 CHAPTER 34 WHEREIN MR. RALPH NICLEBY IS VISITED BY PERSONS WITH WHOM THE READER HAS BEEN ALREADY MADE ACQUAINTED. Not a damnation long time you have kept me ringing at this confounded old crack tea kettle of a bell, every tinkle of which is enough to throw a strongman into blue convulsions upon my life and soul, oh, damn it," said Mr. Mantellini to Newman-nogs, scraping his boots as he spoke, on Ralph Nicolby's scraper. I didn't hear the bell more than once, replied Newman. Then you are most immensely and out-rigessly deaf, said Mr. Mantellini, as deaf as a damnation post. Mr. Mantellini had got by this time into the passage and was making his way to the door of Ralph's office with very little ceremony when Newman interposed his body, and hinting that Mr. Nicolby was unwilling to be disturbed, inquired whether the client's business was of a pressing nature. "'It is most damnably particular,' said Mr. Mantellini, "'it is to melt some scraps of dirty paper into bright, shining, chinking, tinkling, damned-mint sauce.'" Newman uttered a significant grunt, and taking Mr. Mantellini's proffered card, limped with it into his master's office. As he thrust his head in at the door, he saw that Ralph had resumed the thoughtful posture into which he had fallen after perusing his nephew's letter, and that he seemed to have been reading it again, as he once more held it open in his hand. The glance was but momentary, for Ralph, being disturbed, turned to demand the cause of the interruption. As Newman stated it, the cause himself swaggered into the room, and grasping Ralph's horny hand with uncommon affection, vowed that he had never seen him looking so well in all his life. "'There is quite a bloom upon your damned countenance,' said Mr. Mantellini, seating himself unbidden, and arranging his hair in whiskers. "'You look quite juvenile and jolly, damn it!' "'We are alone,' returned Ralph, tartly, "'what do you want with me?' "'Good!' cried Mr. Mantellini, displaying his teeth. "'What did I want? Yes, ha-ha, very good. What did I want? Ha-ha! Oh, damn! What do you want, man?' Demanded Ralph sternly. "'Demnition discount,' returned Mr. Mantellini, with a grin, and shaking his head waggishly. "'Money is scarce,' said Ralph. "'Demn's scarce, or I shouldn't want it,' interrupted Mr. Mantellini. "'The times are bad, and one scarcely knows whom to trust,' continued Ralph. "'I don't want to do business just now. In fact, I would rather not. But as you are a friend, how many bills have you there?' "'Two,' returned Mr. Mantellini. "'What is the gross amount?' "'I'm trifling five and seventy. And the dates? Two months and four.' "'I'll do them for you. Mind for you. I wouldn't for many people. For five and twenty pounds,' said Ralph deliberately. "'Oh, damn it!' cried Mr. Mantellini, whose face lengthened considerably at this handsome proposal. "'Why, that leaves you fifty,' retorted Ralph. "'What would you have? Let me see the names.' "'You are so dimmed hard, Nicolby,' remonstrated Mr. Mantellini. "'Let me see the names,' replied Ralph, impatiently extending his hand for the bills. "'Well, they are not sure, but they are safe enough. Do you consent to the terms, and will you take the money? I don't want you to do so. I would rather you didn't.' "'Demmit, Nicolby, can't you?' began Mr. Mantellini. "'No,' replied Ralph, interrupting him. "'I can't. Will you take the money? Down, mind. No delay. No going into the city and pretending to negotiate with some other party who has no existence and never had. Is it a bargain, or is it not?' Ralph pushed some papers from him as he spoke, and carelessly rattled his cash box, as though by mere accident. The sound was too much for Mr. Mantellini. He closed the bargain directly, it reached his ears, and Ralph told the money out upon the table. He had scarcely done so, and Mr. Mantellini had not yet gathered it all up when a ring was heard at the bell, and immediately afterwards Newman ushered in no less a person than Madame Mantellini, at sight of whom Mr. Mantellini evinced considerable discomposure, and swept the cash into his pocket with remarkable alacrity. "'Oh, you ARE here,' said Madame Mantellini, tossing her head. "'Yes, my life and soul I am,' replied her husband, dropping on his knees and pouncing with kitten-like playfulness upon a stray sovereign. "'I am here, my soul's delight, upon Tom Tiddler's ground, picking up the damnation gold and silver. "'I am ashamed of you,' said Madame Mantellini, with much indignation. "'Ashamed of me, my joy? It knows it is talking, damn charming sweetness, but naughty fibs,' returned Mr. Mantellini. It knows it is not ashamed of its own poplarum tibbey. Whatever were the circumstances which had led to such a result, it certainly appeared as though the poplarum tibbey had rather miscalculated, for the naunts, the extent of his lady's affection. Madame Mantellini only looked scornful in reply, and turning to Ralph begged him to excuse her intrusion. "'Which is entirely attributable,' said Madame, to the gross misconduct and most improper behavior of Mr. Mantellini. "'Of me, my essential juice of pineapple?' "'Of you,' returned his wife, "'but I will not allow it. I will not submit to be ruined by the extravagance and profligacy of any man. I call Mr. Nicolby to witness the course I intend to pursue with you. "'Pray, don't call me to witness anything, ma'am,' said Ralph. "'Settle it between yourselves, settle it between yourselves.' "'No, I must beg you as a favour,' said Madame Mantellini, to hear me give him notice of what is my fixed intention to do. My fixed intention, sir,' repeated Madame Mantellini, darting an angry look at her husband. "'Will she call me, sir?' cried Mantellini. Me, who doed upon her with the demnest ardor, she, who coils her fascinations round me like a pure angelic rattlesnake. It will be all up with my feelings. She will throw me into a demned state.' "'Don't talk of feelings, sir,' rejoined Madame Mantellini, seating herself and turning her back upon him. "'You don't consider mine.' "'I do not consider yours my soul,' exclaimed Mr. Mantellini.' "'No,' replied his wife. "'And notwithstanding various blandishments on the part of Mr. Mantellini, Madame Mantellini still said no, and said it too with such determined and resolute ill temper that Mr. Mantellini was clearly taken aback.' "'His extravagance, Mr. Niccolby,' said Madame Mantellini, addressing herself to Ralph, who leaned against his easy chair with his hands behind him, and regarded the amiable couple with the smile of the supremist and most unmitigated contempt, his extravagance is beyond all bounds.' "'I should scarcely have supposed it,' answered Ralph sarcastically. "'I assure you, Mr. Niccolby, however, that it is.,' returned Madame Mantellini. "'It makes me miserable. I am under constant apprehensions and in constant difficulty, and even this,' said Madame Mantellini, wiping her eyes, "'is not the worst. He took some papers of value out of my desk this morning without asking my permission.' Mr. Mantellini groaned slightly and buttoned his trousers pocket. "'I am obliged,' continued Madame Mantellini, since our late misfortunes, to pay Miss Knagg a great deal of money for having her name in the business, and I really cannot afford to encourage him in all his wastefulness. As I have no doubt that he came straight here, Mr. Niccolby, to convert the papers I have spoken of into money, and as you have assisted us very often before, and are very much connected with us in this kind of matters, I wish you to know the determination at which his conduct has compelled me to arrive.' Mr. Mantellini groaned once more from behind his wife's bonnet, and, fitting a sovereign into one of his eyes, winked with the other at Ralph. Having achieved this performance with great dexterity, he whipped the coin into his pocket, and groaned again with increased penitence. "'I have made up my mind,' said Madame Mantellini, as tokens of impatience manifested themselves in Ralph's countenance, to allowance him. "'To do that, my joy,' inquired Mr. Mantellini, who did not seem to have caught the words. "'To put him,' said Madame Mantellini, looking at Ralph, and prudently abstaining from the slightest glance at her husband, lest his many graces should induce her to falter in her resolution, to put him upon a fixed allowance, and I say that if he has a hundred and twenty pounds a year for his clothes and pocket money, he may consider himself a very fortunate man.' Mr. Mantellini waited, with much decorum to hear the amount of the proposed stipend, but when it reached his ears he cast his hat and cane upon the floor, and, drawing out his pocket handkerchief, gave vent to his feelings in a dismal moan. "'Demnition!' cried Mr. Mantellini, suddenly skipping out of his chair, and as suddenly skipping into it again, to the great discomposure of his lady's nerves. "'But no, it is a damned horrid dream. It is not reality. No!' Comforting himself with this assurance, Mr. Mantellini closed his eyes, and waited patiently till such time as he should wake up. "'A very judicious arrangement,' observed Ralph with a sneer, "'if your husband will keep within it, ma'am, as no doubt he will.' Demet!' exclaimed Mr. Mantellini, opening his eyes at the sound of Ralph's voice. "'It is a horrid reality. She is sitting there before me. There is the graceful outline of her form. It cannot be mistaken. There is nothing like it. The two countesses had no outlines at all, and the dowagers was a damned outline. Why is she so excruciatingly beautiful that I cannot be angry with her even now?' "'You have brought it upon yourself, Alfred,' returned Madame Mantellini, still reproachfully, but in a softened tone. "'I am a damned villain,' cried Mr. Mantellini, smiting himself on the head. "'I will fill my pockets with change for a sovereign in half-pence and drown myself in the Thames, but I will not be angry with her even then, for I will put a note in the two-penny post as I go along to tell her where the body is. She will be a lovely widow. I shall be a body. Some handsome women will cry. She will laugh demnably.' "'Alfred, you cruel, cruel creature,' said Madame Mantellini, sobbing at the dreadful picture. She calls me cruel, me, me, who for her sake will become a damned, damp, moist, unpleasant body,' exclaimed Mr. Mantellini. "'You know it almost breaks my heart even to hear you talk of such a thing,' replied Madame Mantellini. "'Can I live to be mistrusted?' cried her husband. "'Have I cut my heart into a damned extraordinary number of little pieces and given them all away, one after another, to the same little engrossing demnition captivator? And can I live to be suspected by her? Demmit, no, I can't.' Asked Mr. Niccolby whether the sum I have mentioned is not a proper one,' reasoned Madame Mantellini. "'I don't want any sum,' replied her disconsoleed husband. "'I shall require no damned allowance. I will be a body.' On this repetition of Mr. Mantellini's fatal threat, Madame Mantellini wrung her hands and implored the interference of Ralph Niccolby, and after a great quantity of tears and talking, and several attempts on the part of Mr. Mantellini to reach the door, preparatory to straightway committing violence upon himself, that gentleman was prevailed upon with difficulty to promise that he wouldn't be a body. This great point attained, Madame Mantellini argued the question of the allowance, and Mr. Mantellini did the same, taking occasion to show that he could live with uncommon satisfaction upon bread and water, and go clad in rags, but that he would not support existence with additional burden of being mistrusted by the object of his most devoted and disinterested affection. This brought fresh tears into Madame Mantellini's eyes, which having just begun to open to some few of the demerits of Mr. Mantellini were only open a very little way, and could be easily closed again. The result was that without quite giving up the allowance question, Madame Mantellini postponed its further consideration, and Ralph saw, clearly enough, that Mr. Mantellini had gained a fresh lease of his easy life, and that, for some time longer at all events, his degradation and downfall were postponed. But it will come soon enough, thought Ralph. All love, bah, that I should use the can't of boys and girls, is fleeting enough, though that which has its sole root in the admiration of a whiskered face like that of yonder baboon, perhaps lasts the longest, as it originates in the greater blindness and is fed by vanity. Meantime the fools bring grist to my mill, so let them live out their day, and the longer it is, the better. These agreeable reflections occurred to Ralph Nickelby, as sundry small caresses and endearments supposed to be unseen, were exchanged between the objects of his thoughts. If you have nothing more to say, my dear, to Mr. Nickelby, said Madame Mantellini, we will take our leaves. I am sure we have detained him much too long already. Mr. Mantellini answered, in the first instance, by tapping Madame Mantellini several times on the nose, and then by remarking in words that he had nothing more to say. Demetai have, though, he added almost immediately, drawing Ralph into a corner. Here's an affair about your friends Sir Mulberry, such a damned extraordinary, out-of-the-way kind of thing as never was, eh? What do you mean, asked Ralph? Don't you know, Demet? asked Mr. Mantellini. I see by the paper that he was thrown from his Cabriolet last night, and severely injured, and that his life isn't some danger, answered Ralph with great composure. But I see nothing extraordinary in that. Accidents are not miraculous events when men live hard and drive after dinner. Woo! cried Mr. Mantellini in a long-show whistle. Then don't you know how it was? Not unless it was as I have just supposed, replied Ralph, shrugging his shoulders carelessly, as if to give his questioner to understand that he had no curiosity upon the subject. Demet, you amaze me! cried Mantellini. Ralph shrugged his shoulders again, as if it were no great feat to amaze Mr. Mantellini, and cast a wistful glance at the face of Newman-Nogs, which had several times appeared behind a couple of panes of glass in the room door, it being a part of Newman's duty, when unimportant people called, to make various feints of supposing that the bell had rung for him to show them out, by way of a gentle hint to such visitors that it was time to go. Don't you know, said Mr. Mantellini, taking Ralph by the button, that it wasn't an accident at all, but a damned furious manslaughtering attack made upon him by your nephew? What! snarled Ralph, clenching his fists and turning a livid white. Demet, Niccolby, you're as great a tiger as he is, said Mantellini, alarmed at these demonstrations. Go on, cried Ralph. Tell me what you mean. What is this story? Who told you? Speak! growled Ralph. Do you hear me? God, Niccolby! said Mr. Mantellini, retreating towards his wife. What a demnable, fierce, old, evil genius you are! You're enough to frighten the life and soul out of her little delicious wits, flying all at once into such a blazing, ravaging, raging passion as never was, Demet! Psh! rejoined Ralph, forcing a smile. It is but manner. It is damned uncomfortable private madhouse sort of a manner, said Mr. Mantellini, picking up his cane. Ralph affected a smile, and once more inquired from whom Mr. Mantellini had derived his information. From Pike, and a damned fine pleasant gentlemanly dog it is, replied Mantellini, demnition pleasant, and a tip-top soire. And what said he, asked Ralph, knitting his brows, that it happened this way, that your nephew met him at a coffee-house, fell upon him with the most demnable ferocity, followed him to his cab, swore he would ride home with him, if he rode upon the horse's back, or hooked himself onto the horse's tail, smashed his countenance, which is a damned fine countenance in its natural state, frightened the horse, pitched out Sir Mulberry and himself, and, and was killed, interposed Ralph with gleaming eyes, was he, is he dead? Mr. Mantellini shook his head. Ugh! said Ralph, turning away. Then he has done nothing. Stay! he added, looking round again. He broke a leg, or an arm, or put a shoulder out, or fractured his collarbone, or ground a rib or two. His neck was saved for the halter, but he got some painful and slow healing injury for his trouble, did he? You must have heard that, at least. No, rejoined Mantellini, shaking his head again. Unless he was dashed into such little pieces that they blew away, he wasn't hurt, for he went off as quiet and comfortable as, as, as demnition, said Mr. Mantellini, rather at a loss for a simile. And what, said Ralph, hesitating a little, what was the cause of the quarrel? You are the demnest knowing hand, replied Mr. Mantellini, in an admiring tone, the cunningest, rummest, superlative-est old fox! Oh, dem, to pretend now not to know that it was the little bright-eyed niece, the softest, sweetest, prettiest, Alfred! interposed Madame Mantellini. She is always right, rejoined Mr. Mantellini soothingly, and when she says it is time to go it is time, and go she shall, and when she walks along the streets with her own tulip, the women shall say with envy that she has got a demned fine husband, and the men shall say with rapture he has got a demned fine wife, and they shall both be right and neither wrong upon my life and soul. Oh, dem it! With which, remarks and many more, no less intellectual and to the purpose, Mr. Mantellini kissed the fingers of his gloves to Ralph Nickelby, and drawing his ladies' arm through his, led her mintingly away. So, so, muttered Ralph, dropping into his chair, this devil is loose again and thwarting me, as he was born to do, at every turn. He told me once there should be a day of reckoning between us sooner or later. I'll make him a true prophet, for it shall surely come. Are you at home? asked Newman, suddenly popping in his head. No, replied Ralph, with equal abruptness. Newman withdrew his head, but thrust it in again. You're quite sure you're not at home, are you? said Newman. What does the idiot mean? cried Ralph, testily. He has been waiting nearly ever since they first came in, and may have heard your voice. That's all, said Newman, rubbing his hands. Who has? demanded Ralph, wrought by the intelligence as he had just heard, and by his clerk's provoking coolness to an intense pitch of irritation. The necessity of her reply was superseded by the unlooked-for entrance of a third party, the individual in question, who, bringing his one eye, for he had but one, to bear on Ralph Nickleby, made a great many shambling bows, and sat himself down in an armchair, with his hands on his knees and his short black trousers drawn up so high in the legs by the exertion of seating himself that they scarcely reached below the tops of his Wellington boots. Why, this is a surprise, said Ralph, bending his gaze upon the visitor, and half smiling as he scrutinized him attentively. I should know your face, Mr. Squares. Ah! replied that worthy, and you'd have known it better, sir, if it hadn't been for all that I've been a-going through. Just lift that little boy off the tall stool in the back office, and tell him to come in here, will you, my man? said Squares, addressing himself to Newman. Oh! he's lifted his self off. My son, sir, little Wackford, what do you think of him, sir, for a specimen of the Dothaboy's hall-feeding? Ain't he fit to bust out of his clothes and start the seams, and make the very buttons fly off at his fatness? Here's flesh! cried Squares, turning the boy about, and indenting the plumpest parts of his figure with diverse pokes and punches to the great discomposure of his son and heir. Here's firmness! here's solidness! Why, you can hardly get up enough of him between your finger and thumb to pinch him anywheres! In however good condition Master Squares might have been, he certainly did not present this remarkable compactness of person, for on his father's closing his fingers and thumb in illustration of his remark he uttered a sharp cry and rubbed the place in the most natural manner possible. Well, remarked Squares, a little disconcerted. I had him there, but that's because we breakfasted early this morning, and he hasn't had his lunch yet. Why, you couldn't shut a bit of him in a door when he's had his dinner. Look at them tears, sir, said Squares, with a triumphant air, as Master Wackford wiped his eyes with a cuff of his jacket. There's oiliness! He looks well indeed, returned Ralph, who, for some purposes of his own, seemed desirous to conciliate the schoolmaster. But how is Mrs. Squares and how are you? Mrs. Squares, sir, replied the proprietor of Dotha Boys, is as she always is, a mother to them lads and a blessing and a comfort and a joy to all them as knows her. One of our boys, gorging his self with vitals and then turning in, that's their way, got a abscess on him last week, to see how she operated upon him with a pen-knife. Oh, Lord! said Squares, heaving a sigh and nodding his head a great many times. What a member of society that woman is! Mr. Squares indulged in a retrospective look, for some quarter of a minute, as if this allusion to his ladies' excellences had naturally led his mind to the peaceful village of Dotha Boys near Greta Bridge in Yorkshire, and then looked at Ralph, as if waiting for him to say something. Have you quite recovered, that scoundrel's attack, asked Ralph? I've only just done it if I've done it now, replied Squares. I was one blessed bruise, sir, said Squares, touching first the roots of his hair and then the toes of his boots, from here to there, vinegar and brown paper, vinegar and brown paper, from morning to night. I suppose there was a matter of half a ream of brown paper stuck upon me from first to last. As I laid all of a heap in our kitchen, plastered all over, you might have thought I was a large brown paper parcel, chock full of nothing but groans. Did I groan loud, Wackford, or did I groan soft? asked Mr. Squares, appealing to his son. Loud, replied Wackford. Was the boys sorry to see me in such a dreadful condition, Wackford, or was they glad? asked Mr. Squares in a sentimental manner. Gle, eh? cried Squares, turning sharp round. Sorry, rejoined his son. Oh! said Squares, catching him a smart box on the ear. Then take your hands out of your pockets and don't stammer when you're asked a question. Hold your noise, sir, in a gentleman's office, or I'll run away from my family and never come back any more. And then what would become of all them precious and forlorn lads as would be let loose on the world without their best friend at their elbows? Were you obliged to have medical attendants, inquired Ralph? I was, I rejoined Squares, and a precious bill the medical attendant brought in, too, but I paid it, though. Ralph elevated his eyebrows in a manner which might be expressive of either sympathy or astonishment, just as the beholder was pleased to take it. Yes, I paid it every farthing, replied Squares, who seemed to know the man he had to deal with, too well to suppose that any blinking of the question would induce him to subscribe towards the expenses. I wasn't out of pocket by it after all, either. No, said Ralph. Not a half penny, replied Squares. The fact is, we have only one extra with our boys, and that is for doctors, when required, and not then unless we're sure of our customers, do you see? I understand, said Ralph. Very good, rejoined Squares. Then, after my bill was run up, we picked out five little boys, sons of small tradesmen, as was sure pay, that had never had the scarlet fever, and we sent one to a cottage where they'd got it, and he took it. And then we put the four others to sleep with him, and they took it. And then the doctor came and attended them once all round, and we divided my total among them, and added it on to their little bills, and the parents paid it. Ha! Ha! Ha! And a good plan, too, said Ralph, eyeing the schoolmaster stealthily. I believe you, rejoined Squares. We always do it. Why, when Mrs. Squares was brought to bed with Little Walkford here, we ran the hooping cough through a half a dozen boys, and charged her expenses among them, monthly nurse included. Ha! Ha! Ha! Ralph never laughed, but on this occasion he produced the nearest approach to it that he could, and waiting until Mr. Squares had enjoyed the professional joke to his heart's content, inquired what had brought him to town. Some bothering law business, replied Squares, scratching his head, connected with an action, for what they call neglect of a boy. I don't know what they would have. He had as good grazing that boy had as there is about us. Ralph looked as if he did not quite understand the observation. Grazing, said Squares, raising his voice, under the impression that as Ralph failed to comprehend him he must be deaf. When a boy gets weak and ill and don't relish his meals, we give him a change of diet. Turn him out for an hour or so every day into a neighbor's turnip field, or sometimes, if it's a delicate case, a turnip field and a piece of carrots, alternately, and let him eat as many as he likes. There aren't better land in the country than this perverse lad grazed on, and yet he goes and catches cold and indigestion and whatnot, and then his friends brings a lawsuit against me. Now, you'd hardly suppose, added Squares, moving in his chair with the impatience of an ill-used man, that people's ingratitude would carry them quite as far as that, would you? A hard case indeed, observed Ralph. You don't say more than the truth when you say that, replied Squares. I don't suppose there's a man going as possesses the fondness for youth that I do. There's youth to the amount of eight hundred pound a year at Dotha Boy's Hall at this present time. I'd take sixteen hundred pound worth if I could get him, and be as fond of every individual twenty pound among them as nothing should equal it. Are you stopping at your old quarters, asked Ralph? Yes, we are at the Sarasin, replied Squares, and as it don't want very long to the end of the half year, we shall continue to stop there till I've collected the money, and some new boys, too, I hope. I've brought Little Walkford up, on purpose, to show to parents and guardians. I shall put him in the advertisement this time. Look at that boy, himself a pupil, why, he's a miracle of high-feeding that boy is. I should like to have a word with you, said Ralph, who had both spoken and listened mechanically for some time, and seemed to have been thinking. As many words as you like, sir, rejoined Squares. Walkford, you go and play in the back office, and don't move about too much, or you'll get thin, and that won't do. You haven't got such a thing as two pints, Mr. Nicolby, have you? Said Squares, rattling a bunch of keys in his coat pocket, and muttering something about its being all silver. I think I have, said Ralph, very slowly, and producing after much rummaging in an old drawer, a penny, a half penny, and two farthings. Thank ye, said Squares, bestowing it upon his son. Here, you go and buy a tart, Mr. Nicolby's man will show you where, and mind you buy a rich one. Pastry, added Squares, closing the door on Master Walkford, makes his flesh shine a good deal, and parents think that's a healthy sign. With this explanation, and a peculiarly knowing look to eek it out, Mr. Squares moved his chair so as to bring himself opposite to Ralph Nicolby at no great distance off, and having planted it to his entire satisfaction sat down. Attend to me, said Ralph, bending forward a little. Squares nodded. I am not to suppose, said Ralph, that you are dulled enough to forgive or forget, very readily, the violence that was committed upon you, or the exposure which accompanied it. Devil a bit, replied Squares, tartly. Or to lose an opportunity of repaying it with interest if you could get one, said Ralph. Show me one and try, rejoined Squares. Some such object it was that induced you to call on me, said Ralph, raising his eyes to the school Master's face. No, I don't know about that, replied Squares. I thought that if it was in your power to make me, besides the trifle of money you sent, any compensation— Ah! cried Ralph, interrupting him. You'd needn't go on. After a long pause, during which Ralph appeared absorbed in contemplation, he again broke silence by asking, Who is this boy that he took with him? Squares stated his name. Was he young or old, healthy or sick, tractable or rebellious? Speak out, man, retorted Ralph. Why, he wasn't young, answered Squares. That is, not young for a boy, you know. That is, he was not a boy at all, I suppose, interrupted Ralph. Well, returned Squares briskly, as if he felt relieved by the suggestion, he might have been 920. He wouldn't seem so old, though, to them as didn't know him, for he was a little wanting here, touching his forehead, nobody at home, you know, if you knocked ever so often. And you did knock pretty often, I dare say, muttered Ralph. Pretty well, returned Squares with a grin. When you wrote to acknowledge the receipt of this trifle of money, as you call it, said Ralph, you told me his friends had deserted him long ago, and that you had not the faintest clue or trace to tell you who he was. Is that the truth? It is, worse luck, replied Squares, becoming more and more easy and familiar in his manner, as Ralph pursued his inquiries with the less reserve. It's fourteen years ago, by the entry in my book, since a strange man brought him to my place one autumn night and left him there, paying five pound five for his first quarter in advance. He might have been five or six year old at that time, not more. What more do you know about him? demanded Ralph. Devilish little, I'm sorry to say, replied Squares. The money was paid for some six or eight year, and then it stopped. He had given an address in London had this chap, but when it came to the point, of course, nobody note anything about him, so I kept the lad out of—out of— Charity, suggested Ralph Dryly. Charity, to be sure, returned Squares, rubbing his knees, and when he begins to be useful in a certain sort of way, this young scoundrel of a nickel becomes and carries him off. But the most vexatious and aggravating part of the whole affair is, said Squares, dropping his voice, and drawing his chair still closer to Ralph, that some questions have been asked about him at last, not of me, but in a roundabout sort of way, of people in our village, so that just when I might have had all the rears paid up, perhaps—and perhaps, who knows, such things have happened in our business before—a present besides for putting him out to a farmer or sending him to sea, so that he might never turn up to disgrace his parents, supposing him to be a natural boy, as many of our boys are. Dammy, if that villain of a nickelby don't collar him in open day, and commit as good as highway robbery upon my pocket. We will both cry quits with him before long, said Ralph, laying his hand on the arm of the Yorkshire schoolmaster. Quits, echoed Squares, ah, and I should like to leave a small balance in his favor, to be settled when he can. I only wish Mrs. Squares could catch hold of him. Bless her heart. She'd murder him, Mr. Nickelby. She would, as soon as eat her dinner. We will talk of this again, said Ralph. I must have time to think of it, to wound him through his own affections and fancies, if I could strike him through this boy. Strike him how you like, sir, interrupted Squares, only hit him hard enough, that's all. And with that, I'll say, good morning. Here, just chuck that little boy's hat off that corner peg, and lift him off the stool, will you? Brawling these requests to Newman-nogs, Mr. Squares betook himself to the little back-office, and fitted on his child's hat with parental anxiety, while Newman, with his pen behind his ear, sat stiff and immovable upon his stool, regarding the father and son by turns with a broad stare. He's a fine boy, auntie, said Squares, throwing his head a little on one side, and falling back to the desk, the better to estimate the proportions of little Wackford. Very, said Newman. Pretty well swelled out, ain't he, pursued Squares? He is the fatness of twenty boys he has. Ah! replied Newman, suddenly thrusting his face into that of Squares. He has the fatness of twenty. More! He's got it all. God help that others. Ha, ha, oh Lord! Having uttered these fragmentary observations, Newman dropped upon his desk and began to write with most marvellous rapidity. Why, what does the man mean? cried Squares, colouring. Is he drunk? Newman made no reply. Is he mad, said Squares? But still, Newman betrayed no consciousness of any presence save his own, so Mr. Squares comforted himself by saying that he was both drunk and mad, and, with this parting observation, he led his hopeful son away. In exact proportion as Ralph Nicolby became conscious of a struggling and lingering regard for Kate, had his detestation of Nicholas augmented, it might be that to atone for the weakness of inclining to any one person, he held it necessary to hate some other more intensely than before, but such had been the course of his feelings. And now, to be defied and spurned, to be held up to her in the worst and most repulsive colours, to know that she was taught to hate and despise him, to feel that there was infection in his touch and taint in his companionship, to know all this, and to know that the mover of it all was that same boyish poor relation who had twitted him in their very first interview, and openly bearded and braved him since, wrought his quiet and stealthy malignity to such a pitch that there was scarcely anything he would not have hazarded to gratify it, if he could have seen his way to some immediate retaliation. But, fortunately for Nicholas, Ralph Nicolby did not, and although he cast about all that day, and kept a corner of his brain working on the one anxious subject through all the round of schemes and business that came with it, Knight found him at last, still harping on the same theme, and still pursuing the same unprofitable reflections. When my brother was such as he, said Ralph, the first comparisons were drawn between us, always in my disfavor. He was open, liberal, gallant, gay. I, a crafty hunks of cold and stagnant blood, with no passion but love, saving, and no spirit beyond a thirst for gain. I recollected it well when I first saw this whipster, but I remember it better now. He had been occupied in tearing Nicholas's letter into Adams, and as he spoke, he scattered it in a tiny shower about him. Recollections like these pursued Ralph with a bitter smile, flock upon me, when I resigned myself to them, in crowds, and from countless quarters. As a portion of the world effected despise the power of money, I must try and show them what it is. And being by this time, in a pleasant frame of mind for slumber, Ralph Nicolby went to bed. CHAPTER XXV of Nicholas Nicolby Read by Asbestasio in Waxaw, North Carolina Smyke becomes known to Mrs. Nicolby and Kate. Nicholas also meets with new acquaintances. Brighter days seemed to dawn upon the family. Having established his mother and sister in the apartments of the kind-hearted miniature painter, and ascertained that Sir Mulberry Hawk was in no danger of losing his life, Nicholas turned his thoughts to poor Smyke, who, after breakfasting with new men nogs, had remained in a disconsolate state, at that worthy creature's lodgings, waiting, with much anxiety, for further intelligence of his protector. As he will be one of our own little household, wherever we live, or whatever fortune is in reserve for us, thought Nicholas, I must present the poor fellow in due form. They will be kind to him for his own sake, and if not, on that account solely, to the full extent I could wish, they will stretch a point, I am sure, for mine. Nicholas said they, but his misgivings were confined to one person. He was sure of Kate, but he knew his mother's peculiarities, and was not quite so certain that Smyke would find favour in the eyes of Mrs. Nicolby. However, thought Nicholas, as he departed on his benevolent errand, she cannot fail to become attached to him, when she knows what a devoted creature he is, and as she must quickly make the discovery, his probation will be a short one. I was afraid, said Smyke, overjoyed to see his friend again, that you had fallen into some fresh trouble. The time seemed so long, at last, that I almost feared you were lost. Lost! replied Nicholas gaily. You will not be rid of me so easily, I promise you. I shall rise to the surface many thousand times yet, and the harder the thrust that pushes me down, the more quickly I shall rebound, Smyke. But come! my errand here is to take you home. Home! faltered Smyke, drawing timidly back. I rejoined Nicholas, taking his arm. Why not? I had such hopes once, said Smyke. Day and night, day and night, for many years, I longed for home till I was weary, and pined away with grief. But now! And what now? asked Nicholas, looking kindly in his face. What now, old friend? I could not part from you to go to any home on earth, replied Smyke, pressing his hand. Except one, except one. I shall never be an old man, and if your hand placed me in the grave, and I could think before I died, that you would come and look upon it sometimes, with one of your kind smiles, and in the summer weather, when everything was alive, not dead like me, I could go to that home, almost without a tear. Why do you talk thus, poor boy, if your life is a happy one with me? said Nicholas. Because I should change, not those about me, and if they forgot me I should never know it, replied Smyke. In the churchyard we are all alike, but here there are none like me. I am a poor creature, but I know that. You are a foolish, silly creature, said Nicholas cheerfully. If that is what you mean, I grant you that. Why, here's a dismal face for ladies' company. My pretty sister too, whom you have so often asked me about. Is this your Yorkshire gallantry? For shame, for shame! Smyke brightened up and smiled. When I talk of home, pursued Nicholas, I talk of mine, which is yours, of course. If it were defined by any particular four walls and a roof, God knows I should be sufficiently puzzled to say whereabouts it lay. But that is not what I mean. When I speak of home, I speak of the place where, in default of a better, those I love are gathered together, and if that place were a gypsy's tent or a barn, I should call it by the same good name notwithstanding. And now, for what is my present home, which, however alarming your expectations may be, will neither terrify you by its extent nor its magnificence. So, saying, Nicholas took his companion by the arm and sang a great deal more to the same purpose, and pointing out various things to amuse and interest him as they went along, led the way to Miss Lacrivy's house. And this, Kate, said Nicholas, entering the room where his sister sat alone, is the faithful friend and affectionate fellow-traveller whom I prepared you to receive. Poor Smike was bashful and awkward and frightened enough at first. But Kate advanced towards him so kindly, and said in such a sweet voice, how anxious she had been to see him after all her brother had told her, and how much she had to thank him for having comforted Nicholas so greatly in their very trying reverses, that he began to be very doubtful whether he should shed tears or not, and became still more flurried. However, he managed to say, in a broken voice, that Nicholas was his only friend, and that he would lay down his life to help him. And Kate, although she was so kind and considerate, seemed to be so wholly unconscious of his distress and embarrassment that he recovered almost immediately, and felt quite at home. Then Mrs. Lacrivy came in, and to her Smike had to be presented also. And Miss Lacrivy was very kind too, and wonderfully talkative, not to Smike, for that would have made him uneasy at first, but to Nicholas and his sister. Then after a time she would speak to Smike himself now and then, asking him whether he was a judge of likenesses, and whether he thought that picture in the corner was like herself, and whether he didn't think it would have looked better if she had made herself ten years younger, and whether he didn't think, as a matter of general observation, that young ladies looked better not only in pictures, but out of them too, than old ones, with many more small jokes and facetious remarks, which were delivered with such good humour and merriment, that Smike thought, within himself, that she was the nicest lady he had ever seen, even nicer than Mrs. Gruden, of Mr. Vincent Crummel's theatre, and she was a nice lady too, and talked perhaps more, but certainly louder than Mrs. Lacrivy. At length the door opened again, and a lady in mourning came in, and Nicholas, kissing the lady in mourning affectionately, and calling her his mother, led her towards the chair from which Smike had risen when she entered the room. You are always kind-hearted and anxious to help the oppressed, my dear mother, said Nicholas, so you will be favourably disposed towards him, I know. I am sure, my dear Nicholas, replied Mrs. Nicolby, looking very hard at her new friend, and bending to him with something more of majesty than the occasion seemed to require, I am sure any friend of yours has, as indeed he naturally ought to have, and must have, of course, you know, a great claim upon me, and, of course, it is a very great pleasure to me to be introduced to anybody you take an interest in. There can be no doubt about that, none at all, not in the least in the world, said Mrs. Nicolby. At the same time I must say, Nicholas, my dear, as I used to say to your poor dear papa, when he would bring gentlemen home to dinner, and there was nothing in the house, that if he had come the day before yesterday—no, I don't mean the day before yesterday now—I should have said, perhaps, the year before last, we should have been better able to entertain him. With which remarks Mrs. Nicolby turned to her daughter, and inquired in an audible whisper whether the gentleman was going to stop all night. Because if he is Kate, my dear, said Mrs. Nicolby, I don't see that it's possible for him to sleep anywhere, and that's the truth. Kate stepped gracefully forward, and without any show of annoyance or irritation, breathed few words into her mother's ear. "'Luck, Kate, my dear,' said Mrs. Nicolby, shrinking back. How you do tickle one, of course I understand that, my love, without your telling me. And I said the same to Nicholas, and I am very much pleased. You didn't tell me, Nicholas, my dear,' added Mrs. Nicolby, turning round with an air of less reserve than she had before assumed. What your friend's name is!' His name, mother, replied Nicholas, is Smyke. The effect of this communication was by no means anticipated, but the name was no sooner pronounced than Mrs. Nicolby dropped upon a chair and burst into a fit of crying. "'What is the matter?' exclaimed Nicholas, running to support her. "'It's so like Pike!' cried Mrs. Nicolby. "'So exactly like Pike! Oh, don't speak to me. I shall be better presently.' And after exhibiting every symptom of slow suffocation in all its stages, and drinking about a teaspoonful of water from a full tumbler and spilling the remainder, Mrs. Nicolby was better, and remarked, with a feeble smile, that she was very foolish she knew. "'It's a weakness in our family,' said Mrs. Nicolby, "'so of course I can't be blamed for it. Your grandmama, Kate, was exactly the same, precisely. The least excitement, the slightest surprise—she fainted away directly. I have heard her say, often and often, that when she was a young lady and before she was married, she was turning a corner into Oxford Street one day, when she ran against her own hairdresser, who, it seems, was escaping from a bear. The mere suddenness of the encounter made her faint away directly. Wait, though,' added Mrs. Nicolby, pausing to consider, "'Let me be sure I'm right. Was it her hairdresser who had escaped from a bear, or was it a bear who had escaped from her hairdressers? I declare I can't remember just now. But the hairdresser was a very handsome man, I know, and quite a gentleman in his manners, so that it has nothing to do with the point of the story.' Mrs. Nicolby, having fallen imperceptibly into one of her retrospective moods, improved in temper from that moment, and glided by an easy exchange of the conversation, occasionally into various other anecdotes, no less remarkable for their strict application to the subject in hand. "'Mr. Smike is from Yorkshire, Nicholas, my dear,' said Mrs. Nicolby, after dinner, and when she had been silent for some time. "'Certainly, mother,' replied Nicholas. "'I see you have not forgotten his melancholy history.' "'Oh, dear no!' cried Mrs. Nicolby. "'Ah, melancholy indeed. "'You don't happen, Mr. Smike, ever to have dined with the grimbles of Grimble Hall, somewhere in the North Riding, do you?' said the good lady, addressing herself to him. "'A very proud man,' said Thomas Grimble, with six grown-up and most lovely daughters, and the finest park in the county. "'My dear mother,' reasoned Nicholas, "'do you suppose that the unfortunate outcast of a Yorkshire school was likely to receive many cards of invitation from the nobility and gentry in the neighbourhood?' "'Well, really, my dear, I don't know why it should be so very extraordinary,' said Mrs. Nicolby. "'I know that when I was in school, I always went at least twice every half-year to the Hawkinses at Taunton Vale, and they are much richer than the grimbles, and connected with them in marriage, so you see it is not very unlikely after all.' Having put down Nicholas in this triumphant manner, Mrs. Nicolby was suddenly seized with a forgetfulness of Smike's real name, and an irresistible tendency to call him Mr. Slammins, which circumstance she attributed to the remarkable similarity of the two names in point of sound, both beginning with an S, and moreover being spelled with an M. But whatever doubt there might be on this point there was none as to his being a most excellent listener, which circumstance had considerable influence in placing them on the very best terms, and inducing Mrs. Nicolby to express the highest opinion of his general deportment and disposition. Thus the little circle remained on the most amicable and agreeable footing, until the Monday morning, when Nicholas withdrew himself from it, for a short time, seriously to reflect upon the state of his affairs, and to determine, if he could, upon some course of life, which would enable him to support those who were so entirely dependent upon his exertions. Mr. Crummels occurred to him more than once, but although Kate was acquainted with the whole history of his connection with that gentleman, his mother was not, and he foresaw a thousand fretful objections on her part, to his seeking a livelihood upon the stage. There were graver reasons, too, against his returning to that mode of life. Independently of those arising out of its spare and precarious earnings, and his own internal conviction that he could never hope to aspire to any great distinction, even as a provincial actor, how could he carry his sister from town to town, and place to place, and debar her from any other associates than those with whom he would be compelled, almost without distinction, to mingle? It won't do, said Nicholas, shaking his head. I must try something else. It was much easier to make this resolution than to carry it into effect, with no greater experience of the world than he had acquired for himself in his short trials, with a sufficient share of headlong rashness and precipitation, qualities not altogether unnatural at his time of life, with a very slender stock of money, and a still more scanty stock of friends. What could he do? It gad, said Nicholas. I'll try that register's office again. He smiled at himself as he walked away with a quick step. For an instant before he had been internally blaming his own precipitation, he did not laugh himself out of the intention, however, for on he went, picturing to himself as he approached the place, all kinds of splendid possibilities, and impossibilities too, for that matter, and thinking himself perhaps with good reason, very fortunate to be endowed with so buoyant and sanguine a temperament. The office looked just the same as when he had left it last, and indeed with one or two exceptions there seemed to be the very same placards in the window that he had seen before. There were the same unimpeachable masters and mistresses in want of virtuous servants, and the same virtuous servants in want of unimpeachable masters and mistresses, and the same magnificent estates for the investment of capital, and the same enormous quantities of capital to be invested in estates, and in short the same opportunities of all sorts for people who wanted to make their fortunes. And the most extraordinary proof of it was of the national prosperity that people had not been found to avail themselves of such advantages long ago. As Nicholas stopped to look in at the window, an old gentleman happened to stop too, and Nicholas, carrying his eye along the window panes from left to right in search of some capital with text placard, which should be applicable to his own case, caught sight of this old gentleman's figure and instinctively withdrew his eyes from the window to observe the same more closely. He was a sturdy old fellow in a broad skirted blue coat, made pretty large to fit easily, and with no particular waste, his bulky legs clothed in drab breeches and high gaiters, and his head protected by a low crowned broad-brimmed white hat such as a wealthy grazer might wear. He wore his coat buttoned, and his dimpled double chin rested on the folds of a white neckerchief. Not one of your stiff-starched apoplectic cravats, but a good, easy, old-fashioned white neckloth that a man might go to bed in and be none the worse for. But what principally attracted the attention of Nicholas was the old gentleman's eye. Never was such a clear, twinkling, honest, merry, happy eye as that. And there he stood, looking a little upward, with one hand thrust into the breast of his coat, and the other playing with his old-fashioned gold watch-chain, his head thrown a little on one side, and his hat a little more on one side than his head—but that was evidently accident, not his ordinary way of wearing it—with such a pleasant smile, playing about his mouth, and such a comical expression of mingled slinus, simplicity, kind-heartedness, and good-humour lighting up his jolly old face, that Nicholas would have been content to have stood there and looked at him until evening, and to have forgotten, meanwhile, that there was such a thing as a soured mind, or a crabbed countenance, to be met with in the whole wide world. But even a very remote approach to this gratification was not to be made. For although he seemed quite unconscious of having been the subject of observation, he looked casually at Nicholas, and the latter, fearful of giving offence, resumed his scrutiny of the window instantly. Still the old gentleman stood there, glancing from placard to placard, and Nicholas could not forbear raising his eyes to his face again. Grafted upon the quaintness and oddity of his appearance was something so indescribably engaging, and bespeaking so much worth. And there were so many little lights hovering about the corners of his mouth and eyes, that it was not a mere amusement, but a positive pleasure and delight to look at him. This being the case, it is no wonder that the old man caught Nicholas in the fact more than once. At such times Nicholas coloured and looked embarrassed, for the truth is that he had begun to wonder whether the stranger could, by any possibility, be looking for a clerk or secretary, and thinking this, he felt as if the old gentleman must know it. Long as all this takes to tell, it was not more than a couple of minutes in passing. As the stranger was moving away, Nicholas caught his eye again, and in the awkwardness of the moment stammered out an apology. No offence! Oh, no offence! said the old man. This was said in such a hearty tone, and the voice was so exactly what it should have been from such a speaker, and there was such a cordiality in the manner that Nicholas was emboldened to speak again. A great many opportunities here, sir, he said, half smiling as he motioned towards the window. A great many people willing and anxious to be employed have seriously thought so very often, I dare say, replied the old man. Poor fellows, poor fellows! He moved away as he said this, but seeing that Nicholas was about to speak, good-naturedly slackened his pace, as if he were unwilling to cut him short. After a little of that hesitation which may be sometimes observed between two people on the street who have exchanged a nod, and are both uncertain whether they shall turn back and speak or not, Nicholas found himself at the old man's side. You were about to speak, young gentleman? What were you going to say? Merely that I almost hoped, I mean to say, thought you had some object in consulting those advertisements, said Nicholas. Aye, aye, what object now, what object? returned the old man looking slyly at Nicholas. Did you think I wanted a situation now, eh? Did you think I did? Nicholas shook his head. Ha, ha! laughed the old gentleman, rubbing his hands and wrists as if he were washing them. A very natural thought at all events after seeing me gazing at those bills. I thought the same of you at first, upon my word I did. If you had thought so at last, too, sir, you would not have been far from the truth, rejoined Nicholas. Aye! cried the old man, surveying him from head to foot. What, dear me, no, no! well-behaved young gentleman reduced to such a necessity. No, no, no, no! Nicholas bowed, and bidding him good morning, turned upon his heel. Stay! said the old man, beckoning him into a by-street, where they could converse with less interruption. What do you mean, eh? Merely that your kind face and manner, both so unlike any I have ever seen, tempted me into an avowal, which, to any other stranger in this wilderness of London, I should not have dreamt of making. Return, Nicholas. Wilderness? Yes it is. Good, it is a wilderness, said the old man, with much animation. It was a wilderness to me once. I came here barefoot. I have never forgotten it. Thank God! And he raised his hat from his head, and looked very grave. What is the matter? What is it? How did it all come about? said the old man, laying his hand on the shoulder of Nicholas, and walking him up the street. You're—eh? Laying his finger on the sleeve of his black coat. Who is it for, eh? My father, replied Nicholas. Ah! said the old gentleman quickly. Bad thing for a young man to lose his father. Widowed mother, perhaps? Nicholas sighed. Brothers and sisters too, eh? One sister rejoined Nicholas. Poor thing, poor thing. You are a scholar too, I daresay, said the old man, looking wistfully into the face of the young one. I have been tolerably well educated, said Nicholas. Fine thing, said the old gentleman. Education a great thing, a very great thing. I never had any. I admire it the more and others. A very fine thing. Yes, yes. Tell me more of your history. Let me hear it all. No impertinent curiosity. No, no, no, no. There was something so earnest and guileless in the way in which all this was said, and such a complete disregard of all conventional restraints and coldness, that Nicholas could not resist it. Among men who have any sound and sterling qualities, there is nothing so contagious as pure openness of heart. Nicholas took the infection instantly, and ran over the main points of his little history without reserve, merely suppressing names, and touching as lightly as possible upon his uncle's treatment of Kate. The old man listened with great attention, and when he had concluded, drew his arm eagerly through his own. Don't say another word. Not another word, said he. Come along with me. We mustn't lose a minute. So saying, the old gentleman dragged him back into Oxford Street, and hailing an omnibus on its way to the city, pushed Nicholas in before him, and followed himself. As he appeared in a most extraordinary condition of restless excitement, and whenever Nicholas offered to speak, immediately interposed with, don't say another word, my dear sir, on any account, not another word. The young man thought it better to attempt no further interruption. Into the city they journeyed accordingly, without interchanging any conversation, and the further they went, the more Nicholas wondered what the end of the adventure could possibly be. The old gentleman got out, with great alacrity, when they reached the bank, and once more, taking Nicholas by the arm, hurried him along Threadneedle Street, and through some lanes and passages on the right, until they, at length, emerged in a quiet, shady little square. Into the oldest and cleanest-looking house of business in the square he led the way. The only inscription on the doorpost was, Cherrybull Brothers. But from a hasty glance at the directions of some packages which were lying about, Nicholas supposed that the brothers Cherrybull were German merchants. Passing through a warehouse which presented every indication of a thriving business, Mr. Cherrybull, for such Nicholas supposed him to be from the respect which had been shown him by the warehousemen and porters whom they passed, led him into a little partitioned off counting-house, like a large glass case in which counting-house there sat, as free from dust and blemish as if he had been fixed into the glass case before the top was put on, and had never come out since, a fat, elderly, large-faced clerk, with silver spectacles, and a powdered head. Is my brother in his room, Tim, said Mr. Cherrybull, with no less kindness of manner than he had shown to Nicholas? Yes, he is, sir, replied the flat clerk, turning his spectacle glasses towards his principal and his eyes towards Nicholas. But Mr. Trimmers is with him. I—and what has he come about, Tim? said Mr. Cherrybull. He is getting up a subscription for the widow and a family of a man who was killed in the East India docks this morning. Rejoined Tim. Smashed, sir, by a cask of sugar. He is a good creature, said Mr. Cherrybull, with great earnestness. He is a kind soul. I am very much obliged to Trimmers. Trimmers is one of the best friends we have. He makes a thousand cases known to us that we should never discover ourselves. I am very much obliged to Trimmers. Saying which, Mr. Cherrybull rubbed his hands with infinite delight, and Mr. Trimmers, happening to pass the door that instant, on his way out, shot after him and caught him by the hand. I owe you a thousand thanks, Trimmers, ten thousand thanks. I take it very friendly of you, very friendly indeed, said Mr. Cherrybull, dragging him into a corner to get out of hearing. How many children are there, and what has my brother Ned given, Trimmers? There are six children, reply the gentleman, and your brother has given us twenty pounds. My brother Ned is a good fellow, and you're a good fellow, too, Trimmers, said the old man, shaking him by both hands with trembling eagerness. Put me down for another twenty, or stop a minute, stop a minute. We mustn't look ostentatious. Put me down ten pound, and Tim Lincoln-Water, ten pound. A check for twenty pounds for Mr. Trimmers, Tim. God bless you, Trimmers, and come and dine with us some day this week. You'll always find a knife and fork, and we shall be delighted. Now, my dear sir, check from Mr. Lincoln-Water, Tim. Smashed by a cask of sugar and six poor children. Oh, dear, dear, dear, dear. Talking on in this strain, as fast as he could, to prevent any friendly remonstrances from the collector of the subscription on the large amount of his donation, Mr. Cherrybull led Nicholas, equally astonished and affected by what he had seen and heard in this short space, to the half-open door of another room. Brother Ned, said Mr. Cherrybull, tapping with his knuckles and stooping to listen. Are you busy, my dear brother? Or can you spare time for a word or two with me? Brother Charles, my dear fellow, replied a voice from the inside, so like in its tones to that which had just spoken, that Nicholas started, and almost thought it was the same. Don't ask me such a question, but come in directly. They went in without further parley. What was the amazement of Nicholas, when his conductor advanced, and exchanged a warm greeting with another old gentleman, the very type and model of himself? The same face, the same figure, the same coat, waistcoat and neck-cloth, the same breeches and gaiters, nay, there was the very same white hat hanging against the wall. As they shook each other by the hand, the face of each lighted up by beaming looks of affection, which would have been most delightful to behold in infants, and which, in men so old, was inexpressably touching. Nicholas could observe that the last old gentleman was something stouter than his brother. This, and a slight additional shade of clumsiness in his gait and stature, formed the only perceptible difference between them. Nobody could have doubted their being twin brothers. Brother Ned, said Nicholas's friend, closing the room door, here is a young friend of mine, whom we must assist. We must make proper inquiries into his statements, injustice to him as well as to ourselves, and if they are confirmed, as I feel assured they will be, we must assist him, we must assist him, Brother Ned. It is enough, my dear brother, that you say we should return the other. When you say that, no further inquiries are needed, he shall be assisted. What are his necessities, and what does he require? Where is Tim Lincoln-water? Let us have him here. Both the brothers, it may be here remarked, had a very emphatic and earnest delivery. Both had lost nearly the same teeth, which imparted the same peculiarity to their speech, and both spoke as if, besides possessing the utmost serenity of mind, that the kindliest and most unsuspecting nature could bestow, they had, in collecting the plums from Fortune's choicest pudding, retained a few for present use, and kept them in their mouths. Where is Tim Lincoln-water? said Brother Ned. Stop, stop, stop! said Brother Charles, taking the other aside. I have a plan, my dear brother. I have a plan. Tim is getting old, and Tim has been a faithful servant, Brother Ned. And I don't think pensioning Tim's mother and sister and buying a little tomb for the family when his poor brother died was a sufficient recompense for his faithful services. No, no, no, replied the other, certainly not, not half enough, not half. If we could lighten Tim's duties, said the old gentleman, and prevail upon him to go into the country now and then, and sleep in the fresh air, besides two or three times a week, which he could if he began business an hour later in the morning, old Tim Lincoln-water would grow young again in time, and he's three good years our senior now. Old Tim Lincoln-water young again, eh, Brother Ned, eh? Why, I recollect old Tim Lincoln-water quite a little boy, don't you? Poor Tim, poor Tim. And the fine old fellows laughed pleasantly together, each with a tear of regard for old Tim Lincoln-water, standing in his eye. But hear this first, hear this first, Brother Ned, said the old man hastily placing two chairs, one on each side of Nicholas. I'll tell it to myself, Brother Ned, because the young gentleman is modest and a scholar Ned, and I shouldn't feel it right that he should tell us his story over and over again as if he was a beggar, or as if we doubted him, no, no, no. No, no, no, return the other, nodding his head gravely. Very right, my brother, very right. He will tell me if I'm wrong, if I make a mistake, said Nicholas's friend. But whether I do or not, he'll be very much affected, Brother Ned, remembering the time when we were two friendless lads, and earned our first chilling in this great city. The twins pressed each other's hands in silence, and in his own homely manner, Brother Charles related the particulars he had heard from Nicholas. The conversation which ensued was a long one, and when it was over, a secret conference of almost equal duration took place between Brother Ned and Tim Lincoln Water in another room. It is no disparagement to Nicholas to say that before he had been closeted with the two brothers ten minutes, he could only wave his hand at every fresh expression of kindness and sympathy, and sob like a little child. At length Brother Ned and Tim Lincoln Water came back together, when Tim instantly walked up to Nicholas and whispered in his ear in a very brief sentence—for Tim was ordinarily a man of few words—that he had taken down the address in the strand, and would call upon him that evening at eight. Having done which, Tim wiped his spectacles and put them on, preparatory to hearing what more the brother's charitable had got to say. Tim said, Brother Charles, you understand that we have an intention of taking this young gentleman into the counting-house? Brother Ned remarked that Tim was aware of that intention, and quite approved of it, and Tim, having nodded, and said he did, drew himself up, and looked particularly fat and very important. After which there was a profound silence. I'm not coming an hour later in the morning, you know, said Tim, breaking out all at once, and looking very resolute. I'm not going to sleep in the fresh air, no, nor I'm not going into the country, either—a pretty thing at this time of day, certainly. Damn your obstinacy, Tim Lincoln Water, said Brother Charles, looking at him without the faintest spark of anger, and with a countenance radiant with attachment to the old clerk. Damn your obstinacy, Tim Lincoln Water, what do you mean, sir? It's forty-four years, said Tim, making a calculation in the air with his pen and drawing an inimaginary line before he cast it up. Forty-four years next May, since I first kept the books of charitable brothers. I've opened the safe every morning all that time, Sundays accepted, as the clock struck nine, and gone over the house every night at half-past ten—except on foreign post- nights and then twenty minutes before twelve—to see the doors fastened, and the fires out. I've never slept out of the back attic one single night. There's the same minionette box in the middle of the window, and the same four flower-pots two on each side that I brought with me when I first came. There, Aunt, I've said it again and again, and I'll maintain it. There, Aunt, such a square as this in the world, I know there, Aunt, said Tim, with sudden energy, and looking sternly about him, not one. For business or pleasure, in summer time or winter, I don't care which. There's nothing like it. There's not such a spring in England as the pump under the archway. There's not such a view in England as the view out of my window. I've seen it every morning before I shaved, and I ought to know something about it. I have slept in that room, added Tim, sinking his voice a little, for four and forty year, and if it wasn't inconvenient and didn't interfere with business, I should request leave to die there. Damn you, Tim Lincoln-water, how dare you talk about dying, roared the twins by one impulse and blowing their old noses violently. That's what I've got to say Mr. Edwin and Mr. Charles, said Tim, squaring his shoulders again. This isn't the first time you've talked about superannuating me, but if you please, we'll make it the last, and drop the subject for evermore. With these words, Tim Lincoln-water stalked out, and shut himself up in his glass case with the air of a man who had had his say, and was thoroughly resolved not to be put down. The brothers exchanged looks, and coughed some half-dozen times without speaking. He must be done something with Brother Ned, said the other warmly. We must disregard his old scruples. They can't be tolerated or borne. He must be made a partner, Brother Ned, and if he won't submit to it, peaceably, we must have recourse to violence. Quite right, replied Brother Ned, nodding his head as a man thoroughly determined. Quite right, my dear brother, if he won't listen to reason we must do it against his will, and show him that we are determined to exert our authority. We must quarrel with him, Brother Charles. We must—we certainly must—have a quarrel with Tim Lincoln-water, said the other. But in the meantime, my dear brother, we are keeping our young friend, and the poor lady and her daughter will be anxious for his return. So let us say goodbye for the present. And they're there. Take care of that box, my dear sir, and—no, no, not a word now, but be careful of the crossings, and with any disjointed and unconnected words which would prevent Nicholas from pouring forth his thanks, the brothers hurried him out, shaking hands with him all the way, and affecting very unsuccessfully—they were poor hands at deception—to be wholly unconscious of the feelings that completely mastered him. Nicholas's heart was too full to allow of his turning into the street until he had recovered some composure. When he at last glided out of the dark doorway corner, in which he had been compelled to halt, he caught a glimpse of the twins stealthily peeping in at one corner of the glass case, evidently undecided whether they should follow up their late attack without delay, or for the present postpone laying further siege to the inflexible Tim Lincoln-water. To recount all the delight and wonder which the circumstances just detailed awakened at Miss Lucreves, and all the things that were done, said, thought, expected, hoped, and prophesied in consequence, is beside the present course and purpose of these adventures. It is sufficient to state, in brief, that Mr. Timothy Lincoln-water arrived punctual to his appointment, that oddity as he was, and jealous as he was bound to be, of the proper exercise of his employer's most comprehensive liberality, he reported strongly and warmly in favour of Nicholas, and that, next day, he was appointed to the vacant stool in the counting-house of Cherryville Brothers, with a present salary of one hundred and twenty pounds a year. And I think, my dear brother, said Nicholas's first friend, that if we were to let them that little cottage at Bow, which is empty, at something under the usual rent now, eh, Brother Ned? For nothing at all, said Brother Ned, we are rich, and should be ashamed to touch the rent under such circumstances as these, whereas Tim Lincoln-water, for nothing at all, my dear brother, for nothing at all. Perhaps it would be better to say something, Brother Ned, suggested the other mildly. It would help to preserve habits of frugality, you know, and remove any painful sense of overwhelming obligations. We might say, fifteen pound, or twenty pound, and if it was punctually paid, make it up to them in some other way. And I might secretly advance a small loan towards a little furniture. And you might secretly advance another small loan, Brother Ned, and if we find them doing well, as we shall, there's no fear, no fear, we can change loans into gifts. Carefully, Brother Ned, and by degrees, and without pressing upon them too much, what do you say now, Brother? Brother Ned gave his hand upon it, and not only said it should be done, but had it done too. And in one short week Nicholas took possession of the stool, and Mrs. Nicolby and Kate took possession of the house, and all was hope, bustle, and light-heartedness. There surely never was such a week of discoveries and surprises as the first week of that cottage. Every night when Nicholas came home, something new had been found out. One day it was a grapevine, and another day it was a boiler, and another day it was the key of the front parlor closet at the bottom of the water-butt, and so on through a hundred items. Then this room was embellished with a muslin curtain, and that room was rendered quite elegant by a window blind, and such improvements were made as no one would have supposed possible. Then there was Miss Lucrevy, who had come out in the omnibus to stop a day or two and help, and who was perpetually losing a very small brown paper parcel of tin tax and a very large hammer, and running about with her sleeves tucked up at the wrists, and falling off pairs of steps and hurting herself very much, and Mrs. Nicolby, who talked incessantly, and did something now and then, but not often, and Kate, who busied herself noiselessly everywhere, and was pleased with everything, and Smyke, who made the garden a perfect wonder to look upon, and Nicholas, who helped and encouraged them every one, all the peace and cheerfulness of home restored, with such new zest imparted to every frugal pleasure, and such delight to every hour of meeting, as misfortune and separation alone could give. In short, the poor Nicolbys were social and happy, while the rich Nicolby was alone and miserable. Chapter 36 of Nicholas Nicolby by Charles Dickens This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Nicholas Nicolby by Charles Dickens Chapter 36 Private and Confidential Relating to Family Matters It might have been seven o'clock in the evening, and it was growing dark in the narrow streets near Golden Square, when Mr Kenwigs sent out for a pair of the cheapest white-kid gloves, those at fourteen pence, and selecting the strongest which happened to be the right-hand one, walked downstairs with an air of pomp and much excitement, and proceeded to muffle the knob of the street door-knocker therein. Having executed this task with great nicety, Mr Kenwigs pulled the door to after him, and just stepped across the road to try the effect from the opposite side of the street. Satisfied that nothing could possibly look better in its way, Mr Kenwigs came out of the street door-knocker, and just stepped across the road to try the effect from the opposite side of the street. Satisfied that nothing could possibly look better in its way, Mr Kenwigs then stepped back again, and calling through the keyhole to Morlina to open the door, vanished into the house, and was seen no longer. Now, considered as an abstract circumstance, there was no more obvious cause or reason why Mr Kenwigs should take the trouble of muffling this particular knocker than there would have been for many years. Considered as an abstract circumstance, there was no more obvious cause or reason why Mr Kenwigs should take the trouble of muffling this particular knocker than there would have been for muffling the knocker of any nobleman or gentleman resident ten miles off. Because, for the greater convenience of the numerous lodges, the street door always stood wide open, and the knocker was never used at all. The first floor, the second floor, and the third floor had each a bell of its own. As to the attics, no one ever called on them. If anyone wanted the parlours, they were close at hand, and all you had to do was walk straight into them, while the kitchen had a separate entrance down the area steps. As a question of mere necessity and usefulness, therefore, this muffling of the knocker was thoroughly incomprehensible. But knockers may be muffled for other purposes than those of mere utilitarianism, as, in the present instance, was clearly shown. There are certain plight forms and ceremonies which must be observed in civilised life, or mankind relapsed into their original barbarism. No gentile lady was ever yet confined. Indeed, no gentile confinement can possibly take place without the accompanying symbol of a muffled knocker. Mrs. Kenwigs was a lady of some pretensions to gentility. Mrs. Kenwigs was confined, and therefore Mr. Kenwigs tied up the silent knocker on the premises in a white kid glove. I'm not quite certain, neither, said Mr. Kenwigs, arranging his shirt collar and walking slowly upstairs, whether, as it's a boy, I won't have it in the papers. Pondering upon the advisability of this step, and the sensation it was likely to create in the neighbourhood, Mr. Kenwigs betook himself to the sitting-room where various extremely diminutive articles of clothing were airing on a horse before the fire. And Mr. Lumbly, the doctor, was dandling the baby, that is, the old baby, not the new one. It's a fine boy, Mr. Kenwigs, said Mr. Lumby, the doctor. You consider him a fine boy, do you, sir? returned Mr. Kenwigs. It's the finest boy I ever saw in all my life, said the doctor. I never saw such a baby. It is a pleasant thing to reflect upon, and furnishes a complete answer to those who contend for the gradual degeneration of the human species, that every baby born into the world is a finer one than the last. I never saw such a baby, said Mr. Lumby, the doctor. Morlina was a fine baby, remarked Mr. Kenwigs, as if this were rather an attack by implication upon the family. They were all fine babies, said Mr. Lumby, and Mr. Lumby went on nursing the baby with a thoughtful look, whether he was considering under what head he could best charge the nursing in the bill was best known to himself. During this short conversation, Miss Morlina, as the eldest of the family, and natural representative of her mother during her indisposition, had been hustling and slapping the three younger Miss Kenwigs's, without intermission, which considerate and affectionate conduct brought tears into the eyes of Mr. Kenwigs, and caused him to declare that, in the understanding and behaviour, that child was a woman. She will be a treasure to the man she marries, sir, said Mr. Kenwigs, half aside. I think she'll marry above her station, Mr. Lumby. I shouldn't wander at all, replied the doctor. You never see a dancer, did you, asked Mr. Kenwigs? The doctor shook his head. I, said Mr. Kenwigs, as though he pitted him from his heart. Then you don't know what she's capable of. All this time there had been a great whisking in and out of the other room. The door had been opened and shut very softly about twenty times a minute, for it was necessary to keep Mrs. Kenwigs quiet, and the baby had been exhibited to a score or two of deputations from a select body of female friends who had assembled in the passage, and about the street door to discuss the event in all its bearings. Indeed, the excitement extended itself over the whole street, and groups of ladies might be seen standing at the doors, some in the interesting condition in which Mrs. Kenwigs had last appeared in public, relating their experiences of similar occurrences. Some few acquired great credit from having prophesied the day before yesterday, exactly when it would have come to pass. Others again related how that they had guessed what it was. Directly they saw Mr. Kenwigs turn pale and run up the street as hard as ever he could go. Some said one thing and some another, but all talked together and all agreed upon two points. First, that it was very meritorious and highly praiseworthy in Mrs. Kenwigs to do as she had done, and secondly, that there was never such a skillful and scientific doctor as that Mr. Lumby. In the midst of this general hubbub, Dr. Lumby sat in the first floor front, as before related, nursing the deposed baby, and talking to Mr. Kenwigs. He was a stout, bluff-looking gentleman with no shirt collar to speak of, and a beard that had been growing since yesterday morning. For Dr. Lumby was popular, and the neighbourhood was prolific, and there had been no less than three other knockers muffled, one after the other, within the last 48 hours. Well, Mr. Kenwigs said Dr. Lumby. This makes six. You'll have a fine family in time, sir. I think six is almost enough, sir, returned Mr. Kenwigs. Poo! poo! said the doctor. Nonsense! Not half enough! With this, the doctor laughed, but he didn't laugh half as much as a married friend of Mrs. Kenwigs's, who had just come in from the sick chamber to report progress, and taken a small sip of brandy and water, and who seemed to consider it one of the best jokes ever launched upon society. They're not altogether dependent upon good fortune, neither, said Mr. Kenwigs, taking his second daughter on his knee. They have expectations. Oh, indeed, said Mr. Lumby, the doctor. And very good ones, too, I believe, haven't they, asked the married lady? Why, Mom, said Mr. Kenwigs. It's not exactly for me to say what they may be, or what they may not be. It's not for me to boast of any family with which I have the honour to be connected. At the same time, Mrs. Kenwigs is, I should say, said Mr. Kenwigs abruptly, and, raising his voice as he spoke, that my children might come into a matter of a hundred pound apiece, perhaps, perhaps more, but certainly that. And a very pretty little fortune, said the married lady. There are some relations of Mrs. Kenwigs's, said Mr. Kenwigs, taking a pinch of snuff from the doctor's box, and then sneezing very hard, for he wasn't used to it, that might leave their hundred pound apiece to ten people, and yet not go begging when they had done it. Ah, I know who you mean, observed the married lady, nodding her head. I made mention of no names, and I wished to make mention of no names, said Mr. Kenwigs, with a potentious look. Many of my friends have met a relation of Mrs. Kenwigs's in this very room, as would do honour to any company, that's all. I've met him, said the married lady, with a glance towards Dr. Lumby. It's naturally very gratifying to my feelings as a father, to see such a man as that, a kissing and taking notice of my children, pursued Mr. Kenwigs. It's naturally very gratifying to my feelings as a man, to know that man. It will be naturally very gratifying to my feelings as a husband, to make that man acquainted with this event. Having delivered his sentiments in this form of words, Mr. Kenwigs arranged his second daughter's flaxen tail, and bade her be a good girl, and mined what her sister, Maulina, said. That girl grows more like her mother every day, said Mr. Lumby, suddenly stricken with an enthusiastic admiration of Maulina. There rejoined the married lady, what I always say, what I always did say. She's the very picture of her. Having thus directed the general attention to the young lady in question, the married lady embraced the opportunity of taking another sip of the brandy and water, and a pretty long sip, too. Yes, there is a likeness, said Mr. Kenwigs, after some reflection, but such a woman as Mrs. Kenwigs was before she was married. Good gracious, such a woman! Mr. Lumby shook his head with great solemnity, as though to imply that he supposed that she must have been rather a dazzler. Talk of fairies, cried Mr. Kenwigs. I never see anybody so light to be alive, never. Such manners, too. So playful, and yet so severely proper. As for her figure, it isn't generally known, said Mr. Kenwigs, dropping his voice, but her figure was such at the time that the sign of the Britannia over in the Holloway Road was painted from it. But only see what it is now, urged the married lady. Does she look like the mother of six? Quite ridiculous, cried the doctor. She looks a deal more like her own daughter, said the married lady. So she does, ascended Mr. Lumby. A great deal more. Mr. Kenwigs was about to make some further observations, most probably in confirmation of this opinion, when another married lady, who had looked in to keep up Mrs. Kenwigs' spirits, and helped to clear off anything in the eating and drinking way that might be going about, put in her head to announce that she had just been down to answer the bell and that there was a gentleman at the door who wanted to see Mr. Kenwigs most particular. Shadowy visions of his distinguished relation flitted through the brain of Mr. Kenwigs, as this message was delivered, and under their influence he dispatched Morlina to show the gentleman up straight away. Why? I do declare, said Mr. Kenwigs, standing opposite the door so as to get the earliest glimpse of the visitor as he came upstairs. It's Mr. Johnson. How do you find yourself, sir? Nicholas shook hands, kissed his old pupils all round, entrusted a large parcel of toys to the guardianship of Morlina, bowed to the doctor and the married ladies, and inquired after Mrs. Kenwigs in a tone of interest, which went to the very heart and soul of the nurse, who had come in to warm some mysterious compound in a little saucepan over the fire. I ought to make a hundred apologies to you for calling at such a season, said Nicholas, but I was not aware of it until I had rung the bell, and my time is so fully occupied now that I feared it might be some days before I could possibly come again. No time like the present, sir, said Mr. Kenwigs. The situation of Mrs. Kenwigs, sir, is no obstacle to a little conversation between you and me, I hope. You are very good, said Nicholas. At this juncture, proclamation was made by another married lady, that the baby had begun to eat like anything, whereupon the two married ladies, already mentioned, rushed tumultuously into the bedroom to behold him in the act. The fact is, resumed Nicholas, that before I left the country, where I have been for some time past, I undertook to deliver a message to you. I, I, said Mr. Kenwigs. And I have been, added Nicholas, already in town for some days, without having had an opportunity of doing so. It's no matter, sir, said Mr. Kenwigs. I dare say it's none the worse for keeping cold. Message from the country, said Mr. Kenwigs, ruminating. That's curious. I don't know anybody in the country. Miss Petalka, suggested Nicholas. Oh, from her, is it, said Mr. Kenwigs. Oh, dear, yes. Ah, Mrs. Kenwigs will be glad to hear from her. Henrietta Petalka, eh? How odd things come about now. That you should have met her in the country. Well... Hearing this mention of their old friend's name, the four Miss Kenwigs is gathered round Nicholas, open-eyed and mouthed, to hear more. Mr. Kenwigs looked a little curious too, but quite comfortable and unsuspecting. The message relates to family matters, said Nicholas, hesitating. Oh, never mind, said Kenwigs, glancing at Mr. Lumby, who, having rashly taken charge of little Lilyvik, found nobody disposed to relieve him of his precious burden. All friends here, Nicholas hemmed once or twice, and seemed to have some difficulty in proceeding. At Portsmouth Henrietta Petalka is observed Mr. Kenwigs. Yes, said Nicholas. Mr. Lilyvik is there. Mr. Kenwigs turned pale, but he recovered and said, that was an odd coincidence also. The message is from him, said Nicholas. Mr. Kenwigs appeared to revive. He knew that his niece was in a delicate state, and had no doubt sent word that they were to forward full particulars. Yes, that was very kind of him, so like him too. He desired me to give his kindest love, said Nicholas. Very much obliged to him, I'm sure. Your great uncle Lilyvik, my dears, interposed Mr. Kenwigs condescendingly explaining it to the children. His kindest love, resumed Nicholas, and to say that he had no time to write, but that he was married to Miss Petalka. Mr. Kenwigs started from his seat with a petrified stare, caught his second daughter by her flaxen tail, and covered his face with his pocket handkerchief. Molina fell, all stiff and rigid into the baby's chair, as she had seen her mother fall when she fainted away, and the two remaining little Kenwigs is shrieked in a fright. My children, my defrauded, swindled infants, cried Mr. Kenwigs, pulling so hard in his vehemence at the flaxen tail of his second daughter that he lifted her up on tiptoe, and kept her for some seconds in that attitude. Villain, ass, traitor! Drat, the man, cried the nurse, looking angrily around. What does he mean by making that noise here? Silence, woman, said Mr. Kenwigs fiercely. Hey, won't it be silent, returned the nurse? Be silent to yourself, you wretch. Have you no regard for your baby? No, returned Mr. Kenwigs. More shame for you, retorted the nurse. Ugh, you unnatural monster. Let him die, cried Mr. Kenwigs in a torrent of his wrath. Let him die! He has no expectations, no property to come into. We want no babies here, said Mr. Kenwigs recklessly. Take him away, take him away to the fondling. With these awful remarks, Mr. Kenwigs sat himself down in a chair and defied the nurse, who made the best of her way into the adjoining room, and returned with a stream of matrons, declaring that Mr. Kenwigs had spoken blasphemy against his family, and must be raving mad. Appearances were certainly not in Mr. Kenwigs's favour, for the exertion of speaking was so much vehemence, and yet in such a tone, as should prevent his lamentations reaching the ears of Mrs. Kenwigs, had made him very black in the face, besides which the excitement of the occasion, and an unwanted indulgence in various strong cordials to celebrate it, had swollen and dilated his features to a most unnatural extent. But Nicholas, and the doctor, who had been passive at first, doubting very much whether Mr. Kenwigs could be an earnest, interfering to explain the immediate cause of his condition, the indignation of the matrons was changed to pity, and they implored him, with much feeling, to go quietly to bed. The attention, said Mr. Kenwigs, looking around with a plain to bear, the attention that I've shown to that man, he set us, he has eaten, and the pints of ale he has drunk in this house. It's very trying and very hard to bear, we know, said one of the married ladies, but think of your dear darling wife. Oh yes, and watch his been an undergoing of, only this day cried a great many voices, there's a good man do. The presence that had been made to him, said Mr. Kenwigs, reverting to his calamity, the pipes, the snuff boxes, a pair of indi-rubber galoshes that cost six and six. Ah, it won't bear thinking of, indeed cried the matrons generally, but it'll all come home to him, never fear. Mr. Kenwigs looked darkly upon the ladies, as if he would prefer it's all coming home to him, as there was nothing to be got by it, but he said nothing, and resting his head upon his hand, subsided into a kind of dose. Then the matrons again expatiated on the expediency of taking the good gentleman to bed, observing that he would be better tomorrow, and that they knew what was the wear and tear of some men's minds when their wives were taken as Mrs. Kenwigs had been that day, and that it did him great credit, and that there was nothing to be ashamed of in it, far from it they liked to see it they did, for it showed a good heart. And one lady observed, as a case bearing upon the present, that her husband was often quite light-headed from anxiety on similar occasions, and that once, when her little Johnny was born, it was nearly a week before he came to himself again, during the whole of which time he did nothing but cry, is it a boy, is it a boy, in a manner which went to the hearts of all his hearers. At length, Maulina, who quite forgot she had fainted when she found she was not noticed, announced that a chamber was ready for her afflicted parent, and Mr. Kenwigs, having partially smothered his four daughters in the closeness of his embrace, accepted the doctor's arm on one side, and the support of Nicholas on the other, and was conducted upstairs to a bedroom which had been secured for the occasion. Having seen him sound asleep, and heard him snore most satisfactorily, and having further presided over the distribution of the toys to the perfect contentment of all the little Kenwigs's, Nicholas took his leave. The matrons dropped off one by one, with the exception of six or eight particular friends, who were determined to stop all night. The lights in the houses gradually disappeared. The last bulletin was issued that Mrs. Kenwigs was as well as could be expected, and the whole family were left to their repose. End of Chapter 36