 43 Officiates as a kind of gentleman usher in bringing various people together. The storm had long given place to a calm, the most profound, and the evening was pretty far advanced. Indeed supper was over, and the process of digestion proceeding as favourably as under the influence of complete tranquility, cheerful conversation, and a moderate allowance of brandy and water, most wise men, conversant with the anatomy and functions of the human frame, will consider that it ought to have preceded. When the three friends, or as one might say, both in a civil and religious sense and with proper deference and regard to the holy state of matrimony, the two friends—Mr. and Mrs. Browdy counting his name more than one—were startled by the noise of loud and angry threatenings below scare stairs, which presently attained so high a pitch, and were conveyed besides in language so tiring, sanguinary, and ferocious, that it could hardly have been surpassed, if there had actually been a Saracen's head then present in the establishment, supported on the shoulders, and surmounting the trunk of a real, live, furious, and most unappeasable Saracen. This turmoil, instead of quickly subsiding after the first outburst, as turmoil is not unfrequently due, whether in taverns, legislative assemblies, or elsewhere, into a mere grumbling and growling squabble, increased every moment, and although the whole din appeared to be raised by but one pair of lungs, yet that one pair was of so powerful a quality, and repeated such words as scoundrel, rascal, insolent puppy, and a variety of expletives no less flattering to the party addressed, with such great relish and strength of tone, that a dozen voices raised in concert under any ordinary circumstances would have made far less uproar, and created much smaller consternation. Why, what's the matter? said Nicholas, moving hastily towards the door. John Brody was striding in the same direction, where Mrs. Brody turned pale, and leaning back in her chair requested him with a faint voice to take notice that if he ran into any danger it was her intention to fall into hysterics immediately, and that the consequences might be more serious than he thought for. John looked concerted by this intelligence, though there was a lurking grin on his face at the same time. But, being quite unable to keep out of the fray, he compromised the matter by tucking his wife's arm under his own, and thus accompanied, followed Nicholas downstairs with all speed. The passage outside the coffee-room door was the scene of disturbance, and here were congregated the coffee-room customers and waiters, together with two or three coachmen and helpers from the yard. These had hastily assembled round a young man who from his appearance might have been a year or two older than Nicholas, and who, besides having given utterance to the defiances just now described, seemed to have proceeded to even greater lengths in his indignation, inasmuch as his feet had no other covering than a pair of stockings, while a cup of slippers lay at no greater distance from the head of a prostrate figure in an opposite corner, who bore the appearance of having been shot into his present retreat by means of a kick, and complimented by having the slippers flung about his ears afterwards. The coffee-room customers, and the waiters, and the coachmen, and the helpers, not to mention a barmaid who was looking on from behind an open sash window, seemed at that moment, if a spectator might judge from their winks, nods, and muttered exclamations, strongly disposed to take part against the young gentleman in the stockings. Observing this, and that the young gentleman's nearly of his own age and had in nothing the appearance of an habitual brawler, Nicholas, impelled by such feelings as will influence young men sometimes, felt a very strong disposition to side with the weaker party, and so thrust himself at once into the centre of the group, and in a more emphatic tone, perhaps, than circumstances might seem to warrant, demanded what all that noise was about. Hello, said one of the men from the yard. This is somebody in disguise, this is. Room for the oldest son of the Emperor of Ruxia, gentlemen! cried another voice. Disregarding the sallies, which were uncommonly well received, as the sallies at the expense of the bestest young persons in a crowd usually are, Nicholas glanced carelessly round, and, addressing the young gentleman who had by this time picked up his slippers and thrust his feet into them, repeated his inquiries with a courteous air. Amir, nothing! he replied. At this a murmur was raised by the lookers on, and some of the boldest cried, How indeed, wasn't it, though? Nothing, eh? He called that nothing, did he? Lucky for him, if he found it nothing. These, and many other expressions of ironic or disapprobation, have he been exhausted, two or three of the out-of-door fellows began to hustle Nicholas and the young gentleman who had made the noise, stumbling against them by accident, and treading on their toes, and so forth. But this being a round game, and one not necessarily limited to three or four players, was open to John Browdy, too, who, bursting into the little crowd, to the great terror of his wife, and falling about in all directions, now to the right, now to the left, now forwards, now backwards, and accidentally driving his elbow through the hat of that tallest helper who'd been particularly active, speedily caused the odds to wear a very different appearance. While more than one stout fellow limped away to a respectable distance, anathematizing with tears in his eyes the heavy tread and ponderous feet of the burly Yorkshireman. Let me see him do it again! said he who'd been kicked into the corner, rising as he spoke, apparently more from the fear of John Browdy's inadvertently treading upon him than from any desire to place himself on equal terms with his late adversary. Let me see him do it again! that's all! Let me hear you make those remarks again! said the young man, and I'll knock that head of yours in among the wine-glasses behind you there! Here a waiter who'd been rubbing his hands in excessive enjoyment of the scene, so long as only the breaking of heads was in question, adjoiled the spectators with great earnestness to fetch the police, declaring that otherwise murder would surely be done, and that he was responsible for all the glass and china on the premises. No one need trouble himself to stir, said the young gentleman, I am going to remain in the house all night, and shall be found here in the morning if there is any assault to answer for. What do you strike him for? asked one of the bystanders. What did you strike him for? demanded the others. The unpopular gentleman looked coolly round, and addressing himself to Nicholas said, You inquired just now what was the matter here? The matter is simply this, yonder person who was drinking with a friend in the coffee-room when I took my seat there for half an hour before going to bed, for I've just come off a journey and preferred stopping here to-night to going home at this hour when I was not expected until to-morrow, chose to express himself in very disrespectful and insonantly familiar terms of a young lady whom I recognise from his description and other circumstances, and whom I have the honour to know. As he spoke loud enough to be overheard by the other guests who were present, I informed him most civilly that he was mistaken in his conjectures, which were of an inoffensive nature, and requested him to forbear. He did so for a little time, but as he chose to renew his conversation when leaving the room in a more offensive strain than before, I could not refrain from making after him and facilitating his departure by a kick, which reduced him to the costume which you saw him just now. I am the best judge of my own affairs, I take it," said the young man, who had certainly not quite recovered from his recent heat. If anybody here thinks proper to make this quarrel his own, I have not the smallest earthly objection I do assure him. Of all possible causes of proceeding under the circumstances detailed, there were certainly not one which, in his then state of mind, could have appeared more laudable to Nicholas than this. There were not many subjects of dispute which at that moment could have come home to his own breast more powerfully, for, having the unknown uppermost in his thoughts, it naturally occurred to him that he would have done just the same if any audacious gossip or dust have presumed in his hearing to speak lightly of her. Influenced by these considerations, he espoused the young gentleman's quarrel with great warmth, protesting that he had done quite right, and that he had respected him for it, which John Brownie, albeit not quite clear as to the merits, immediately protested too with not inferior vehemence. Let him take care, that's all, said the defeated party, who has been rubbed down by a waiter after his recent fall on the dusty boards. He don't not be about for nothing, I can tell him that, a pretty state of things if a man isn't to admire a handsome girl without being beat to pieces for it. This reflection appeared to have great weight with the young lady in the bar, who, adjusting her cap as she spoke and glancing at the mirror, declared that it would be a very pretty state of things indeed, and that if people were to be punished for actions so innocent and natural as that, there would be more people to be knocked down than there would be people to knock them down, and that she wanted what the gentleman meant by it, that she did. My dear girl, said the young gentleman in a low voice, advancing towards the sash window. Nonsense, her, replied the young lady sharply, smiling though as she turned aside and biting her lip, whereup Mr. Mrs. Brownie, who was still standing on the stairs, glanced at her with disdain, and called to her husband to come away. No, but listen to me, said the young man, if admiration of a pretty face were criminal, I should be the most hopeless person alive, for I cannot resist one. It has the most extraordinary effect upon me, checks and controls me in the most furious and obstinate mood. You see what an effect yours has had upon me already. Oh, that's very pretty," replied the young lady, tossing her head. But yes, I know it's very pretty, said the young man, looking with an air of admiration in the barmaid's face. So, you know, just at this moment, but beauty should be spoken of respectfully, respectfully and in proper terms, and with a becoming sense of its worth and excellence, whereas this fellow has no more notion. The young lady interrupted the conversation at this point by thrusting her head out of the bar window, an enquiring of the waiter in a shrill voice, whether that young man who had been knocked down was going to stand in the passage all night or whether the entrance was to be left clear for other people. The waiters, taking the hint and communicating it to the hostlers, were not slow to change their tone, too, and the result was that the unfortunate victim was bundled out in a twinkling. I'm sure I've seen that fellow before, said Nicholas. Indeed," replied his new acquaintance. I'm certain of it, said Nicholas, pausing to reflect. Where can I have—? Stop! Yes, to be sure he belongs to a register office up at the west end of the town. I knew I recalated the face. It was, indeed, Tom, the ugly clerk. That's odd enough," said Nicholas, ruminating upon the strange manor in which the register office seems to start up and stare him in the face every now and then, and when he least expected it. I'm much obliged to you for your kind advocacy of my cause when it is most needed an advocate," said the young man, laughing and drawing a car from his pocket. Perhaps you'll do me the favour to let me know where I can thank you. Nicholas took the card, and, glancing at it involuntarily as he returned the compliments, invinced very great surprise. Mr. Frank, cheerable, said Nicholas, surely not the nephew of cheerable brothers who is expected to-morrow. I don't usical myself the nephew of the firm, returned Mr. Frank, good humoredly, but of the two excellent individuals who compose it, I am proud to say I am the nephew. And you, I see, are Mr. Nicolby, of whom I've heard so much. This is a most unexpected meeting, but not the less welcome, I assure you. Nicholas responded to these compliments with others of the same kind, and they shook hands warmly. Then he introduced John Brody, who had remained in a state of great admiration ever since the young lady in the bar had been so skilfully won over to the right side. There Mrs. John Brody was introduced, and finally they all went upstairs together, and spent the next half hour with great satisfaction and mutual entertainment. Mrs. John Brody beginning the conversation by declaring that of all the made-up things she ever saw, that young woman below stairs was the vainest and plainest. This Mr. Frank cheerable, although to judge from what had recently taken place a hot-headed young man, which is not an absolute miracle and phenomenon in nature, was a sprightly good-humoured pleasant fellow, with much both in his countenance and disposition that reminded Nicholas very strongly of the kind-hearted brothers. His manner was as unaffected as theirs, and his demeanour full of that heartiness, which to most people who have anything generous in that composition is peculiarly pre-possessing. Add to this that he was good-looking and intelligent, had a plentiful share of vivacity, was extremely cheerful, and accommodated himself in five minutes' time to all John Brody's oddities with as much ease as if he'd known him from a boy, and it would be a source of no great wonder that, when they parted for the night, he had produced a most favourable impression, not only upon the worthy Yorkshireman and his wife, but upon Nicholas also, who, revolving all these things in his mind that he had made the best of his way home, arrived at the conclusion that he laid the foundation of a most agreeable and desirable acquaintance. But it's the most extraordinary thing about that register-office fellow, thought Nicholas, is it likely that this nephew could know anything about that beautiful girl? When Tim Lincoln-Water gave me to understand the other day that he was coming to take a share in the business here, he said he'd been super-intending it in Germany for four years, and that during the last six months he'd been engaged in establishing an agency in the north of England. That's four years and a half, four years and a half. She come in more than seventeen, say, eighteen at the outside. She was quite a child when he went away. I should say he knew nothing about her, and had never seen her so he could give me no information. At all events, thought Nicholas, coming to the real point in his mind, there can be no danger of any prior occupation of her affections in that quarter, that's quite clear. Is selfishness a necessary ingredient in the composition of that passion called love, or does it deserve all the fine things which poets, in the exercise of their undictification, have said of it? There are no doubt authenticated instances of gentlemen having given up ladies, and ladies having given up gentlemen to meritorious rivals, under circumstances of great high mindedness. But it is quite established that the majority of such ladies and gentlemen have not made a virtue of necessity, and nobly resigned what was beyond their reach. As a private soldier might register a vow never to accept the order of the garter, or a pure curate of great piety and learning, but of no family, save a very large family of children, might renounce a bishopric. Here was Nicholas Nickleby, who would have scorned the thought of counting how the chances stood of his rising in favour or fortune with the brother's cheerable, now that their nephew had returned, already deep in calculations whether that same nephew was likely to rival him in the affections of the fair unknown. Discussing the matter with himself too, as gravely as if, with that one exception, it were all settled. And recurrent the subject again and again, and feeling quite indignant and ill-used at the notion of anybody else making love to one with whom he had never exchanged a word in all his life. To be sure, he exaggerated rather than depreciated the merits of his new acquaintance, but still he took it as a kind of personal offence that he should have any merits at all. In the eyes of this particular young lady, that is, for elsewhere he was quite welcome to have as many as he pleased. There was in doubt his selfishness in all this, and yet Nicholas was of a most free and generous nature, with as few mean or sordid thoughts perhaps as ever fell to the lot of any man, and there's no reason to suppose that, being in love, he felt unthought differently from other people in the like sublime condition. He did not stop to set on foot an inquiry into his train of thought or state of feeling however, but went thinking on all the way home, and continued to dream on in the same strain all night. For, having satisfied himself that Frank Cheeribull could have no knowledge of, or acquaintance with, the mysterious young lady, it began to occur to him that even he himself might never see her again. Upon which hypothesis he built up a very ingenious succession of tormenting ideas which answered his purpose even better than the vision of Mr. Frank Cheeribull, and tantalized and worried him, waking and sleeping. Notwithstanding all that has been said and sung to the contrary, there is no well-established case of mourning having either deferred or hastened its approach by the term of an hour or so for the mere gratification of a splenetic feeling against some unoffending lover. The son having, in the discharge of his public duty, as the books of precedent report, invariably risen according to the almanacs, and without suffering himself to be swayed by any private considerations. So mourning came as usual, and with it business ours, and with them Mr. Frank Cheeribull, and with him a long train of smiles and welcomes from the worthy brothers, and a more grave and clerk-like, but scarcely less hearty reception from Mr. Timothy Lincoln-Morter. "'That Mr. Frank and Mr. Nicolby should have met last night,' said Tim Lincoln-Morter, getting slowly off his stool, and looking round the counting-house with his back planted against the desk, as was his custom when he had anything very particular to say. "'That those two young men should have met last night in that manner is, I say, a coincidence, a remarkable coincidence.' "'Why, I don't believe now,' added Tim, taking off his spectacles and smiling as with gentle pride, that there's such a place in all the world for coincidences as London is.' "'I don't know about that,' said Mr. Frank, but "'Don't know about it, Mr. Francis,' interrupted Tim with an obstinate air. "'Well, but let us know. If there is any better place for such things, where is it? Is it in Europe?' "'No, that it isn't. Is it in Asia?' "'Why, of course it's not. Is it in Africa? Not a bit of it. Is it in America?' "'You know better than that, at all events.' "'Well, then,' said Tim, folding his arms resolutely, "'where is it?' "'I was not about to dispute at the point, Tim,' said young cheerable, laughing, "'I am not such a heretic as that. All I was going to say was that I held myself under any obligation to the coincidence, that's all.' "'Oh, if you don't dispute it,' said Tim, quite satisfied, that's another thing. "'I'll tell you what, though. I wish you had. I wish you or anybody would—I would so put that man down,' said Tim, tapping the forefinger of his left hand emphatically with his spectacles, "'so put that man down by argument!' It was quite impossible to find language to express the degree of mental prostration to which such an adventurous white would be reduced in the keen encounter with Tim Lincoln-Water. So Tim gave up the rest of his declaration in pure lack of words and mounted his stool again. "'We may consider ourselves, brother Ned,' said Charles, after he patted Tim Lincoln-Water approvingly on the back, "'very fortunate in having two such young men about us as our nephew Frank and Mr. Nicome, it should be a source of great satisfaction and pleasure to us.' "'Certainly, Charles, certainly,' returned the other. "'Of Tim,' added brother Ned, "'I say nothing whatever, because Tim is a mere child, an infant, a nobody, if you never think of or take into account at all. Tim, you villain, what do you say to that, sir?' "'I am jealous of both of them,' said Tim, and mean to look out for another situation. So provide yourself, gentlemen, if you please.' Tim thought there was such an exquisite, unparalleled, most extraordinary joke, that he laid his pen upon the ink-stand, and rather tumbling off his stool than getting down with his usual deliberation, laughed till he was quite faint. Shaking his head all the time said that little particles of powder flew palpably about the office. Nor were the brothers at all behind hand, for they laughed almost as heartily at the ludicrous idea of any voluntary separation between themselves and old Tim. Nicholas and Mr. Frank laughed quite boisterously, perhaps to conceal some other emotion awakened by this little incident, and so indeed did the three old fellows after the first burst. So perhaps there was as much keen enjoyment and relish in that laugh altogether as the politest assembly ever derived from the most poignant witticism uttered at any one person's expense. Mr. Nicolby, said Brother Charles, calling him aside and taking him kindly by the hand, I am anxious, my dear sir, to see that you are properly and comfortably settled in the cottage. We cannot allow those who serve as well to labour under any privation or discomfort that it is in our power to remove. I wish too to see your mother and sister to know that Mr. Nicolby and have an opportunity of relieving their minds by assuring them that any trifling service we have been able to do them is a great deal more than repaid by the zeal and ardour you display. Not a word, my dear sir, I beg. Tomorrow is Sunday. I shall make bold to come out at tea-time and take the chance of finding you at home. If you are not, you know, or the ladies should feel a delicacy and be intruded on and would rather not be known to me just now. Why? I can come again another time. Any other time would do for me. Let it remain upon that understanding. Father Ned, my dear fellow, let me have a word with you this way. The twins went out of the office arm in arm, and Nicholas, who saw in this act of kindness so many others, of which he had been the subject that morning, only so many delicate renewals on the arrival of their nephew of the kind assurance which the brothers had given him in his absence, could scarcely feel sufficient admiration and gratitude for such extraordinary consideration. The intelligence that they were to have a visitor, and such a visitor, next day, awakened in the breast of Mrs. Nicolby mingled feelings of exultation and regret. For whereas on the one hand she hailed it as an omen of her speedy restoration to good society and the almost forgotten pleasures of mourning calls and evening tea-drinking, she could not, on the other, but reflect with bitterness of spirit on the absence of a silver teapot with an ivory knob on the lid, and a milk jug to match, which had been the pride of her heart in days of yore, and had been kept from year's end to year's end wrapped up in wash-leather on a certain top shelf, which now presented itself in lively colors to her soaring imagination. How one who's got that spice-box, said Mrs. Nicolby shaking ahead, used to stand at the left-hand corner next but to the pickled onions. You remember that spice-box, Kate? Perfectly well, mamma. I shouldn't think you did, Kate, to return Mrs. Nicolby in a severe manner, talking about it in that cold and unfeeling way. If there's any one thing that vexes me in these losses more than the losses themselves, I do protest and declare, so Mrs. Nicolby rubbing her nose with an impassioned air, that it is to have people about me who take things with such provoking calmness. My dear mamma, said Kate, stealing her arm round her mother's neck, why do you say what I know you cannot seriously mean or think, or why be angry with me for being happy and content? You and Nicholas are left to me. We are together once again, and what regard can I have for a few trifling things of which we never feel the want? When I have seen all the misery and desolation that death can bring, and know the lonesome feeling of being solitary and alone in crowds, and all the agony of separation in grief and poverty, when we most needed comfort and support from each other, can you wonder that I look upon this as a place of such delicious quiet and rest that with you beside me I have nothing to wish for or regret? There was a time, and not long since, when all the comforts of our old home did come back upon me, I own very often, often other than you would think perhaps, but I effected to care nothing for them in the hope that you would know so be brought to regret them the less. I was not insensible indeed, I might have felt happier if I had been. Dear Mamar, so Kate in great agitation, I know no difference between this home and in that in which we were also happy for so many years, except that the kindness and gentlest heart that ever ached on earth has passed in peace to heaven. Kate, my dear Kate, Mrs. Nicolby, folding her in her arms. I have so often thought, sobbed Kate, of all his kind words, of the last time he looked into my little room as he passed upstairs to bed and said, God bless you, darling. There was a paleness in his face, Mamar, the broken heart. I know it wasn't. I little thought so, then. A gush of tears came to her relief, and Kate laid her head upon her mother's breast and wept like a little child. It is an exquisite and beautiful thing in our nature that when the heart is touched and softened by some tranquil happiness or affectionate feeling, the memory of the dead comes over it most powerfully and irresistibly. It will almost seem as though our better thoughts and sympathies were charms, in virtue of which the soul is unable to hold some vague and mysterious intercourse with the spirit of those whom we loved in life. Alas! How often and how long may those patient angels hover above us, watching for the spell which is so seldom uttered, and so soon forgotten? Mrs. Nicolby, accustomed to give ready utterance to whatever came uppermost in her mind, had never conceived the possibility of her daughter's dwelling upon these thoughts in secret, the more especially as no hard trial or querulous reproach had ever drawn them from her. But now, when the happiness of all that Nicolus had just told them, and of their new and peaceful life, brought these revelations so strongly upon Kate that she could not suppress them, Mrs. Nicolby began to have a glimmering that she'd been rather thoughtless now and then, and was conscious of something like self-reproach as she embraced her daughter, and yielded to the emotions which such a conversation naturally awakened. There was a mighty bustle that night, and a vast quantity of preparation for the expected visitor, and a very large nose gay was brought from a gardener's hard buy, and cut up into a number of very small ones, with which Mrs. Nicolby would have garnished the little sitting-room in a style that certainly could not have failed to attract anybody's attention, if Kate had not offered to spare her the trouble, and arrange them in the prettiest and neatest manner possible. If the cottage ever looked pretty, it must have been on such a bright and sun-shiny day as the next day was. But Smike's pride in the garden, or Mrs. Nicolby's in the condition of the furniture, or Kate's in everything, was nothing to the pride with which Nicolus looked at Kate herself, and surely the costliest mansion in all England might have found in her beautiful face and graceful form its most exquisite and peerless ornament. About six o'clock in the afternoon, Mrs. Nicolby was thrown into a great flutter of spirits by the long-expected knock of the door, nor was this flutter at all composed by the audible tread of two pairs of boots in the passage, which Mrs. Nicolby augured in a breathless state, must be the two Mr. Cheerables, as it certainly was. They're not the two Mrs. Nicolby expected, because it was Mr. Charles Cheerable and his nephew, Mr. Frank, who made a thousand apologies for his intrusion, which Mrs. Nicolby, having teaspoons enough and to spare for all, most graciously received. Nor did the appearance of this unexpected visitor occasion the least embarrassment, save in Kate, and that only to the extent of a blush or two at first. For the old gentleman was so kind and cordial, and the young gentleman imitated him in this respect so well, that the usual stiffness and formality of her first meeting showed no signs of appearing. And Kate really more than once detected herself in the very act of wondering when it was going to begin. At the tea-table there was plenty of conversation on a great variety of subjects, nor were there wanting jocos matters of discussion such as they were. For young Mr. Cheerable's recent stay in Germany happening to be alluded to, old Mr. Cheerable informed the company that the aforesaid young Mr. Cheerable was suspected to have fallen deeply in love with the daughter of a certain German burgo-master. This accusation young Mr. Cheerable most indignately repelled, upon which Mrs. Nicolby slightly remarked that she suspected from the very warmth of the denial there must be something in it. Young Mr. Cheerable then earnestly entreated old Mr. Cheerable to confess that it was all a jest. Which old Mr. Cheerable at last did, young Mr. Cheerable being so much in earnest about it that, as Mrs. Nicolby said many thousand times afterwards in recalling the scene, he quite colored. Which she rightly considered a memorable circumstance, and one worthy of remark, young men not being as a class remarkable for modesty or self-denial, especially when there is a lady in the case when, if their color at all, it is rather their practice to color the story and not themselves. After tea there was a walk in the garden, and the evening being very fine they strolled out of the garden-gate into some lanes and by-roads, and sauntered up and down until it grew quite dark. The time seemed to pass very quickly with all the party. Kate went first, leaning upon her brother's arm, and talking with him and Mr. Frank Cheerable, and Mrs. Nicolby and the elder gentleman followed at a short distance. The kindness of the good merchant, his interest in the welfare of Nicholas, and his admiration of Kate, so operating upon the good lady's feelings, that the usual current of her speech was confined within very narrow and circumscribed limits. Smyke, who, if he had ever been an object of interest in his life, had been one that day, accompanied them, joining sometimes one group and sometimes the other, as brother Charles, laying his hand upon his shoulder, bade him walk with him, or Nicholas, looking smilingly round, beckoned him to come and talk with the old friend who understood him best, and who could win a smile into his care-worn face when none else could. Pride is one of the seven deadly sins, but it cannot be the pride of a mother in her children, but that is a compound of two cardinal virtues, faith and hope. This was the pride which swelled Mrs. Nicolby's heart that night, and this it was which left upon her face, glistening in the light when they returned home, traces of the most grateful tears she had ever shed. There was a quiet mirth about the little supper which harmonized exactly with this tone of feeling, and at length the two gentlemen took their leave. There was one circumstance in the leave-taking which occasioned a vast deal of smiling and pleasantry, and that was that Mr. Frank Cherable offered his hand to Kate twice over, quite forgetting that he bade her adieu already. This was held by the elder Mr. Cherable to be a convincing proof that he was thinking of his German flame, and the jest occasioned immense laughter. So easy is it to move light hearts. In short, it was a day of serene and tranquil happiness. As we all have some bright day, many of us let us hope among a crowd of others, to which we revert with particular delight, so this one was often looked back to afterwards as holding a conspicuous place in the calendar of those who shared it. Was there one exception, and that one he who needed to have been most happy? Who is that, who in the silence of his own chamber, sunk upon his knees to pray as his first friend had taught him, and folding his hands and stretching them wildly in the air, fell upon his face in a passion of bitter grief? CHAPTER 44 Mr. Ralph Nicolby cuts an old acquaintance. He would also appear from the contents hereof that a joke even between husband and wife may be sometimes carried too far. There are some men who, living with the one object of enriching themselves no matter by what means, and being perfectly conscious of the baseness and rascality of the means which they will use every day towards his then, affect nevertheless, even to themselves, a high tone of moral rectitude, and shake their heads and sigh over the depravity of the world. Some of the craftiest scoundrels that ever walked this earth, or rather, for walking implies at least an erect position and the bearing of a man, that ever crawled and crept through life by its dirtiest and narrowest ways, will gravely jot down in dairies the events of every day, and keep a regular debtor and creditor account with heaven, which will always show a floating balance in their own favour. Whether this is a gratuitous, the only gratuitous, part of the falsehood and trickery of such men's lives, or whether they really hope to cheat heaven itself and lay up treasure in the next world by the same process which has enabled them to lay up treasure in this, not to question how it is, so it is. And doubtless, such bookkeeping, like certain autobiographies which have enlightened the world, cannot fail to prove surfaceable in the one respect of sparing the recording angel some time and labour. Ralph Nicolby was not a man of this stamp—stern, unyielding, dogged, and impenetrable. Ralph cared for nothing in life, or beyond it, saved the gratification of two passions, avarice, the first and predominant appetite of his nature, and hatred, the second. Getting to coincident himself but a type of all-humanity, he was of little pains to conceal his true character from the world in general, and in his own heart he exalted over and cherished every bad design as it had a birth. The only scriptural admonition that Ralph Nicolby heeded in the letter was, Know Thyself. He knew himself well, and, choosing to imagine that all mankind were cast in the same mould, hated them. For, though no man hates himself, the coldest amongst us having too much self-love for that, yet most men unconsciously judge the world from themselves, and it will be very generally found that those who sneer habitually at human nature and affect to despise it, are among its worst and least pleasant samples. What the present business of these adventures is with Ralph himself, who stood regarding human dogs with a heavy frown, while that worthy took off his fingerless gloves, and, spreading them carefully on the palm of his left hand, and flattening them with his right to take the creases out, proceeded to roll them up with an absent air, as if he were utterly regardless of all things else in the deep interest of the ceremonial. Gone out of town, said Ralph slowly, a mistake of yours, go back again. No mistake, returned Newman, not even going. Gone! As he turned girl or baby, muttered Ralph for the fretful gesture, I don't know, said Newman, but he's gone. The repetition of the word gone seemed to defourn Newman dog's inexpressible delight, in proportion as it annoyed Ralph Nicolby. He uttered the word with a full round emphasis, dwelling upon it as long as he decently could, and when he could hold out no longer without attracting observation, stood gasping it to himself, as he even that were a satisfaction. And where has he gone? said Ralph. France! replied Newman. Danger of another attack of Eurysypolis, a worse attack in the head. So the doctor's ordered him off, and he's gone. And Lord Frederick began Ralph, he's gone, too, replied Newman. And he carries his drubbing with him, does he? said Ralph, turning away, pockets his bruises and sneaks off without the retaliation of a word, all seeking the smallest reparation. He's too ill, said Newman, too ill, repeated Ralph. Why, I would have it if I were dying, in that case I should only be the more determined to have it, and that without delay. I mean if I were he. But he's too ill, poor Sir Marlbury, too ill. Uttering these words with supreme contempt and great irritation of manner, Ralph signed hastily to Newman to leave the room, and throwing himself into his chair, beat his foot impatiently upon the ground. There is some spell about that boy, said Ralph, grinding his teeth. Circumstances can spar to help him. A hawk of fortunes favours. What is even money to such devil's luck as this? He thrust his hands impatiently into his pockets, but notwithstanding his previous reflection, there was some consolation there, for his face relaxed a little, and although there was still a deeper frown upon the contracted brow, it was one of calculation and a knot of disappointment. This hawk will come back, however, muttered Ralph, and if I know the man, and I should by this time, his wrath will have lost nothing of its violence in the meanwhile. Ablied to live in retirement, there may not leave a sacrum to a man of his habits, no life, no drink, no play, nothing that he likes and lives by, he's not likely to forget his obligations and the cause of all this. Few men would, but he of all others, no, no. He smiled, and shook his head, and resting his chin upon his hand, fell amusing, and smiled again. After a time he rose and rang the bell. "'That Mr. Squire's—has he been here?' said Ralph. "'He was here last night. I left him here when I went home,' returned Newman. "'I know that fool, do I not?' said Ralph, irascibly. "'Has he been here since? Was he here this morning?' "'No,' bawled Newman, in a very loud key. "'If he comes while I'm out—' he's pretty sure to be here by night to-night—' let him wait, and if there's another man with him as there will be, perhaps,' said Ralph, checking himself, "'let him wait, too.' "'Let him both wait,' said Newman. "'I,' replied Ralph, turning upon him with an angry look, "'help me on with this Spencer, and don't repeat after me like a croaking parrot.' "'I wish I was a parrot,' Newman, circly. "'I wish you were,' rejoined Ralph, drawing his Spencer on, "'I'd have rung your neck long ago.' Newman returned no answer to this compliment, but looked over Ralph's shoulder for an instant. He was just in the collar of the Spencer behind just then, as if he was strongly disposed to tweak him by the nose. Meeting Ralph's eye, however, he suddenly recalled his wandering fingers, and rubbed his own red nose with a vehemence quite astonishing. Bestowing no further notice upon his eccentric follower than a threatening look, and an admonition to be careful and make no mistake, Ralph took his hat and gloves, and walked out. He appeared to have a very extraordinary and miscellaneous connection, and very odd calls he made, some at great rich houses, and some at small poor ones, but all upon one subject—money. His face was a talisman to the porters and servants of his more dashing clans, and procured him ready of mission, though he trudged on foot, and others who were denied rattled to the door in carriages. Here he was all softness and cringing civility, his steps so light that it scarcely produced a sound upon the thick carpets, his voice so soft that it was not audible beyond the person to whom it was addressed. But in the poorer habitations Ralph was another man. His boots creaked upon the passage floor as he walked boldly in, his voice was harsh and loud as he demanded the money that was overdue. His threats were coarse and angry. With another class of customers Ralph was again another man. These were attorneys of more than doubtful reputation who helped him to new business, or raised fresh profits upon old. With them Ralph was familiar and jocos, humorous upon the topics of the day, and especially pleasant upon bankrupties and pecuniary difficulties that made good for trade. In short it would have been difficult to have recognised the same man under these various aspects, but for the bulky leather case full of bills and notes which he drew from his pocket at every house, and the constant repetition of the same complaint, varied only in tone and style and delivery, that the world thought him rich, and that perhaps he might be if he had his own, but there was no getting money in when it was out once out, either principal or interest, and it was a hard matter to live, even to live from day to day. It was evening before a long round of such visits. Ralph had been admitted only by a scanty dinner at an eating-house, terminated at Pimlico, and Ralph walked along St. James's Park on his way home. There were some deep schemes in his head, as the puckered brow and firmly set mouth would have abundantly testified, even if they had been unaccompanied by a complete indifference to, or unconsciousness of, the objects about him. So complete was his abstraction, however, that Ralph, usually as quick-sighted as any man, did not observe that he was followed by a shambling figure, which at one time still behind him with noiseless footsteps, at another crept a few paces before him, and at another glided along by his side, at all times regarding him with an eye so keen and a look so eager and attentive, that it was more like the expression of an intrusive face in some powerful picture or strongly marked dream than the scrutiny even of a most interested and anxious observer. The sky had been larring and dark for some time, and the commencement of a violent storm of rain drove Ralph for shelter to a tree. He was leaning against it with folded arms, still buried in thought, when, happening to raise his eyes, he suddenly met those of a man who, creeping round the trunk, peered into his face with a searching look. There was something in the user's expression at the moment which the man appeared to remember well, for it decided him, and stepping close up to Ralph, he pronounced his name. Astonished for the moment, Ralph fell back a couple of paces and surveyed him from head to foot. A spare, dark, withered man, of about his own age, with a stooping body, and a very sinister face rendered more ill favoured by hollow and hungry cheeks, deeply sunburnt, and thick black eyebrows, blacker in contrast with the perfect whiteness of his hair, roughly clothed in shabby garments of a strange and uncouth make, and having about him an indefinable manner of depression and degradation. This for a moment was all he saw. But he looked again, and the face and person seemed gradually to grow less strange, to change as he looked to subside and soften into lineaments that were familial, until at last they resolved themselves as if by some strange optical illusion, into those of one whom he had known for many years, and forgotten and lost sight of for nearly as many more. The man saw that the recognition was mutual, and beckoning to Ralph to take his former place under the tree and not to stand in the falling rain, of which in his first surprise he had been quite regardless, addressed him in a horse-faint tone. He would hardly have known me from my voice, I suppose, Mr. Nicolby. He said. No, returned Ralph, bending a severe look upon him, though there is something in that that I remember now. There is little in me that you can call to mind as having been there eight years ago, I dare say. Observe the other. Quite enough, said Ralph, carelessly, and averting his face, more than enough. He might remain in doubt about you, Mr. Nicolby, said the other. This reception and your manner would have decided me very soon. Did you expect any other? Asked Ralph sharply. No, said the man. You were right, retorted Ralph, and as you feel no surprise, need express none. A Mr. Nicolby, said the man bluntly after a brief pause, during which he had seemed to struggle with an inclination to answer him by some reproach. Will you hear a few words that I have to say? I am obliged to wait here till the rain holds a little, said Ralph, looking ahead broad. If you talk, sir, and I shall not put my fingers in my ears, though your talking may have as much effect as if I did. I am as once in your confidence. Thus his companion began. Ralph looked round and smiled involuntarily. Well, said the other, as much in your confidence as you ever chose to let anybody be. Ah, rejoined Ralph, folding his arms. That's another thing, quite another thing. Don't let us play up on words, Mr. Nicolby. In the name of humanity. Of what? said Ralph. Of humanity! replied the other sternly. I am hungry and in want. If the changes you must see in me after so long an absence, must see, for I upon whom it has come by slow and hard degrees, see it and know it well, will not move you to pity? Let the knowledge that bread, not the daily bread of the Lord's prayer, which, as it is offered up in cities like this, is understood to include half the luxuries of the world for the rich and just as much coarse food as will support life of the poor. Not that. Of bread. A crust of dry hard bread is beyond my reach today. Let that have some weight with you, if nothing else has. If this is the usual form which you beg, sir, said Ralph, you have studied your part well, but if you will take advice from one who knows something of the world in its ways, I should recommend a lower tone, a little lower tone, or you stand a fair chance of being starved in good earnest. As he said this, Ralph clenched his left wrist tightly with his right hand, and, inclining his head a little on one side and dropping his chin upon his breast, looked at him whom he addressed with a frowning, sullen face. The very picture of a man whom nothing could move or soften. Yesterday was my first day in London, said the old man, glancing at his travel-stained dress and worn shoes. It would have been better for you, I think, if it had been your last, also, replied Ralph. I have been seeking you these two days where I thought you were most likely to be found, resumed the other more humbly, and I met you here at last, when I had almost given up the hope of encountering you, Mr. Nicopay. He seemed to wait for some reply, but Ralph, giving him none, he continued, I am a most miserable and wretched outcast, nearly sixty years old, and as destitute and helpless as a child of six. I am sixty years old, too, replied Ralph, and am neither destitute nor helpless. Work! Don't make fine play acting speeches about bread, but earn it. How! cried the other. Where? Show me the means. Would you give them to me, will you? I did once, replied Ralph, composedly. You scarcely need ask me whether I will again. It's twenty years ago or more, said the man in a suppressed voice, since you and I fell out. Do you remember that? I claimed a share in the profits of some business I brought to you, and as I persisted you arrested me for an old advance of ten pounds, odd shillings, including interests of fifty percent or so. I remember something of it, replied Ralph, carelessly. What then? That didn't part us, said the man. I made submission, being on the wrong side of the bolts and bars, and as you were not the made man then that you are now, you would loud enough to take back a clerk who wasn't over nice, and who knew something of the trade you drove. You begged and prayed, and I consented, returned Ralph. That was kind of me. Perhaps I did want to, and I forget. I should think I did, or you would have begged in vain. You were useful, not too honest, not too delicate, not too nice of hand or heart, but useful. Useful indeed, said the man. Come! you have pinched and ground me down for some years before that. But I had served you faithfully up to that time, in spite of all your dog's usage. Had I?" Ralph made no reply. Had I? said the man again. You had had your wages, rejoined Ralph, and had done your work. We stood on equal ground so far, and could both cry quits. Then, but not afterwards, said the other. Not afterwards, certainly, not even then, for, as you've just said, you owed me money, and do still, replied Ralph. That's not all, said the man, eagerly. That's not all. Mark that. I didn't forget that old sore. Trust me. Partly in remembrance of that, and partly in the hope of making money some day by the scheme, I took advantage of my position about you, and possessed myself of a hold upon you, which you would give half of all you have to know, a never can know but through me. I left you, long after that time, remember? And as for some poor trickery that came within the law, but was nothing to what you money-makers daily practice just outside his bounds, was sent away a convict for seven years. I have returned what you see me. Now, Mr. Niccolby, said the man with a strange mixture of humility and sense of power, what help and assistance would you give me? What bribe to speak out plainly? My expectations are not monstrous, but I must live, and to live I must eat and drink. Money is on your side, and hunger and thirst on mine. You may drive an easy bargain. Is that all?" said Ralph, still eyeing his companion with the same steady look, and moving nothing but his lips. It depends on you, Mr. Niccolby, whether that's all or not, was the rejoinder. Why, then, hark he, Mr.—I did know by what name I am to call you, said Ralph. By my old one, if you like. Why, then, hark he, Mr. Brocker, said Ralph in his harshest accents, and don't expect to draw another speech from me. Hark he, sir. I know you are old for a ready scoundrel, but you never had a stout heart, and hard work with maybe chains upon those legs of yours and shorter food than when I pinched and ground you has blunted your wits, or you would not come with such a tale as this to me. You are holed upon me. Keep it, or publish it to the world, if you like. I can't do that," interposed Brocker. That wouldn't serve me. Wouldn't it? said Ralph. It will serve you as much as bringing it to me, I promise you. To be playing with you. I am a careful man, and know my affairs thoroughly. I know the world, and the world knows me. Whatever you'd leaned, or heard, or saw when you served me, the world knows and magnifies already. You could tell it nothing that would surprise it, unless indeed it redundant to my credit or honour, and then it would scout you for a liar. Yet I don't find business slack or clans scrupulous, quite the contrary. I am reviled or threatened every day by one man or another," said Ralph, but things roll on just the same, and I don't grow poorer either. I know the revile nor threaten, rejoin the man. I can tell you of what you have lost by my act, what I can only restore, and what, if I die without restoring, dies with me, and never can be regained. I tell my money pretty accurately, and generally keep it in my own custody, said Ralph. I look sharply after most men that I deal with, and most of all I look sharply after you. You are welcome to all you have kept from me. Are those of your own name dear to you? said the man, infatately. If they are, they are not, returned Ralph, exasperated this perseverance in the thought of Nicholas, which the last question awakened. They are not. If you had come as a common beggar, I might have thrown a six-months to you in remembrance of the clever nave you used to be, but since you tried to palm these stale tricks upon one that you might have known better, I'll not part with a hipney, nor would I to save you from rotting. And remember this, scape-gallows," said Ralph, menacing him with his hand, that if we meet again, and you so much as notice me by one bigging gesture, you shall see the inside of a jail once more, and tighten this hold upon me in intervals of the hard labour that vagabonds are put to. There's my answer to your trash. Take it! With a disdainful scowl of the object of his anger, who met his eye but uttered not a word, Ralph walked away at his usual pace, without manifesting the slightest curiosity to see what became of his late companion, or indeed once looking behind him. The man remained on the same spot, with his eyes fixed upon his retreating figure until it was lost to view, and then drawing his arm about his chest as if the damp and lack of food struck coldly to him, lingered with slouching steps by the wayside, and begged of those who passed along. Ralph, in no wise move by what had lately passed, further than he's already expressed himself, walked deliberately on, and turning out of the park and leaving Golden Square on his right, took his way through some streets at the west end of the town, until he arrived at that particular one in which stood the residence of Madame Mantellini. The name of that lady no longer appeared on the flaming doorplate, that of Miss Nag being substituted in its stead, but the bonnets and dresses were still dimly visible in the first floor windows by the decaying light of a summer's evening, and accepting this ostensible alteration and the proprietorship, the establishment wore its old appearance. Ha! But had Ralph drawing his hand across his mouth with a connoisseur like air, and surveying the house from top to bottom. These people look pretty well, they can't last long, but if I know of their going in good time I am safe, and a fair prophet too. I must keep them closely in view, that's all. So nodding his head very complacently, Ralph was leaving the spot, when his quick ear caught the sound of a confused noise and hubbub of voices mingled with a great running up and down stairs, in the very house which would be in the subject of his scrutiny. And while he was hesitating whether to knock at the door or listen at the keyhole a while longer, a female servant of Madame Mantellini's, whom we had often seen, opened it abruptly and bounced out with her blue capra buns screaming in the air. Hello there, stop!" cried Ralph. What's the matter? Here I am. Didn't you hear me knock? Oh, Mr. Nicolpe, sir, said the girl, go up for the love of gracious masters-been and done it again. Done what? said Ralph, talking. What do you mean? I knew he would if he was drove to it, cried the girl. I said so all along. Come here, you silly wench, said Ralph, catching her by the wrist. And don't carry family matters to the neighbours, destroying the credit of this establishment. Come here. Do you hear me, girl? Without any further expostulation, he led or rather pulled the frightened handmaid into the house and shut the door. Then bidding her walk upstairs before him, followed without more ceremony. Guided by the noise of a great many voices all talking together and passing the girl in his impatience before they had ascended many steps, Ralph quickly reached the private sitting-room, when he was rather amazed by the confused and inexplicable scene in which he suddenly found himself. There were all the young lady-workers, some with bonnets and some without, in various attitudes expressive of alarm and consternation. Some gathered round Madame Mantellini, who was in tears upon one chair, and others round Miss Nag, who was in opposition tears upon another, and others round Mr. Mantellini, who was perhaps the most striking figure in the whole group, for Mr. Mantellini's legs were extended at full length upon the floor, and his head and shoulders were supported by a very tall footman, who didn't seem to know what to do with them. And Mr. Mantellini's eyes were closed, and his face was pale, and his hair was comparatively straight, and his whiskers and moustache were limp, and his teeth were clenched, and he had a little bottle in his right hand and a teaspoon in his left, and his hands, arms, legs, and shoulders were all stiff and parlous. And yet Madame Mantellini was not weeping upon the body, but was scolding violently upon her chair. And all this amidst a clamour of tongues perfectly deafening, and which really appeared to have driven the unfortunate footman to the utmost verge of distraction. "'What is the matter here?' said Ralph, pressing forward. This inquiry, the clamour was increased twentyfold and an astounding string of such shrill contradictions as, "'He's poisoned himself. He hasn't. Send for a doctor. He's dying. He isn't. He's any pretending.' With various other cries poured forth with bewildering volubility, until Madame Mantellini was seen to address herself to Ralph when female curiosity to know what she would say prevailed. And as if by general consent, a dead silence unbroken by a single whisper, instantaneously succeeded. "'Mr. Nicobie,' said Madame Mantellini, "'by what chance you came here? I don't know.' Here a gurgling voice was heard to ejaculate as part of the wanderings of a sick man. The words, "'Demnition, sweetness!' But nobody heeded them except the footman, who, being startled to hear such awful tones proceeding as it were from between his very fingers, dropped his master's head upon the floor with a pretty loud crash, and then, without an effort to lift it up, gazed upon the bystanders, as if he'd done something rather clever than otherwise. "'I will, however,' continued Madame Mantellini, drying her eyes and speaking with great indignation, "'say before you and before everybody here, for the first time and once for all, that I never will supply that man's extravagances and viciousness again. I have been a dupe and a fool to him long enough. In future he shall support himself if he can, and then he may spend what money he pleases upon whom and how he pleases, but it shall not be mine, and therefore you better pause before you trust him further. Then, upon Madame Mantellini, quite unmoved by some most pathetic lamentations on the part of her husband, that the apothecary had not mixed the prusic acid strong enough, that he must take another bottle or two to finish the work he had in hand, entered into a catalogue of that amable gentleman's garantries, deceptions, extravagances, and infidelities, especially at the last, winding up with a protest against being supposed to entertain the smallest remnant of regard for him, and adducing, in proof of the altered state of her affections, the circumstances is his having poisoned himself in private no less than six times within the last fortnight, and her not having once interfered by word or deed to save his life. And I insist on being separated and left to myself, said Madame Mantellini, sobbing, if he dares to refuse me a separation I'll have one in law. I can, and I hope this will be a warning to all girls who have seen this disgraceful exhibition. Miss Nag, who was unquestionably the oldest girl in company, said with great solemnity that it would be a warning to her, and so did the young ladies generally, with the exception of one or two who appeared to entertain some doubts whether such whispers could do wrong. Why do you say all this before so many listeners? said Ralph in a low voice. You know you are not in earnest. I am in earnest, replied Madame Mantellini aloud, and retreating towards Miss Nag. Well, but consider, reasoned Ralph, who had a great interest in the matter. It would be well to reflect. A married woman has no property. Not a solitary single individual did my soul, said Mr. Mantellini, raising himself upon his elbow. I am quite aware of that, retorted Madame Mantellini, tossing her head, and I have none. The business, the stock, this house, and everything in it all belong to Miss Nag. That's quite true, Madame Mantellini, said Miss Nag, with whom her late employer had secretly come to amicable understanding on this point. Very true indeed, Madame Mantellini, very true. And I never was more glad in all my life that I had strength of mind to resist matrimonial offers, no matter how advantageous, that I am, when I think of my present position, as compared with your most unfortunate and most undeserved one, Madame Mantellini. Dammit, cried Mr. Mantellini, turning his head towards his wife. Would it not slap and pinch the avian's dowager that dares to reflect upon its own delicious? But the day of Mr. Mantellini's blandishments had departed. Miss Nag, sir, said his wife, is my particular friend. And although Mr. Mantellini leered till his eyes seemed in danger of never coming back to their right places again, Madame Mantellini showed no signs of softening. To do the excellent Miss Nag justice, she had been mainly instrumental in bringing about this altered state of things, for, finding by daily experience that there was no chance of the business thriving or even continuing to exist, while Mr. Mantellini had any hand in the expenditure, and, having now a considerable interest in its well-doing, she had sedulously applied herself to the investigation of some little matters connected with that gentleman's private character, which she had so well elucidated and artfully imparted to Madame Mantellini, as to open her eyes more effectually than the closest and most philosophical reasoning could have done in a series of years. To which end, the accidental discovery by Miss Nag of some tender correspondence in which Madame Mantellini was described as old and ordinary, have most providentially contributed. However, notwithstanding her firmness, Madame Mantellini wept very piteously, and as she leant upon Miss Nag and signed towards the door, that young lady and all the other long ladies with sympathizing faces proceeded to bear her out. Niccolby said, Mr. Mantellini, in tears, you have been made a witness to this damnation and cruelty on the part of the damnedest enslavement and captivator that never was, oh, damn, I forgive that woman. I forgive that woman. Forgive, repeated Madame Mantellini angrily. I do forgive her, Niccolby, said Mr. Mantellini, you will blame me, the world will blame me, the women will blame me, everybody will laugh and scoff and smile and grin most demnably. They will say, she had a blessing. She did not know it. She was too weak, he was too good, he was a damned, fine fellow, but he loved too strong. He could not bear her to be crossed and call him wicked names. It was a damned case that never was a damneder. But I forgive her. With this affecting speech Mr. Mantellini fell down again very flat, and lay to all appearance without sense or motion, until all the females had left the room, when he came cautiously into a sitting posture and confronted Ralph with a very blank face, and of the little bottle still in one hand and the teaspoon in the other. You may put away those foolories now and live by your wits again, said Ralph, coolly putting on his hat. Dimmit, Niccolby, you're not serious. I seldom joke, said Ralph. Good night. No, but Niccolby, said Mantellini. I am wrong, perhaps, rejoined Ralph. I hope so. You should know best. Good night. Affecting not to hear his entreaties that he would stay and advise with him, Ralph left the crest-falling Mr. Mantellini to his meditations, and left the house quietly. Oh, he said, sets the wind that way so soon. Half-nave and half-full and detected in both characters—I think your day is over, sir. As he said this, he made some memorandum in his pocket-book in which Mr. Mantellini's name figured conspicuously, and finding by his watch that it was between nine and ten o'clock, made all speed home. Are they here? Was the first question he asked of Newman. Newman nodded. Peen here half an hour. Two of them, one a fat, sleek man? I said, Newman, in your room now. Good, rejoined Ralph. Get me a coach. A coach? What are you going to do, eh? Stammered Newman. Ralph angrily repeated his orders, and nox, who might well have been excused for wandering at such an unusual and extraordinary circumstance, for he had never seen Ralph in a coach in his life, departed on his errand, and presently had returned with the conveyance. Into it went Mr. Squiers and Ralph, and the third man whom Newman nox had never seen. Newman stood upon the doorstep to see them off, not troubling himself to wonder where or upon what business they were going, until he chanced by mere accident to hear Ralph name the address whether the coachman was to drive. Quick as lightning, and in a state of the most extreme wonder, Newman darted into his little office for his hat, and limped after the coach, as if with the intention of getting up behind. But in this design he was balked, for it had too much the start of him, and was soon hopelessly ahead, leaving him gaping in the empty street. I don't know, though, said nox, stopping for breath, any good that I could have done by going to. He would have seen me if I had. Drive there? What can come of this? If I'd only known it yesterday, I could have told. Drive there! There's mischief in it. There must be. His reflections were interrupted by a gray-haired man of a very remarkable, though far from pre-possessing, appearance. Who, coming stealthily towards him, solicited relief. Newman, still cogitating deeply, turned away. But the man followed him, and pressed him with such a tale of misery that Newman, who might have been considered a hopeless person to beg from, and whom he had little enough to give, looked into his hat for some half-pence, which he usually kept screwed up when he had any in a corner of his potty-cash-chief. While he was busily untwisting the knot with his teeth, the man said something which attracted his attention. Whatever that something was, it led to something else. And in the end he and Newman walked away side by side, the strange man talking earnestly, and Newman listening. CHAPTER 45 CONTAINING MATTER OF A SURPRISING KIND As we gang a wa for London tomorrow night, and as I did not know that I was ere so happy in all my days, Mr. Nicolby, ding, but I will tack another glass to our next merry meeting. So said John Browdy, rubbing his hands with great joyousness, and looking round him with a ruddy shining face, quite in keeping with the declaration. The time at which John found himself in this enviable condition was the same evening to which the last chapter bore reference, the place was the cottage, and the assembled company were Nicholas, Mrs. Nicolby, Mrs. Browdy, Kate Nicolby, and Smyke. A very merry party they had been. Mrs. Nicolby, knowing of her son's obligations to the honest Yorkshire man, had, after some demure, yielded her consent to Mr. and Mrs. Browdy being invited out to tea. In the way of which arrangement, there were at first sundry difficulties and obstacles, arising out of her not having had an opportunity of calling upon Mrs. Browdy first. For, although Mrs. Nicolby very often observed with much complacency, as most punctilious people do, that she had not an atom of pride or formality about her, still she was a great stickler for dignity and ceremonies, and as it was manifest that, until a call had been made, she could not be politely speaking in according to the laws of society, even cognizant of the fact of Mrs. Browdy's existence, she felt her situation to be one of peculiar delicacy and difficulty. The call must originate with me, my dear, said Mrs. Nicolby, that's indispensable. The fact is, my dear, that it's necessary there should be some sort of condescension on my part, and that I should show this young person that I am willing to take notice of her. There's a very respectable-looking young man, added Mrs. Nicolby, after a short consideration, who is conductor to one of the omnibuses that go by here and who wears a glazed hat. Your sister and I have noticed him very often. He has a wart upon his nose, Kate, you know, exactly like a gentleman's servant. Have all gentlemen's servants warts upon their noses, mother? asked Nicolus. Nicolus, my dear, how very absurd you are, returned his mother. Of course I mean that his glazed hat looks like a gentleman's servant, and not the wart upon his nose, though even that is not so ridiculous as it may seem to you, for we had a foot-boy once who had not only a wart but a wen also, and a very large wen too, and he demanded to have his wages raised in consequence, because he found it came very expensive. Let me see, what was I? Oh yes, I know. The best way that I can think of would be to send a card and my compliments. I've no doubt he'd take him for a spot of porter, by this young man, to the Saracen with two necks, if the waiter took him for a gentleman's servant, so much the better. Then all Mrs. Browdy would have to do would be to send her card back by the carrier. He could easily come with a double knock, and there's an end of it. My dear mother, said Nicolus, I don't suppose such unsophisticated people as these ever had a card of their own or ever will have. Oh, that indeed, Nicolus, my dear, returned to Mrs. Nicolby, that's another thing. If you put it upon that ground, why, of course I have no more to say, then that I have no doubt that they are very good sort of persons, and that I have no kind of objection to their coming here to tea, if they like, and shall make a point of being very civil to them, if they do. The point being thus effectually set at rest, and Mrs. Nicolby duly placed in the patronizing and mildly condescending position which became her rank and matrimonial years, Mr. and Mrs. Browdy were invited and came, and as they were very deferential to Mrs. Nicolby, and seemed to have a becoming appreciation of her greatness, and were very much pleased with everything the good lady had more than once given Kate to understand, in a whisper, that she thought they were the very best meeting people she had ever seen, and perfectly well behaved. And thus it came to pass that John Browdy declared in the parlor after supper, to it, and twenty minutes before eleven o'clock p.m., that he had never been so happy in all his days. Nor was Mrs. Browdy much behind her husband in this respect, for that young matron, whose rustic beauty contrasted very prettily with the more delicate loveliness of Kate, and without suffering by the contrast, either, for each served as it were to set off and decorate the other, could not sufficiently admire the gentle and winning manners of the young lady, or the engaging affability of the elder one. Then Kate had the art of turning the conversation to subjects upon which the country girl, bashful at first in strange company, could feel herself at home. And if Mrs. Nicolby was not quite so felicitous at times in the selection of topics of discourse, or if she did seem as Mrs. Browdy expressed it rather high in her notions, still nothing could be kinder, and that she took considerable interest in the young couple was manifest, from the very long lectures on house wife-free, with which she was so obliging as to entertain Mrs. Browdy's private ear, which were illustrated by various references to the domestic economy of the cottage, in which, those duties falling exclusively upon Kate, the good lady had about as much share, either in theory or practice, as any one of the statues of the twelve apostles which embellished the exterior of St. Paul's Cathedral. Mr. Browdy, said Kate, addressing his young wife, is the best-humoured, the kindest, and heartiest creature I ever saw. If I were oppressed with I don't know how many cares, it would make me happy only to look at him. He does seem indeed upon my word a most excellent creature, Kate, said Mrs. Nicolby, most excellent, and I am sure that at all times it will give me pleasure, really pleasure now, to have you, Mrs. Browdy, to see me in this plain and homely manner. We make no display, said Mrs. Nicolby, with an air which seemed to insinuate that they could make a vast deal if they were so disposed. No fuss, no preparation, I wouldn't allow it. I said, Kate, my dear, you will only make Mrs. Browdy feel uncomfortable, and how very foolish and inconsiderate that would be. I am very much obliged to you, I am sure, ma'am, returned Mrs. Browdy gratefully. It's nearly eleven o'clock, John, I am afraid we are keeping you up very late, ma'am. Late cried Mrs. Nicolby with a sharp, thin laugh and one little cough at the end, like a note of admiration expressed. This is quite early for us. We used to keep such hours. Twelve, one, two, three o'clock was nothing to us. Balls, dinners, card parties, never were such rakes as the people about where we used to live. I often think now, I am sure, that how we ever could go through with it is quite astonishing, and that is just the evil of having a large connection and being a great deal sought after, which I would recommend all young married people steadily to resist, though, of course, and it's perfectly clear and a very happy thing, too, I think, that a very few young married people can be exposed to such temptations. There was one family in particular that used to live about a mile from us, not straight down the road but turning sharp off to the left by the turnpike where the Plymouth mail ran over the donkey, that were quite extraordinary people for giving the most extravagant parties, with artificial flowers and champagne and variegated lamps, and, in short, every delicacy of eating and drinking that the most singular apicure could possibly require. I don't think that there ever were such people as those Peltoroguses. You remember the Peltoroguses, Kate? Kate saw that for the ease and comfort of the visitors it was high time to stay this flood of recollection, so answered that she entertained of the Peltoroguses a most vivid and distinct remembrance, and then said that Mr. Browdy had half-promised early in the evening that he would sing a Yorkshire song, and that she was most impatient that he should redeem his promise because she was sure it would afford her mama more amusement and pleasure than it was possible to express. Mrs. Nicolby confirming her daughter with the best possible grace, for there was patronage in that, too, and a kind of implication that she had a discerning taste in such matters and was something of a critic, John Browdy proceeded to consider the words of some North country ditty and to take his wife's recollection respecting the same. This then he made diverse ungainly movements in his chair and singling out one particular fly on the ceiling from the other flies there asleep, fixed his eyes upon him, and began to roar a meek sentiment supposed to be uttered by a gentle swan fast pining away with love and despair in a voice of thunder. At the end of the first verse, as though some person without had waited until then to make himself audible, was heard a loud and violent knocking at the street door, so loud and so violent indeed that the late he started as by one accord and John Browdy stopped. It must be some mistake, said Nicolus carelessly, we know nobody who would come here at this hour. Mrs. Nicolby surmised, however, that perhaps the counting-house was burnt down or perhaps the Mr. Cheerables had sent to take Nicolus into partnership, which certainly appeared highly probable at that time of night, or perhaps Mr. Lincoln-Water had run away with the property, or perhaps Mrs. LaCrievie was taken in, or perhaps, but a hasty exclamation from Kate stopped her abruptly in her conjectures, and Ralph Nicolby walked into the room. Stay, said Ralph, as Nicolus rose and Kate making her way towards him threw herself upon his arm. Before that boy says a word, hear me. Nicolus bit his lip and shook his head in a threatening manner, but appeared for the moment unable to articulate a syllable. Kate clung closer to his arm, Smyke retreated behind them, and John Browdy, who had heard of Ralph and appeared to have no great difficulty in recognizing him, stepped between the old man and his young friend, as if with the intention of preventing either of them from advancing a step further. Hear me, I say, said Ralph, and not him. Say what thou'st gotten to say then, sir, retorted John, and tack care thou did not put up angry blood which thou'dst better try to quiet. I should know you, said Ralph, by your tongue, and him, pointing to Smyke, by his looks. Don't speak to him, said Nicolus, recovering his voice. I will not have it. I will not hear him. I do not know that man. I cannot breathe the air that he corrupts. His presence is an insult to my sister. It is a shame to see him. I will not bear it. Stand, cried John, laying his heavy hand upon his chest. Then let him instantly retire, said Nicolus, struggling. I am not going to lay hands upon him, but he shall withdraw. I will not have him here. John, John, Browdy, is this my house? Am I a child? If he stands there, cried Nicolus, burning with fury, looking so calmly upon those who know his black and dastardly heart, he'll drive me mad. To all these exclamations John Browdy answered not a word, but he retained his hold upon Nicolus, and when he was silent again spoke. There's more to say in here than thou thinkest for, said John. I tell ye, I have gotten senteth out already. What be that shadow outside door there? New schoolmaster, show thy self-munt, do not be sham-faced. New, all gentlemen, let's have schoolmaster cum. Hearing this adoration, Mr. Squeers, who had been lingering in the passage until such time as it should be expedient for him to enter, and he could appear with a fact, was feign to present himself in a somewhat undignified and sneaking way, at which John Browdy laughed, with such keen and heartfelt delight that even Kate in all the pain, anxiety, and surprise of the scene, and though the tears were in her eyes, felt a disposition to join him. Have you done enjoying yourself, sir? said Ralph, at length. Prattie and I for the present time, sir, replied John. I can wait, said Ralph. Take your own time, pray. Ralph waited until there was a perfect silence, and then turning to Mrs. Nicolby but directing an eager glance at Kate, as if more anxious to watch his effect upon her, said, Now, ma'am, listen to me. I don't imagine that you were a party to a very fine tirade of words sent me by that boy of yours, because I don't believe that under his control you have the slightest will of your own, or that your advice, your opinion, your wants, your wishes, anything which in nature and reason, or of what use is your great experience, ought to weigh with him, has the slightest influence or weight whatever, or is taken for a moment into account. Mrs. Nicolby shook her head and sighed, as if there were a good deal in that, certainly. For this reason, resumed Ralph, I address myself to you, ma'am. For this reason partly, and partly because I do not wish to be disgraced by the acts of a vicious stripling whom I was obliged to disown, and who afterwards, in his boyish majesty, feigns to, ha-ha, to disown me, I present myself here to-night. I have another motive incoming, a motive of humanity. I come here, said Ralph, looking round with a biting and triumphant smile, and gloating and dwelling upon the words, as if he were loath to lose the pleasure of saying them, to restore apparent his child. I, sir, he continued, bending eagerly forward and addressing Nicholas as he marked to the change of his countenance, to restore apparent his child, his son, sir, tra-panned, way-laid, and guarded at every turn by you, with the base design of robbing him some day of any little wretched pittance of which he might become possessed. In that you know you lie, said Nicholas proudly. In this I know I speak the truth. I have his father here, retorted Ralph. Here, sneered squirs, stepping forward, do you hear that? Here! Didn't I tell you to be careful that his father didn't turn up and send him back to me? Why, his father's my friend, he's to come back to me directly he is. Now what do you say, eh? Now come! What do you say to that? Ain't you sorry you took so much trouble for nothing? Ain't you? Ain't you? You bear upon your body certain marks I gave you, said Nicholas, looking quietly away, and may talk in acknowledgement of them as much as you please. You'll talk a long time before you rub them out, Mr. Squirs. The estimable gentleman, last named, cast a hasty look at the table as if he were prompted by this retort to throw a jug or bottle at the head of Nicholas, but he was interrupted in this design if such design he had, by Ralph, who, touching him on the elbow, bad him tell the father that he might now appear and claim his son. This being purely a labor of love, Mr. Squirs readily complied, and leaving the room for the purpose almost immediately returned, supporting a sleek personage with an oily face, who, bursting from him and giving to view the form and face of Mr. Snolly, made straight up to Smyke and tucking that poor fellow's head under his arm in a most uncouth and awkward embrace, elevated his broad-brimmed hat at arm's length in the air as a token of devout thanksgiving, exclaiming, meanwhile, how little did I think of this here joyful meeting when I saw him last! Oh, how little did I think it! Be composed, sir, said Ralph, with a gruff expression of sympathy. You have got him now. Got him? Oh, haven't I got him? Have I got him, though? cried Mr. Snolly, scarcely able to believe it. Yes, here he is, flesh and blood, flesh and blood. Very little flesh, said John Browdy. Mr. Snolly was too much occupied by his parental feelings to notice this remark, and to assure himself more completely of the restoration of his child, cucked his head under his arm again and kept it there. What was it, said Snolly, that made me take such a strong interest in him when that worthy instructor of youth brought him to my house? What was it that made me burn all over with a wish to chastise him severely for cutting away from his best friends, his pastors and masters? It was parental instinct, sir, observed squirs. That's what it was, sir, rejoined Snolly, the elevated feeling, the feeling of the ancient Romans and Greeks and of the beasts of the field and birds of the air, with the exception of rabbits and tomcats which sometimes devour their offspring. My heart yearned towards him. I could have—I don't know what I couldn't have done to him in the anger of a father. It only shows what nature is, sir, said Mr. Squirs. She's a Raman, is nature. She is a holy thing, remarked Snolly. I believe you added Mr. Squirs with a moral sigh. I should like to know how we should ever get on without her. Nature, said Mr. Squirs solemnly, is more easier conceived than described. Oh, what a blessed thing, sir, to be in a state of nature! Pending this philosophical discourse, the bystanders had been quite stupefied with amazement, while Nicholas had looked keenly from Snolly to Squirs and from Squirs to Ralph, divided between his feelings of disgust, doubt and surprise. At this juncture, Smyke, escaping from his father, fled to Nicholas and implored him, in most moving terms, never to give him up but to let him live and die beside him. If you are this boy's father, said Nicholas, look at the wreck he is, and tell me that you purpose to send him back to that loathsome den from which I brought him. Scandal again, cried Squirs, recollect. You ain't worth powder and shot, but I'll be even with you one way or another. Stop, interposed Ralph, as Snolly was about to speak. Let us cut this matter short, and not bandy words here with hair-brained profligates. This is your son as you can prove, and you, Mr. Squirs, you know this boy to be that same that was with you for so many years under the name of Smyke, do you? Do I, return, Squirs, don't I? Good, said Ralph, a very few words will be sufficient here. You had a son by your first wife, Mr. Snolly? I had, replied that person, and there he stands. We'll show that presently, said Ralph. You and your wife were separated, and she had the boy to live with her when he was a year old. You received a communication from her when you had lived apart a year or two that the boy was dead, and you believed it. Of course I did, returned Snolly. Oh, the joy of birational, sir, pray, said Ralph. This is business and transports interfere with it. This wife died a year and a half ago, or thereabouts, not more, in some obscure place where she was housekeeper in a family. Is that the case? That's the case, replied Snolly. Having written on her deathbed a letter or confession to you about this very boy, which, as it was not directed otherwise than in your name, only reached you and that by a circuitous course a few days since? Just so, said Snolly, correct in every particular, sir. And this confession, resumed Ralph, is to the effect that his death was an invention of hers to wound you, was a part of a system of annoyance in short which you seem to have adopted towards each other. That the boy lived but was of weak and imperfect intellect, that she sent him by a trusty hand to a cheap school in Yorkshire, that she had paid for his education for some years and then, being poor and going a long way off, gradually deserted him for which she prayed forgiveness. Snolly nodded his head and wiped his eyes, the first slightly the last violently. The school was Mr. Squeers's, continued Ralph. The boy was left there in the name of Smyke. Every description was fully given. Dates tally exactly with Mr. Squeers' books. Mr. Squeers is lodging with you at this time. You have two other boys at his school. You communicated the whole discovery to him. He brought you to me as the person who had recommended to him the kidnapper of his child. And I brought you here. Is that so? You talk like a good book, sir, that's got nothing in its inside but what's the truth? replied Snolly. This is your pocket-book, said Ralph, producing one from his coat. The certificates of your first marriage and of the boy's birth, and your wife's two letters, and every other paper that can support these statements directly or by implication are here, are they? Every one of them, sir. And you don't object to their being looked at here so that these people may be convinced of your power to substantiate your claim at once in law and reason, and you may resume your control over your son without more delay. Do I understand you? I couldn't have understood myself better, sir. There, then, said Ralph, tossing the pocket-book upon the table. Let them see them if they like, and as those are the original papers I should recommend you to stand near, while they are being examined, or you may chance to lose some. With these words Ralph sat down, unbidden, and compressing his lips, which were for the moment slightly parted by a smile, folded his arms and looked for the first time at his nephew. Nicholas, stung by the concluding taunt, darted an indignant glance at him, but commanding himself as well as he could entered upon a close examination of the documents at which John Browdy assisted. There was nothing about them which could be called in question. The certificates were regularly signed as extracts from the parish books. The first letter had a genuine appearance of having been written and preserved for some years, the handwriting of the second tallied with it exactly, making proper allowance for its having been written by a person in extremity. And there were several other corroboratory scraps of entries and memoranda which it was equally difficult to question. Dear Nicholas, whispered Kate, who had been looking anxiously over his shoulder, can this really be the case? Is this statement true? I fear it is, answered Nicholas. What say you, John? John scratched his head and shook it, but said nothing at all. You will observe, ma'am, said Ralph, addressing himself to Mrs. Nicolby, that this boy being a minor and not of strong mind we might have come here tonight armed with the powers of the law, and backed by a troop of its myrmidons. I should have done so, ma'am, unquestionably, but for my regard for the feelings of yourself and your daughter. You have shown your regard for her feelings well, said Nicholas, drawing his sister towards him. Thank you, replied Ralph. Your praise, sir, is commendation indeed. Well, said Squeers, what's to be done? Them hackney coach horses will catch cold if we don't think of moving. There's one of them a sneezing now so that he blows the street door right open. What's the order of the day? Is Master Snolly to come along with us? No, no, no, replied Smike, drawing back and clinging to Nicholas. No, pray no, I will not go from you with him. No, no. This is a cruel thing, said Snolly, looking to his friends for support. Do parents bring children into the world for this? Do parents bring children into the world for that? said John Browdy bluntly, pointing as he spoke to Squeers. Never you mind, retarded that gentleman, tapping his nose derisively. Never I mind, said John. No, nor never nobody mind, sayest thou, schoolmaster. It's nobody's minding that keeps like men as thou afloat. New, then, where beest thou come unto? Dang it, d'n'a come tre'nore me man. Suiting the action to the word, John Browdy just jerked his elbow into the chest of Mr. Squeers, who was advancing upon Smike, with so much dexterity that the schoolmaster reeled and staggered back upon Ralph Nicolby, and being unable to recover his balance, knocked that gentleman off his chair and stumbled heavily upon him. This accidental circumstance was the signal for some very decisive proceedings. In the midst of a great noise occasioned by the prayers and entreaties of Smike, the cries and exclamations of the women, and the vehemence of the men, demonstrations were made of carrying off the lost son by violence. Squeers had actually begun to haul him out, when Nicholas, who until then had been evidently undecided how to act, took him by the collar and shaking him so that such teeth as he had, chattered in his head, politely escorted him to the room door and thrusting him into the passage, shut it upon him. Now, said Nicholas, to the other two, have the goodness to follow your friend. I want my son, said Snolly. Your son, replied Nicholas, chooses for himself. He chooses to remain here, and he shall. You won't give him up, said Snolly? I would not give him up against his will to be the victim of such brutality as that to which you would consign him, replied Nicholas, if he were a dog or a rat. Knock that Nicolby down with a candlestick, cried Mr. Squeers through the keyhole, and bring out my hat, somebody, will you, unless he wants to steal it? I am very sorry indeed, said Mrs. Nicolby, who, with Mrs. Browdy, had stood crying and biting her fingers in a corner, while Kate, very pale but perfectly quiet, had kept as near her brother as she could. I am very sorry indeed for all this. I really don't know what would be best to do, and that's the truth. Nicholas ought to be the best judge, and I hope he is. Of course it's a hard thing to have to keep other people's children, though young Mr. Snolly is certainly as useful and willing as it's possible for anybody to be. But if it could be settled in any friendly manner, if old Mr. Snolly, for example, would settle to pay something certain for his board and lodging, and some fair arrangement was come to so that we undertook to have fish twice a week and a pudding twice, or a dumpling or something of that sort, I do think it might be very satisfactory and pleasant for all parties. This compromise which was proposed with abundance of tears and sighs, not exactly meeting the point at issue, nobody took any notice of it, and poor Mrs. Nicolby accordingly proceeded to enlighten Mrs. Browdy upon the advantages of such a scheme and the unhappy results flowing on all occasions from her not being attended to when she proffered her advice. You, sir, said Snolly, addressing the terrified Smike, are an unnatural, ungrateful, unlovable boy. You won't let me love you when I want to. Won't you come home, won't you? No, no, no, cried Smike, shrinking back. He never loved nobody, bald squeers, through the keyhole. He never loved me. He never loved Wackford, who is next door but one to a cherubim. How can you expect that he'll love his father? He'll never love his father. He won't. He don't know what it is to have a father. He don't understand it. It ain't in him. Mr. Snolly looked steadfastly at his son for a full minute, and then, covering his eyes with his hand, and once more raising his hat in the air, appeared deeply occupied in deploring his black ingratitude. Then, drawing his arm across his eyes, he picked up Mr. Squeers' hat, and taking it under one arm and his own under the other, walked slowly and sadly out. Your romance, sir, said Ralph, lingering for a moment, is destroyed, I take it. No unknown, no persecuted descendant of a man of high degree, but the weak, imbecile son of a poor petty tradesman, we shall see how your sympathy melts before plain matter of fact. You shall, said Nicholas, motioning towards the door. And trust me, sir, added Ralph, that I never supposed you would give him up to-night. Pride, obstinacy, reputation for fine feeling were all against it. These must be brought down, sir, lowered, crushed, as they shall be soon, the protracted and wearing anxiety and expense of the law, in its most oppressive form, its torture from hour to hour, its weary days and sleepless nights, with these I'll prove you, and break your haughty spirit, strong as you deem it now. And when you make this house a hell, and visit these trials upon yonder wretched object, as you will, I know you, and those who think you now a young fledged hero, we'll go into old accounts between us too, and see who stands the debtor, and who comes out best at last, even before the world. Ralph Niccolby withdrew, but Mr. Squeers, who had heard a portion of this closing address, and was by this time wound up to a pitch of impotent malignity almost unprecedented, could not refrain from returning to the parlor door and actually cutting some dozen capers with various rye faces and hideous grimaces, expressive of his triumphant confidence in the downfall and defeat of Nicholas. Having concluded this war dance in which his short trousers and large boots had borne a very conspicuous figure, Mr. Squeers followed his friends, and the family were left to meditate upon recent occurrences.