Chapter 39

by Charles Dickens

　　In which another old Friend encounters Smike, very opportunely andto some PurposeThe night, fraught with so much bitterness to one poor soul, hadgiven place to a bright and cloudless summer morning, when a north-country mail-coach traversed, with cheerful noise, the yet silentstreets of Islington, and, giving brisk note of its approach withthe lively winding of the guard's horn, clattered onward to itshalting-place hard by the Post Office.The only outside passenger was a burly, honest-looking countryman onthe box, who, with his eyes fixed upon the dome of St Paul'sCathedral, appeared so wrapt in admiring wonder, as to be quiteinsensible to all the bustle of getting out the bags and parcels,until one of the coach windows being let sharply down, he lookedround, and encountered a pretty female face which was just thenthrust out.'See there, lass!' bawled the countryman, pointing towards theobject of his admiration. 'There be Paul's Church. 'Ecod, he be asoizable 'un, he be.''Goodness, John! I shouldn't have thought it could have been halfthe size. What a monster!''Monsther!--Ye're aboot right theer, I reckon, Mrs Browdie,' saidthe countryman good-humouredly, as he came slowly down in his hugetop-coat; 'and wa'at dost thee tak yon place to be noo--thot'unowor the wa'? Ye'd never coom near it 'gin you thried for twolvemoonths. It's na' but a Poast Office! Ho! ho! They need to chargefor dooble-latthers. A Poast Office! Wa'at dost thee think o'thot? 'Ecod, if thot's on'y a Poast Office, I'd loike to see wherethe Lord Mayor o' Lunnun lives.'So saying, John Browdie--for he it was--opened the coach-door, andtapping Mrs Browdie, late Miss Price, on the cheek as he looked in,burst into a boisterous fit of laughter.'Weel!' said John. 'Dang my bootuns if she bean't asleep agean!''She's been asleep all night, and was, all yesterday, except for aminute or two now and then,' replied John Browdie's choice, 'and Iwas very sorry when she woke, for she has been so cross!'The subject of these remarks was a slumbering figure, so muffled inshawl and cloak, that it would have been matter of impossibility toguess at its sex but for a brown beaver bonnet and green veil whichornamented the head, and which, having been crushed and flattened,for two hundred and fifty miles, in that particular angle of thevehicle from which the lady's snores now proceeded, presented anappearance sufficiently ludicrous to have moved less risible musclesthan those of John Browdie's ruddy face.'Hollo!' cried John, twitching one end of the dragged veil. 'Coom,wakken oop, will 'ee?'After several burrowings into the old corner, and many exclamationsof impatience and fatigue, the figure struggled into a sittingposture; and there, under a mass of crumpled beaver, and surroundedby a semicircle of blue curl-papers, were the delicate features ofMiss Fanny Squeers.'Oh, 'Tilda!' cried Miss Squeers, 'how you have been kicking of methrough this blessed night!''Well, I do like that,' replied her friend, laughing, 'when you havehad nearly the whole coach to yourself.''Don't deny it, 'Tilda,' said Miss Squeers, impressively, 'becauseyou have, and it's no use to go attempting to say you haven't. Youmightn't have known it in your sleep, 'Tilda, but I haven't closedmy eyes for a single wink, and so I think I am to be believed.'With which reply, Miss Squeers adjusted the bonnet and veil, whichnothing but supernatural interference and an utter suspension ofnature's laws could have reduced to any shape or form; and evidentlyflattering herself that it looked uncommonly neat, brushed off thesandwich-crumbs and bits of biscuit which had accumulated in herlap, and availing herself of John Browdie's proffered arm, descendedfrom the coach.'Noo,' said John, when a hackney coach had been called, and theladies and the luggage hurried in, 'gang to the Sarah's Head, mun.''To the Vere?' cried the coachman.'Lawk, Mr Browdie!' interrupted Miss Squeers. 'The idea! Saracen'sHead.''Sure-ly,' said John, 'I know'd it was something aboot Sarah's Son'sHead. Dost thou know thot?''Oh, ah! I know that,' replied the coachman gruffly, as he bangedthe door.''Tilda, dear, really,' remonstrated Miss Squeers, 'we shall betaken for I don't know what.''Let them tak' us as they foind us,' said John Browdie; 'we dean'tcome to Lunnun to do nought but 'joy oursel, do we?''I hope not, Mr Browdie,' replied Miss Squeers, looking singularlydismal.'Well, then,' said John, 'it's no matther. I've only been a marriedman fower days, 'account of poor old feyther deein, and puttin' itoff. Here be a weddin' party--broide and broide's-maid, and thegroom--if a mun dean't 'joy himsel noo, when ought he, hey? Drat itall, thot's what I want to know.'So, in order that he might begin to enjoy himself at once, and loseno time, Mr Browdie gave his wife a hearty kiss, and succeeded inwresting another from Miss Squeers, after a maidenly resistance ofscratching and struggling on the part of that young lady, which wasnot quite over when they reached the Saracen's Head.Here, the party straightway retired to rest; the refreshment ofsleep being necessary after so long a journey; and here they metagain about noon, to a substantial breakfast, spread by direction ofMr John Browdie, in a small private room upstairs commanding anuninterrupted view of the stables.To have seen Miss Squeers now, divested of the brown beaver, thegreen veil, and the blue curl-papers, and arrayed in all the virginsplendour of a white frock and spencer, with a white muslin bonnet,and an imitative damask rose in full bloom on the inside thereof--her luxuriant crop of hair arranged in curls so tight that it wasimpossible they could come out by any accident, and her bonnet-captrimmed with little damask roses, which might be supposed to be somany promising scions of the big rose--to have seen all this, and tohave seen the broad damask belt, matching both the family rose andthe little roses, which encircled her slender waist, and by a happyingenuity took off from the shortness of the spencer behind,--tohave beheld all this, and to have taken further into account thecoral bracelets (rather short of beads, and with a very visibleblack string) which clasped her wrists, and the coral necklace whichrested on her neck, supporting, outside her frock, a lonelycornelian heart, typical of her own disengaged affections--to havecontemplated all these mute but expressive appeals to the purestfeelings of our nature, might have thawed the frost of age, andadded new and inextinguishable fuel to the fire of youth.The waiter was touched. Waiter as he was, he had human passions andfeelings, and he looked very hard at Miss Squeers as he handed themuffins.'Is my pa in, do you know?' asked Miss Squeers with dignity.'Beg your pardon, miss?''My pa,' repeated Miss Squeers; 'is he in?''In where, miss?''In here--in the house!' replied Miss Squeers. 'My pa--Mr WackfordSqueers--he's stopping here. Is he at home?''I didn't know there was any gen'l'man of that name in the house,miss' replied the waiter. 'There may be, in the coffee-room.'May be. Very pretty this, indeed! Here was Miss Squeers, who hadbeen depending, all the way to London, upon showing her friends howmuch at home she would be, and how much respectful notice her nameand connections would excite, told that her father might be there!'As if he was a feller!' observed Miss Squeers, with emphaticindignation.'Ye'd betther inquire, mun,' said John Browdie. 'An' hond upanother pigeon-pie, will 'ee? Dang the chap,' muttered John,looking into the empty dish as the waiter retired; 'does he ca' thisa pie--three yoong pigeons and a troifling matther o' steak, and acrust so loight that you doant know when it's in your mooth and whenit's gane? I wonder hoo many pies goes to a breakfast!'After a short interval, which John Browdie employed upon the ham anda cold round of beef, the waiter returned with another pie, and theinformation that Mr Squeers was not stopping in the house, but thathe came there every day and that directly he arrived, he should beshown upstairs. With this, he retired; and he had not retired twominutes, when he returned with Mr Squeers and his hopeful son.'Why, who'd have thought of this?' said Mr Squeers, when he hadsaluted the party and received some private family intelligence fromhis daughter.'Who, indeed, pa!' replied that young lady, spitefully. 'But yousee 'Tilda is married at last.''And I stond threat for a soight o' Lunnun, schoolmeasther,' saidJohn, vigorously attacking the pie.'One of them things that young men do when they get married,'returned Squeers; 'and as runs through with their money like nothingat all! How much better wouldn't it be now, to save it up for theeddication of any little boys, for instance! They come on you,'said Mr Squeers in a moralising way, 'before you're aware of it;mine did upon me.''Will 'ee pick a bit?' said John.'I won't myself,' returned Squeers; 'but if you'll just let littleWackford tuck into something fat, I'll be obliged to you. Give ithim in his fingers, else the waiter charges it on, and there's lotof profit on this sort of vittles without that. If you hear thewaiter coming, sir, shove it in your pocket and look out of thewindow, d'ye hear?''I'm awake, father,' replied the dutiful Wackford.'Well,' said Squeers, turning to his daughter, 'it's your turn to bemarried next. You must make haste.''Oh, I'm in no hurry,' said Miss Squeers, very sharply.'No, Fanny?' cried her old friend with some archness.'No, 'Tilda,' replied Miss Squeers, shaking her head vehemently. 'Ican wait.''So can the young men, it seems, Fanny,' observed Mrs Browdie.'They an't draw'd into it by me, 'Tilda,' retorted Miss Squeers.'No,' returned her friend; 'that's exceedingly true.'The sarcastic tone of this reply might have provoked a ratheracrimonious retort from Miss Squeers, who, besides being of aconstitutionally vicious temper--aggravated, just now, by travel andrecent jolting--was somewhat irritated by old recollections and thefailure of her own designs upon Mr Browdie; and the acrimoniousretort might have led to a great many other retorts, which mighthave led to Heaven knows what, if the subject of conversation hadnot been, at that precise moment, accidentally changed by Mr Squeershimself'What do you think?' said that gentleman; 'who do you suppose wehave laid hands on, Wackford and me?''Pa! not Mr--?' Miss Squeers was unable to finish the sentence, butMrs Browdie did it for her, and added, 'Nickleby?''No,' said Squeers. 'But next door to him though.''You can't mean Smike?' cried Miss Squeers, clapping her hands.'Yes, I can though,' rejoined her father. 'I've got him, hard andfast.''Wa'at!' exclaimed John Browdie, pushing away his plate. 'Got thatpoor--dom'd scoondrel? Where?''Why, in the top back room, at my lodging,' replied Squeers, 'withhim on one side, and the key on the other.''At thy loodgin'! Thee'st gotten him at thy loodgin'? Ho! ho! Theschoolmeasther agin all England. Give us thee hond, mun; I'mdarned but I must shak thee by the hond for thot.--Gotten him at thyloodgin'?''Yes,' replied Squeers, staggering in his chair under thecongratulatory blow on the chest which the stout Yorkshireman dealthim; 'thankee. Don't do it again. You mean it kindly, I know,but it hurts rather. Yes, there he is. That's not so bad, is it?''Ba'ad!' repeated John Browdie. 'It's eneaf to scare a mun to heartell on.''I thought it would surprise you a bit,' said Squeers, rubbing hishands. 'It was pretty neatly done, and pretty quick too.''Hoo wor it?' inquired John, sitting down close to him. 'Tell usall aboot it, mun; coom, quick!'Although he could not keep pace with John Browdie's impatience, MrSqueers related the lucky chance by which Smike had fallen into hishands, as quickly as he could, and, except when he was interruptedby the admiring remarks of his auditors, paused not in the recitaluntil he had brought it to an end.'For fear he should give me the slip, by any chance,' observedSqueers, when he had finished, looking very cunning, 'I've takenthree outsides for tomorrow morning--for Wackford and him and me--and have arranged to leave the accounts and the new boys to theagent, don't you see? So it's very lucky you come today, or you'dhave missed us; and as it is, unless you could come and tea with metonight, we shan't see anything more of you before we go away.''Dean't say anoother wurd,' returned the Yorkshireman, shaking himby the hand. 'We'd coom, if it was twonty mile.''No, would you though?' returned Mr Squeers, who had not expectedquite such a ready acceptance of his invitation, or he would haveconsidered twice before he gave it.John Browdie's only reply was another squeeze of the hand, and anassurance that they would not begin to see London till tomorrow, sothat they might be at Mr Snawley's at six o'clock without fail; andafter some further conversation, Mr Squeers and his son departed.During the remainder of the day, Mr Browdie was in a very odd andexcitable state; bursting occasionally into an explosion oflaughter, and then taking up his hat and running into the coach-yardto have it out by himself. He was very restless too, constantlywalking in and out, and snapping his fingers, and dancing scraps ofuncouth country dances, and, in short, conducting himself in such avery extraordinary manner, that Miss Squeers opined he was goingmad, and, begging her dear 'Tilda not to distress herself,communicated her suspicions in so many words. Mrs Browdie, however,without discovering any great alarm, observed that she had seen himso once before, and that although he was almost sure to be ill afterit, it would not be anything very serious, and therefore he wasbetter left alone.The result proved her to be perfectly correct for, while they wereall sitting in Mr Snawley's parlour that night, and just as it wasbeginning to get dusk, John Browdie was taken so ill, and seizedwith such an alarming dizziness in the head, that the whole companywere thrown into the utmost consternation. His good lady, indeed,was the only person present, who retained presence of mind enough toobserve that if he were allowed to lie down on Mr Squeers's bed foran hour or so, and left entirely to himself, he would be sure torecover again almost as quickly as he had been taken ill. Nobodycould refuse to try the effect of so reasonable a proposal, beforesending for a surgeon. Accordingly, John was supported upstairs,with great difficulty; being a monstrous weight, and regularlytumbling down two steps every time they hoisted him up three; and,being laid on the bed, was left in charge of his wife, who, after ashort interval, reappeared in the parlour, with the gratifyingintelligence that he had fallen fast asleep.Now, the fact was, that at that particular moment, John Browdie wassitting on the bed with the reddest face ever seen, cramming thecorner of the pillow into his mouth, to prevent his roaring out loudwith laughter. He had no sooner succeeded in suppressing thisemotion, than he slipped off his shoes, and creeping to theadjoining room where the prisoner was confined, turned the key,which was on the outside, and darting in, covered Smike's mouth withhis huge hand before he could utter a sound.'Ods-bobs, dost thee not know me, mun?' whispered the Yorkshiremanto the bewildered lad. 'Browdie. Chap as met thee eftherschoolmeasther was banged?''Yes, yes,' cried Smike. 'Oh! help me.''Help thee!' replied John, stopping his mouth again, the instant hehad said this much. 'Thee didn't need help, if thee warn't as sillyyoongster as ever draw'd breath. Wa'at did 'ee come here for,then?''He brought me; oh! he brought me,' cried Smike.'Brout thee!' replied John. 'Why didn't 'ee punch his head, or laytheeself doon and kick, and squeal out for the pollis? I'd ha'licked a doozen such as him when I was yoong as thee. But theebe'est a poor broken-doon chap,' said John, sadly, 'and God forgi'me for bragging ower yan o' his weakest creeturs!'Smike opened his mouth to speak, but John Browdie stopped him.'Stan' still,' said the Yorkshireman, 'and doant'ee speak a morselo' talk till I tell'ee.'With this caution, John Browdie shook his head significantly, anddrawing a screwdriver from his pocket, took off the box of the lockin a very deliberate and workmanlike manner, and laid it, togetherwith the implement, on the floor.'See thot?' said John 'Thot be thy doin'. Noo, coot awa'!'Smike looked vacantly at him, as if unable to comprehend hismeaning.'I say, coot awa',' repeated John, hastily. 'Dost thee know wherethee livest? Thee dost? Weel. Are yon thy clothes, orschoolmeasther's?''Mine,' replied Smike, as the Yorkshireman hurried him to theadjoining room, and pointed out a pair of shoes and a coat whichwere lying on a chair.'On wi' 'em,' said John, forcing the wrong arm into the wrongsleeve, and winding the tails of the coat round the fugitive's neck.'Noo, foller me, and when thee get'st ootside door, turn to theright, and they wean't see thee pass.''But--but--he'll hear me shut the door,' replied Smike, tremblingfrom head to foot.'Then dean't shut it at all,' retorted John Browdie. 'Dang it, theebean't afeard o' schoolmeasther's takkin cold, I hope?''N-no,' said Smike, his teeth chattering in his head. 'But hebrought me back before, and will again. He will, he will indeed.''He wull, he wull!' replied John impatiently. 'He wean't, hewean't. Look'ee! I wont to do this neighbourly loike, and let themthink thee's gotten awa' o' theeself, but if he cooms oot o' thotparlour awhiles theer't clearing off, he mun' have mercy on his ounboans, for I wean't. If he foinds it oot, soon efther, I'll put 'unon a wrong scent, I warrant 'ee. But if thee keep'st a good hart,thee'lt be at whoam afore they know thee'st gotten off. Coom!'Smike, who comprehended just enough of this to know it was intendedas encouragement, prepared to follow with tottering steps, when Johnwhispered in his ear.'Thee'lt just tell yoong Measther that I'm sploiced to 'Tilly Price,and to be heerd on at the Saracen by latther, and that I bean'tjealous of 'un--dang it, I'm loike to boost when I think o' thatneight! 'Cod, I think I see 'un now, a powderin' awa' at the thinbread an' butther!'It was rather a ticklish recollection for John just then, for he waswithin an ace of breaking out into a loud guffaw. Restraininghimself, however, just in time, by a great effort, he glideddownstairs, hauling Smike behind him; and placing himself close tothe parlour door, to confront the first person that might come out,signed to him to make off.Having got so far, Smike needed no second bidding. Opening thehouse-door gently, and casting a look of mingled gratitude andterror at his deliverer, he took the direction which had beenindicated to him, and sped away like the wind.The Yorkshireman remained on his post for a few minutes, but,finding that there was no pause in the conversation inside, creptback again unheard, and stood, listening over the stair-rail, for afull hour. Everything remaining perfectly quiet, he got into MrSqueers's bed, once more, and drawing the clothes over his head,laughed till he was nearly smothered.If there could only have been somebody by, to see how the bedclothesshook, and to see the Yorkshireman's great red face and round headappear above the sheets, every now and then, like some jovialmonster coming to the surface to breathe, and once more dive downconvulsed with the laughter which came bursting forth afresh--thatsomebody would have been scarcely less amused than John Browdiehimself.