe not, sir,' rejoined Nicholas.

       Squeers eyed his companion slyly, at the conclusion of this little dialogue, and finding that he had grown thoughtful and appeared in

       nowise disposed to volunteer any observations, contented himself with lashing the pony until they reached their journey's end.

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