Nicholas Nickleby - The Original Classic Edition. Dickens Charles

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СКАЧАТЬ 'Jump out,' said Squeers. 'Hallo there! Come and put this horse up. Be quick, will you!'

       While the schoolmaster was uttering these and other impatient cries, Nicholas had time to observe that the school was a long,

       cold-looking house, one storey high, with a few straggling out-buildings behind, and a barn and stable adjoining. After the lapse of a minute or two, the noise of somebody unlocking the yard-gate was heard, and presently a tall lean boy, with a lantern in his hand, issued forth.

       'Is that you, Smike?' cried Squeers.

       'Yes, sir,' replied the boy.

       'Then why the devil didn't you come before?'

       'Please, sir, I fell asleep over the fire,' answered Smike, with humility.

       'Fire! what fire? Where's there a fire?' demanded the schoolmaster, sharply.

       'Only in the kitchen, sir,' replied the boy. 'Missus said as I was sitting up, I might go in there for a warm.'

       'Your missus is a fool,' retorted Squeers. 'You'd have been a deuced deal more wakeful in the cold, I'll engage.'

       By this time Mr Squeers had dismounted; and after ordering the boy to see to the pony, and to take care that he hadn't any more corn that night, he told Nicholas to wait at the front-door a minute while he went round and let him in.

       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.

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       '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 sup-per; 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 raw-boned 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 shake-down 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.

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       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 Nicho-

       las 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.

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