Chapter 42

by Charles Dickens

　　Illustrative of the convivial Sentiment, that the best of Friendsmust sometimes partThe pavement of Snow Hill had been baking and frying all day in theheat, and the twain Saracens' heads guarding the entrance to thehostelry of whose name and sign they are the duplicate presentments,looked--or seemed, in the eyes of jaded and footsore passers-by, tolook--more vicious than usual, after blistering and scorching in thesun, when, in one of the inn's smallest sitting-rooms, through whoseopen window there rose, in a palpable steam, wholesome exhalationsfrom reeking coach-horses, the usual furniture of a tea-table wasdisplayed in neat and inviting order, flanked by large joints ofroast and boiled, a tongue, a pigeon pie, a cold fowl, a tankard ofale, and other little matters of the like kind, which, in degeneratetowns and cities, are generally understood to belong moreparticularly to solid lunches, stage-coach dinners, or unusuallysubstantial breakfasts.Mr John Browdie, with his hands in his pockets, hovered restlesslyabout these delicacies, stopping occasionally to whisk the flies outof the sugar-basin with his wife's pocket-handkerchief, or to dip ateaspoon in the milk-pot and carry it to his mouth, or to cut off alittle knob of crust, and a little corner of meat, and swallow themat two gulps like a couple of pills. After every one of theseflirtations with the eatables, he pulled out his watch, and declaredwith an earnestness quite pathetic that he couldn't undertake tohold out two minutes longer.'Tilly!' said John to his lady, who was reclining half awake andhalf asleep upon a sofa.'Well, John!''Well, John!' retorted her husband, impatiently. 'Dost thou feelhoongry, lass?''Not very,' said Mrs Browdie.'Not vary!' repeated John, raising his eyes to the ceiling. 'Hearher say not vary, and us dining at three, and loonching off pasthrythot aggravates a mon 'stead of pacifying him! Not vary!''Here's a gen'l'man for you, sir,' said the waiter, looking in.'A wa'at for me?' cried John, as though he thought it must be aletter, or a parcel.'A gen'l'man, sir.''Stars and garthers, chap!' said John, 'wa'at dost thou coom and saythot for? In wi' 'un.''Are you at home, sir?''At whoam!' cried John, 'I wish I wur; I'd ha tea'd two hour ago.Why, I told t'oother chap to look sharp ootside door, and tell 'und'rectly he coom, thot we war faint wi' hoonger. In wi' 'un. Aha!Thee hond, Misther Nickleby. This is nigh to be the proodest day o'my life, sir. Hoo be all wi' ye? Ding! But, I'm glod o' this!'Quite forgetting even his hunger in the heartiness of hissalutation, John Browdie shook Nicholas by the hand again and again,slapping his palm with great violence between each shake, to addwarmth to the reception.'Ah! there she be,' said John, observing the look which Nicholasdirected towards his wife. 'There she be--we shan't quarrel abouther noo--eh? Ecod, when I think o' thot--but thou want'st soom'atto eat. Fall to, mun, fall to, and for wa'at we're aboot toreceive--'No doubt the grace was properly finished, but nothing more washeard, for John had already begun to play such a knife and fork,that his speech was, for the time, gone.'I shall take the usual licence, Mr Browdie,' said Nicholas, as heplaced a chair for the bride.'Tak' whatever thou like'st,' said John, 'and when a's gane, ca' formore.'Without stopping to explain, Nicholas kissed the blushing MrsBrowdie, and handed her to her seat.'I say,' said John, rather astounded for the moment, 'mak' theeselfquite at whoam, will 'ee?''You may depend upon that,' replied Nicholas; 'on one condition.''And wa'at may thot be?' asked John.'That you make me a godfather the very first time you have occasionfor one.''Eh! d'ye hear thot?' cried John, laying down his knife and fork.'A godfeyther! Ha! ha! ha! Tilly--hear till 'un--a godfeyther!Divn't say a word more, ye'll never beat thot. Occasion for 'un--agodfeyther! Ha! ha! ha!'Never was man so tickled with a respectable old joke, as JohnBrowdie was with this. He chuckled, roared, half suffocated himselfby laughing large pieces of beef into his windpipe, roared again,persisted in eating at the same time, got red in the face and blackin the forehead, coughed, cried, got better, went off again laughinginwardly, got worse, choked, had his back thumped, stamped about,frightened his wife, and at last recovered in a state of the lastexhaustion and with the water streaming from his eyes, but stillfaintly ejaculating, 'A godfeyther--a godfeyther, Tilly!' in a tonebespeaking an exquisite relish of the sally, which no sufferingcould diminish.'You remember the night of our first tea-drinking?' said Nicholas.'Shall I e'er forget it, mun?' replied John Browdie.'He was a desperate fellow that night though, was he not, MrsBrowdie?' said Nicholas. 'Quite a monster!''If you had only heard him as we were going home, Mr Nickleby, you'dhave said so indeed,' returned the bride. 'I never was sofrightened in all my life.''Coom, coom,' said John, with a broad grin; 'thou know'st bettherthan thot, Tilly.''So I was,' replied Mrs Browdie. 'I almost made up my mind never tospeak to you again.''A'most!' said John, with a broader grin than the last. 'A'mostmade up her mind! And she wur coaxin', and coaxin', and wheedlin',and wheedlin' a' the blessed wa'. "Wa'at didst thou let yon chapmak' oop tiv'ee for?" says I. "I deedn't, John," says she, asqueedgin my arm. "You deedn't?" says I. "Noa," says she, asqueedgin of me agean.''Lor, John!' interposed his pretty wife, colouring very much. 'Howcan you talk such nonsense? As if I should have dreamt of such athing!''I dinnot know whether thou'd ever dreamt of it, though I thinkthat's loike eneaf, mind,' retorted John; 'but thou didst it."Ye're a feeckle, changeable weathercock, lass," says I. "Notfeeckle, John," says she. "Yes," says I, "feeckle, dom'd feeckle.Dinnot tell me thou bean't, efther yon chap at schoolmeasther's,"says I. "Him!" says she, quite screeching. "Ah! him!" says I."Why, John," says she--and she coom a deal closer and squeedged adeal harder than she'd deane afore--"dost thou think it's nat'ralnoo, that having such a proper mun as thou to keep company wi', I'dever tak' opp wi' such a leetle scanty whipper-snapper as yon?" shesays. Ha! ha! ha! She said whipper-snapper! "Ecod!" I says,"efther thot, neame the day, and let's have it ower!" Ha! ha! ha!'Nicholas laughed very heartily at this story, both on account of itstelling against himself, and his being desirous to spare the blushesof Mrs Browdie, whose protestations were drowned in peals oflaughter from her husband. His good-nature soon put her at herease; and although she still denied the charge, she laughed soheartily at it, that Nicholas had the satisfaction of feelingassured that in all essential respects it was strictly true.'This is the second time,' said Nicholas, 'that we have ever taken ameal together, and only third I have ever seen you; and yet itreally seems to me as if I were among old friends.''Weel!' observed the Yorkshireman, 'so I say.''And I am sure I do,' added his young wife.'I have the best reason to be impressed with the feeling, mind,'said Nicholas; 'for if it had not been for your kindness of heart,my good friend, when I had no right or reason to expect it, I knownot what might have become of me or what plight I should have beenin by this time.''Talk aboot soom'at else,' replied John, gruffly, 'and dinnotbother.''It must be a new song to the same tune then,' said Nicholas,smiling. 'I told you in my letter that I deeply felt and admiredyour sympathy with that poor lad, whom you released at the risk ofinvolving yourself in trouble and difficulty; but I can never tellyou how greateful he and I, and others whom you don't know, are toyou for taking pity on him.''Ecod!' rejoined John Browdie, drawing up his chair; 'and I cannever tell you hoo gratful soom folks that we do know would beloikewise, if they know'd I had takken pity on him.''Ah!' exclaimed Mrs Browdie, 'what a state I was in that night!''Were they at all disposed to give you credit for assisting in theescape?' inquired Nicholas of John Browdie.'Not a bit,' replied the Yorkshireman, extending his mouth from earto ear. 'There I lay, snoog in schoolmeasther's bed long efther itwas dark, and nobody coom nigh the pleace. "Weel!" thinks I, "he'sgot a pretty good start, and if he bean't whoam by noo, he neverwill be; so you may coom as quick as you loike, and foind us reddy"--that is, you know, schoolmeasther might coom.''I understand,' said Nicholas.'Presently,' resumed John, 'he did coom. I heerd door shutdoonstairs, and him a warking, oop in the daark. "Slow and steddy,'I says to myself, "tak' your time, sir--no hurry." He cooms to thedoor, turns the key--turns the key when there warn't nothing tohoold the lock--and ca's oot 'Hallo, there!"--"Yes," thinks I, "youmay do thot agean, and not wakken anybody, sir." "Hallo, there," hesays, and then he stops. "Thou'd betther not aggravate me," saysschoolmeasther, efther a little time. "I'll brak' every boan inyour boddy, Smike," he says, efther another little time. Then allof a soodden, he sings oot for a loight, and when it cooms--ecod,such a hoorly-boorly! "Wa'at's the matter?" says I. "He's gane,"says he,--stark mad wi' vengeance. "Have you heerd nought?" "Ees,"says I, "I heerd street-door shut, no time at a' ago. I heerd aperson run doon there" (pointing t'other wa'--eh?) "Help!" he cries."I'll help you," says I; and off we set--the wrong wa'! Ho! ho!ho!''Did you go far?' asked Nicholas.'Far!' replied John; 'I run him clean off his legs in quarther of anhoor. To see old schoolmeasther wi'out his hat, skimming along oopto his knees in mud and wather, tumbling over fences, and rowlinginto ditches, and bawling oot like mad, wi' his one eye lookingsharp out for the lad, and his coat-tails flying out behind, and himspattered wi' mud all ower, face and all! I tho't I should ha'dropped doon, and killed myself wi' laughing.'John laughed so heartily at the mere recollection, that hecommunicated the contagion to both his hearers, and all three burstinto peals of laughter, which were renewed again and again, untilthey could laugh no longer.'He's a bad 'un,' said John, wiping his eyes; 'a very bad 'un, isschoolmeasther.''I can't bear the sight of him, John,' said his wife.'Coom,' retorted John, 'thot's tidy in you, thot is. If it wa'ntalong o' you, we shouldn't know nought aboot 'un. Thou know'd 'unfirst, Tilly, didn't thou?''I couldn't help knowing Fanny Squeers, John,' returned his wife;'she was an old playmate of mine, you know.''Weel,' replied John, 'dean't I say so, lass? It's best to beneighbourly, and keep up old acquaintance loike; and what I say is,dean't quarrel if 'ee can help it. Dinnot think so, Mr Nickleby?''Certainly,' returned Nicholas; 'and you acted upon that principlewhen I meet you on horseback on the road, after our memorableevening.''Sure-ly,' said John. 'Wa'at I say, I stick by.''And that's a fine thing to do, and manly too,' said Nicholas,'though it's not exactly what we understand by "coming Yorkshireover us" in London. Miss Squeers is stopping with you, you said inyour note.''Yes,' replied John, 'Tilly's bridesmaid; and a queer bridesmaid shebe, too. She wean't be a bride in a hurry, I reckon.''For shame, John,' said Mrs Browdie; with an acute perception of thejoke though, being a bride herself.'The groom will be a blessed mun,' said John, his eyes twinkling atthe idea. 'He'll be in luck, he will.''You see, Mr Nickleby,' said his wife, 'that it was in consequenceof her being here, that John wrote to you and fixed tonight, becausewe thought that it wouldn't be pleasant for you to meet, after whathas passed.''Unquestionably. You were quite right in that,' said Nicholas,interrupting.'Especially,' observed Mrs Browdie, looking very sly, 'after what weknow about past and gone love matters.''We know, indeed!' said Nicholas, shaking his head. 'You behavedrather wickedly there, I suspect.''O' course she did,' said John Browdie, passing his huge forefingerthrough one of his wife's pretty ringlets, and looking very proud ofher. 'She wur always as skittish and full o' tricks as a--''Well, as a what?' said his wife.'As a woman,' returned John. 'Ding! But I dinnot know ought elsethat cooms near it.''You were speaking about Miss Squeers,' said Nicholas, with the viewof stopping some slight connubialities which had begun to passbetween Mr and Mrs Browdie, and which rendered the position of athird party in some degree embarrassing, as occasioning him to feelrather in the way than otherwise.'Oh yes,' rejoined Mrs Browdie. 'John ha' done. John fixed tonight,because she had settled that she would go and drink tea with herfather. And to make quite sure of there being nothing amiss, and ofyour being quite alone with us, he settled to go out there and fetchher home.''That was a very good arrangement,' said Nicholas, 'though I amsorry to be the occasion of so much trouble.''Not the least in the world,' returned Mrs Browdie; 'for we havelooked forward to see you--John and I have--with the greatestpossible pleasure. Do you know, Mr Nickleby,' said Mrs Browdie,with her archest smile, 'that I really think Fanny Squeers was veryfond of you?''I am very much obliged to her,' said Nicholas; 'but upon my word, Inever aspired to making any impression upon her virgin heart.''How you talk!' tittered Mrs Browdie. 'No, but do you know thatreally--seriously now and without any joking--I was given tounderstand by Fanny herself, that you had made an offer to her, andthat you two were going to be engaged quite solemn and regular.''Was you, ma'am--was you?' cried a shrill female voice, 'was yougiven to understand that I--I--was going to be engaged to anassassinating thief that shed the gore of my pa? Do you--do youthink, ma'am--that I was very fond of such dirt beneath my feet, asI couldn't condescend to touch with kitchen tongs, without blackingand crocking myself by the contract? Do you, ma'am--do you? Oh!base and degrading 'Tilda!'With these reproaches Miss Squeers flung the door wide open, anddisclosed to the eyes of the astonished Browdies and Nicholas, notonly her own symmetrical form, arrayed in the chaste white garmentsbefore described (a little dirtier), but the form of her brother andfather, the pair of Wackfords.'This is the hend, is it?' continued Miss Squeers, who, beingexcited, aspirated her h's strongly; 'this is the hend, is it, ofall my forbearance and friendship for that double-faced thing--thatviper, that--that--mermaid?' (Miss Squeers hesitated a long time forthis last epithet, and brought it out triumphantly as last, as if itquite clinched the business.) 'This is the hend, is it, of all mybearing with her deceitfulness, her lowness, her falseness, herlaying herself out to catch the admiration of vulgar minds, in a waywhich made me blush for my--for my--''Gender,' suggested Mr Squeers, regarding the spectators with amalevolent eye--literally A malevolent eye.'Yes,' said Miss Squeers; 'but I thank my stars that my ma is of thesame--''Hear, hear!' remarked Mr Squeers; 'and I wish she was here to havea scratch at this company.''This is the hend, is it,' said Miss Squeers, tossing her head, andlooking contemptuously at the floor, 'of my taking notice of thatrubbishing creature, and demeaning myself to patronise her?''Oh, come,' rejoined Mrs Browdie, disregarding all the endeavours ofher spouse to restrain her, and forcing herself into a front row,'don't talk such nonsense as that.''Have I not patronised you, ma'am?' demanded Miss Squeers.'No,' returned Mrs Browdie.'I will not look for blushes in such a quarter,' said Miss Squeers,haughtily, 'for that countenance is a stranger to everything buthignominiousness and red-faced boldness.''I say,' interposed John Browdie, nettled by these accumulatedattacks on his wife, 'dra' it mild, dra' it mild.''You, Mr Browdie,' said Miss Squeers, taking him up very quickly, 'Ipity. I have no feeling for you, sir, but one of unliquidatedpity.''Oh!' said John.'No,' said Miss Squeers, looking sideways at her parent, 'although Iam a queer bridesmaid, and shan't be a bride in a hurry, andalthough my husband will be in luck, I entertain no sentimentstowards you, sir, but sentiments of pity.'Here Miss Squeers looked sideways at her father again, who lookedsideways at her, as much as to say, 'There you had him.''I know what you've got to go through,' said Miss Squeers, shakingher curls violently. 'I know what life is before you, and if youwas my bitterest and deadliest enemy, I could wish you nothingworse.''Couldn't you wish to be married to him yourself, if that was thecase?' inquired Mrs Browdie, with great suavity of manner.'Oh, ma'am, how witty you are,' retorted Miss Squeers with a lowcurtsy, 'almost as witty, ma'am, as you are clever. How very cleverit was in you, ma'am, to choose a time when I had gone to tea withmy pa, and was sure not to come back without being fetched! What apity you never thought that other people might be as clever asyourself and spoil your plans!''You won't vex me, child, with such airs as these,' said the lateMiss Price, assuming the matron.'Don't missis me, ma'am, if you please,' returned Miss Squeers,sharply. 'I'll not bear it. Is this the hend--''Dang it a',' cried John Browdie, impatiently. 'Say thee say out,Fanny, and mak' sure it's the end, and dinnot ask nobody whether itis or not.''Thanking you for your advice which was not required, Mr Browdie,'returned Miss Squeers, with laborious politeness, 'have the goodnessnot to presume to meddle with my Christian name. Even my pity shallnever make me forget what's due to myself, Mr Browdie. 'Tilda,'said Miss Squeers, with such a sudden accession of violence thatJohn started in his boots, 'I throw you off for ever, miss. Iabandon you. I renounce you. I wouldn't,' cried Miss Squeers in asolemn voice, 'have a child named 'Tilda, not to save it from itsgrave.''As for the matther o' that,' observed John, 'it'll be time eneaf tothink aboot neaming of it when it cooms.''John!' interposed his wife, 'don't tease her.''Oh! Tease, indeed!' cried Miss Squeers, bridling up. 'Tease,indeed! He, he! Tease, too! No, don't tease her. Consider herfeelings, pray!''If it's fated that listeners are never to hear any good ofthemselves,' said Mrs Browdie, 'I can't help it, and I am very sorryfor it. But I will say, Fanny, that times out of number I havespoken so kindly of you behind your back, that even you could havefound no fault with what I said.''Oh, I dare say not, ma'am!' cried Miss Squeers, with anothercurtsy. 'Best thanks to you for your goodness, and begging andpraying you not to be hard upon me another time!''I don't know,' resumed Mrs Browdie, 'that I have said anything verybad of you, even now. At all events, what I did say was quite true;but if I have, I am very sorry for it, and I beg your pardon. Youhave said much worse of me, scores of times, Fanny; but I have neverborne any malice to you, and I hope you'll not bear any to me.'Miss Squeers made no more direct reply than surveying her formerfriend from top to toe, and elevating her nose in the air withineffable disdain. But some indistinct allusions to a 'puss,' and a'minx,' and a 'contemptible creature,' escaped her; and this,together with a severe biting of the lips, great difficulty inswallowing, and very frequent comings and goings of breath, seemedto imply that feelings were swelling in Miss Squeers's bosom toogreat for utterance.While the foregoing conversation was proceeding, Master Wackford,finding himself unnoticed, and feeling his preponderatinginclinations strong upon him, had by little and little sidled up tothe table and attacked the food with such slight skirmishing asdrawing his fingers round and round the inside of the plates, andafterwards sucking them with infinite relish; picking the bread, anddragging the pieces over the surface of the butter; pocketing lumpsof sugar, pretending all the time to be absorbed in thought; and soforth. Finding that no interference was attempted with these smallliberties, he gradually mounted to greater, and, after helpinghimself to a moderately good cold collation, was, by this time, deepin the pie.Nothing of this had been unobserved by Mr Squeers, who, so long asthe attention of the company was fixed upon other objects, huggedhimself to think that his son and heir should be fattening at theenemy's expense. But there being now an appearance of a temporarycalm, in which the proceedings of little Wackford could scarcelyfail to be observed, he feigned to be aware of the circumstance forthe first time, and inflicted upon the face of that young gentlemana slap that made the very tea-cups ring.'Eating!' cried Mr Squeers, 'of what his father's enemies has left!It's fit to go and poison you, you unnat'ral boy.''It wean't hurt him,' said John, apparently very much relieved bythe prospect of having a man in the quarrel; 'let' un eat. I wishthe whole school was here. I'd give'em soom'at to stay theirunfort'nate stomachs wi', if I spent the last penny I had!'Squeers scowled at him with the worst and most malicious expressionof which his face was capable--it was a face of remarkablecapability, too, in that way--and shook his fist stealthily.'Coom, coom, schoolmeasther,' said John, 'dinnot make a fool o'thyself; for if I was to sheake mine--only once--thou'd fa' doon wi'the wind o' it.''It was you, was it,' returned Squeers, 'that helped off my runawayboy? It was you, was it?''Me!' returned John, in a loud tone. 'Yes, it wa' me, coom; wa'ato' that? It wa' me. Noo then!''You hear him say he did it, my child!' said Squeers, appealing tohis daughter. 'You hear him say he did it!''Did it!' cried John. 'I'll tell 'ee more; hear this, too. Ifthou'd got another roonaway boy, I'd do it agean. If thou'd gottwonty roonaway boys, I'd do it twonty times ower, and twonty moreto thot; and I tell thee more,' said John, 'noo my blood is oop,that thou'rt an old ra'ascal; and that it's weel for thou, thoube'est an old 'un, or I'd ha' poonded thee to flour when thou toldan honest mun hoo thou'd licked that poor chap in t' coorch.''An honest man!' cried Squeers, with a sneer.'Ah! an honest man,' replied John; 'honest in ought but ever puttinglegs under seame table wi' such as thou.''Scandal!' said Squeers, exultingly. 'Two witnesses to it; Wackfordknows the nature of an oath, he does; we shall have you there, sir.Rascal, eh?' Mr Squeers took out his pocketbook and made a note ofit. 'Very good. I should say that was worth full twenty pound atthe next assizes, without the honesty, sir.'''Soizes,' cried John, 'thou'd betther not talk to me o' 'Soizes.Yorkshire schools have been shown up at 'Soizes afore noo, mun, andit's a ticklish soobjact to revive, I can tell ye.'Mr Squeers shook his head in a threatening manner, looking verywhite with passion; and taking his daughter's arm, and dragginglittle Wackford by the hand, retreated towards the door.'As for you,' said Squeers, turning round and addressing Nicholas,who, as he had caused him to smart pretty soundly on a formeroccasion, purposely abstained from taking any part in thediscussion, 'see if I ain't down upon you before long. You'll go akidnapping of boys, will you? Take care their fathers don't turnup--mark that--take care their fathers don't turn up, and send 'emback to me to do as I like with, in spite of you.''I am not afraid of that,' replied Nicholas, shrugging his shoulderscontemptuously, and turning away.'Ain't you!' retorted Squeers, with a diabolical look. 'Now then,come along.''I leave such society, with my pa, for Hever,' said Miss Squeers,looking contemptuously and loftily round. 'I am defiled bybreathing the air with such creatures. Poor Mr Browdie! He! he!he! I do pity him, that I do; he's so deluded. He! he! he!--Artfuland designing 'Tilda!'With this sudden relapse into the sternest and most majestic wrath,Miss Squeers swept from the room; and having sustained her dignityuntil the last possible moment, was heard to sob and scream andstruggle in the passage.John Browdie remained standing behind the table, looking from hiswife to Nicholas, and back again, with his mouth wide open, untilhis hand accidentally fell upon the tankard of ale, when he took itup, and having obscured his features therewith for some time, drew along breath, handed it over to Nicholas, and rang the bell.'Here, waither,' said John, briskly. 'Look alive here. Tak' thesethings awa', and let's have soomat broiled for sooper--varycomfortable and plenty o' it--at ten o'clock. Bring soom brandy andsoom wather, and a pair o' slippers--the largest pair in the house--and be quick aboot it. Dash ma wig!' said John, rubbing his hands,'there's no ganging oot to neeght, noo, to fetch anybody whoam, andecod, we'll begin to spend the evening in airnest.'