The square in which the counting-house of the brothers Cheeryble was situated1, although it might not wholly realise the very sanguine2 expectations which a stranger would be disposed to form on hearing the fervent3 encomiums bestowed5 upon it by Tim Linkinwater, was, nevertheless, a sufficiently6 desirable nook in the heart of a busy town like London, and one which occupied a high place in the affectionate remembrances of several grave persons domiciled in the neighbourhood, whose recollections, however, dated from a much more recent period, and whose attachment7 to the spot was far less absorbing, than were the recollections and attachment of the enthusiastic Tim.
And let not those whose eyes have been accustomed to the aristocratic gravity of Grosvenor Square and Hanover Square, the dowager barrenness and frigidity8 of Fitzroy Square, or the gravel9 walks and garden seats of the Squares of Russell and Euston, suppose that the affections of Tim Linkinwater, or the inferior lovers of this particular locality, had been awakened10 and kept alive by any refreshing11 associations with leaves, however dingy12, or grass, however bare and thin. The city square has no enclosure, save the lamp-post in the middle: and no grass, but the weeds which spring up round its base. It is a quiet, little-frequented, retired13 spot, favourable14 to melancholy15 and contemplation, and appointments of long-waiting; and up and down its every side the Appointed saunters idly by the hour together wakening the echoes with the monotonous17 sound of his footsteps on the smooth worn stones, and counting, first the windows, and then the very bricks of the tall silent houses that hem18 him round about. In winter-time, the snow will linger there, long after it has melted from the busy streets and highways. The summer’s sun holds it in some respect, and while he darts19 his cheerful rays sparingly into the square, keeps his fiery20 heat and glare for noisier and less-imposing precincts. It is so quiet, that you can almost hear the ticking of your own watch when you stop to cool in its refreshing atmosphere. There is a distant hum—of coaches, not of insects—but no other sound disturbs the stillness of the square. The ticket porter leans idly against the post at the corner: comfortably warm, but not hot, although the day is broiling21. His white apron22 flaps languidly in the air, his head gradually droops23 upon his breast, he takes very long winks24 with both eyes at once; even he is unable to withstand the soporific influence of the place, and is gradually falling asleep. But now, he starts into full wakefulness, recoils25 a step or two, and gazes out before him with eager wildness in his eye. Is it a job, or a boy at marbles? Does he see a ghost, or hear an organ? No; sight more unwonted still—there is a butterfly in the square—a real, live butterfly! astray from flowers and sweets, and fluttering among the iron heads of the dusty area railings.
But if there were not many matters immediately without the doors of Cheeryble Brothers, to engage the attention or distract the thoughts of the young clerk, there were not a few within, to interest and amuse him. There was scarcely an object in the place, animate26 or inanimate, which did not partake in some degree of the scrupulous27 method and punctuality of Mr Timothy Linkinwater. Punctual as the counting-house dial, which he maintained to be the best time-keeper in London next after the clock of some old, hidden, unknown church hard by, (for Tim held the fabled28 goodness of that at the Horse Guards to be a pleasant fiction, invented by jealous West-enders,) the old clerk performed the minutest actions of the day, and arranged the minutest articles in the little room, in a precise and regular order, which could not have been exceeded if it had actually been a real glass case, fitted with the choicest curiosities. Paper, pens, ink, ruler, sealing-wax, wafers, pounce-box, string-box, fire-box, Tim’s hat, Tim’s scrupulously-folded gloves, Tim’s other coat—looking precisely29 like a back view of himself as it hung against the wall—all had their accustomed inches of space. Except the clock, there was not such an accurate and unimpeachable30 instrument in existence as the little thermometer which hung behind the door. There was not a bird of such methodical and business-like habits in all the world, as the blind blackbird, who dreamed and dozed31 away his days in a large snug32 cage, and had lost his voice, from old age, years before Tim first bought him. There was not such an eventful story in the whole range of anecdote33, as Tim could tell concerning the acquisition of that very bird; how, compassionating34 his starved and suffering condition, he had purchased him, with the view of humanely35 terminating his wretched life; how he determined36 to wait three days and see whether the bird revived; how, before half the time was out, the bird did revive; and how he went on reviving and picking up his appetite and good looks until he gradually became what—‘what you see him now, sir,’—Tim would say, glancing proudly at the cage. And with that, Tim would utter a melodious37 chirrup, and cry ‘Dick;’ and Dick, who, for any sign of life he had previously38 given, might have been a wooden or stuffed representation of a blackbird indifferently executed, would come to the side of the cage in three small jumps, and, thrusting his bill between the bars, turn his sightless head towards his old master—and at that moment it would be very difficult to determine which of the two was the happier, the bird or Tim Linkinwater.
Nor was this all. Everything gave back, besides, some reflection of the kindly39 spirit of the brothers. The warehousemen and porters were such sturdy, jolly fellows, that it was a treat to see them. Among the shipping40 announcements and steam-packet lists which decorated the counting-house wall, were designs for almshouses, statements of charities, and plans for new hospitals. A blunderbuss and two swords hung above the chimney-piece, for the terror of evil-doers, but the blunderbuss was rusty41 and shattered, and the swords were broken and edgeless. Elsewhere, their open display in such a condition would have realised a smile; but, there, it seemed as though even violent and offensive weapons partook of the reigning42 influence, and became emblems43 of mercy and forbearance.
Such thoughts as these occurred to Nicholas very strongly, on the morning when he first took possession of the vacant stool, and looked about him, more freely and at ease, than he had before enjoyed an opportunity of doing. Perhaps they encouraged and stimulated44 him to exertion45, for, during the next two weeks, all his spare hours, late at night and early in the morning, were incessantly46 devoted47 to acquiring the mysteries of book-keeping and some other forms of mercantile account. To these, he applied48 himself with such steadiness and perseverance49 that, although he brought no greater amount of previous knowledge to the subject than certain dim recollections of two or three very long sums entered into a ciphering-book at school, and relieved for parental50 inspection51 by the effigy52 of a fat swan tastefully flourished by the writing-master’s own hand, he found himself, at the end of a fortnight, in a condition to report his proficiency53 to Mr. Linkinwater, and to claim his promise that he, Nicholas Nickleby, should now be allowed to assist him in his graver labours.
It was a sight to behold54 Tim Linkinwater slowly bring out a massive ledger55 and day-book, and, after turning them over and over, and affectionately dusting their backs and sides, open the leaves here and there, and cast his eyes, half mournfully, half proudly, upon the fair and unblotted entries.
Tim closed the book again.
‘Come, come,’ said Nicholas, ‘I am all impatience57 to begin.’
Tim Linkinwater shook his head with an air of mild reproof58. Mr. Nickleby was not sufficiently impressed with the deep and awful nature of his undertaking59. Suppose there should be any mistake—any scratching out!
Young men are adventurous60. It is extraordinary what they will rush upon, sometimes. Without even taking the precaution of sitting himself down upon his stool, but standing61 leisurely62 at the desk, and with a smile upon his face—actually a smile—there was no mistake about it; Mr Linkinwater often mentioned it afterwards—Nicholas dipped his pen into the inkstand before him, and plunged63 into the books of Cheeryble Brothers!
Tim Linkinwater turned pale, and tilting64 up his stool on the two legs nearest Nicholas, looked over his shoulder in breathless anxiety. Brother Charles and brother Ned entered the counting-house together; but Tim Linkinwater, without looking round, impatiently waved his hand as a caution that profound silence must be observed, and followed the nib65 of the inexperienced pen with strained and eager eyes.
The brothers looked on with smiling faces, but Tim Linkinwater smiled not, nor moved for some minutes. At length, he drew a long slow breath, and still maintaining his position on the tilted66 stool, glanced at brother Charles, secretly pointed16 with the feather of his pen towards Nicholas, and nodded his head in a grave and resolute68 manner, plainly signifying ‘He’ll do.’
Brother Charles nodded again, and exchanged a laughing look with brother Ned; but, just then, Nicholas stopped to refer to some other page, and Tim Linkinwater, unable to contain his satisfaction any longer, descended69 from his stool, and caught him rapturously by the hand.
‘He has done it!’ said Tim, looking round at his employers and shaking his head triumphantly70. ‘His capital B’s and D’s are exactly like mine; he dots all his small i’s and crosses every t as he writes it. There an’t such a young man as this in all London,’ said Tim, clapping Nicholas on the back; ‘not one. Don’t tell me! The city can’t produce his equal. I challenge the city to do it!’
With this casting down of his gauntlet, Tim Linkinwater struck the desk such a blow with his clenched71 fist, that the old blackbird tumbled off his perch72 with the start it gave him, and actually uttered a feeble croak73, in the extremity74 of his astonishment75.
‘Well said, Tim—well said, Tim Linkinwater!’ cried brother Charles, scarcely less pleased than Tim himself, and clapping his hands gently as he spoke76. ‘I knew our young friend would take great pains, and I was quite certain he would succeed, in no time. Didn’t I say so, brother Ned?’
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‘You did, my dear brother; certainly, my dear brother, you said so, and you were quite right,’ replied Ned. ‘Quite right. Tim Linkinwater is excited, but he is justly excited, properly excited. Tim is a fine fellow. Tim Linkinwater, sir—you’re a fine fellow.’
‘Here’s a pleasant thing to think of!’ said Tim, wholly regardless of this address to himself, and raising his spectacles from the ledger to the brothers. ‘Here’s a pleasant thing. Do you suppose I haven’t often thought of what would become of these books when I was gone? Do you suppose I haven’t often thought that things might go on irregular and untidy here, after I was taken away? But now,’ said Tim, extending his forefinger77 towards Nicholas, ‘now, when I’ve shown him a little more, I’m satisfied. The business will go on, when I’m dead, as well as it did when I was alive—just the same—and I shall have the satisfaction of knowing that there never were such books—never were such books! No, nor never will be such books—as the books of Cheeryble Brothers.’
Having thus expressed his sentiments, Mr. Linkinwater gave vent4 to a short laugh, indicative of defiance78 to the cities of London and Westminster, and, turning again to his desk, quietly carried seventy-six from the last column he had added up, and went on with his work.
‘Tim Linkinwater, sir,’ said brother Charles; ‘give me your hand, sir. This is your birthday. How dare you talk about anything else till you have been wished many happy returns of the day, Tim Linkinwater? God bless you, Tim! God bless you!’
‘My dear brother,’ said the other, seizing Tim’s disengaged fist, ‘Tim Linkinwater looks ten years younger than he did on his last birthday.’
‘Brother Ned, my dear boy,’ returned the other old fellow, ‘I believe that Tim Linkinwater was born a hundred and fifty years old, and is gradually coming down to five-and-twenty; for he’s younger every birthday than he was the year before.’
‘So he is, brother Charles, so he is,’ replied brother Ned. ‘There’s not a doubt about it.’
‘Remember, Tim,’ said brother Charles, ‘that we dine at half-past five today instead of two o’clock; we always depart from our usual custom on this anniversary, as you very well know, Tim Linkinwater. Mr. Nickleby, my dear sir, you will make one. Tim Linkinwater, give me your snuff-box as a remembrance to brother Charles and myself of an attached and faithful rascal79, and take that, in exchange, as a feeble mark of our respect and esteem80, and don’t open it until you go to bed, and never say another word upon the subject, or I’ll kill the blackbird. A dog! He should have had a golden cage half-a-dozen years ago, if it would have made him or his master a bit the happier. Now, brother Ned, my dear fellow, I’m ready. At half-past five, remember, Mr. Nickleby! Tim Linkinwater, sir, take care of Mr. Nickleby at half-past five. Now, brother Ned.’
Chattering81 away thus, according to custom, to prevent the possibility of any thanks or acknowledgment being expressed on the other side, the twins trotted82 off, arm-in-arm; having endowed Tim Linkinwater with a costly83 gold snuff-box, enclosing a bank note worth more than its value ten times told.
At a quarter past five o’clock, punctual to the minute, arrived, according to annual usage, Tim Linkinwater’s sister; and a great to-do there was, between Tim Linkinwater’s sister and the old housekeeper84, respecting Tim Linkinwater’s sister’s cap, which had been dispatched, per boy, from the house of the family where Tim Linkinwater’s sister boarded, and had not yet come to hand: notwithstanding that it had been packed up in a bandbox, and the bandbox in a handkerchief, and the handkerchief tied on to the boy’s arm; and notwithstanding, too, that the place of its consignment85 had been duly set forth86, at full length, on the back of an old letter, and the boy enjoined87, under pain of divers88 horrible penalties, the full extent of which the eye of man could not foresee, to deliver the same with all possible speed, and not to loiter by the way. Tim Linkinwater’s sister lamented89; the housekeeper condoled90; and both kept thrusting their heads out of the second-floor window to see if the boy was ‘coming’—which would have been highly satisfactory, and, upon the whole, tantamount to his being come, as the distance to the corner was not quite five yards—when, all of a sudden, and when he was least expected, the messenger, carrying the bandbox with elaborate caution, appeared in an exactly opposite direction, puffing91 and panting for breath, and flushed with recent exercise; as well he might be; for he had taken the air, in the first instance, behind a hackney coach that went to Camberwell, and had followed two Punches afterwards and had seen the Stilts92 home to their own door. The cap was all safe, however—that was one comfort—and it was no use scolding him—that was another; so the boy went upon his way rejoicing, and Tim Linkinwater’s sister presented herself to the company below-stairs, just five minutes after the half-hour had struck by Tim Linkinwater’s own infallible clock.
The company consisted of the brothers Cheeryble, Tim Linkinwater, a ruddy-faced white-headed friend of Tim’s (who was a superannuated93 bank clerk), and Nicholas, who was presented to Tim Linkinwater’s sister with much gravity and solemnity. The party being now completed, brother Ned rang for dinner, and, dinner being shortly afterwards announced, led Tim Linkinwater’s sister into the next room, where it was set forth with great preparation. Then, brother Ned took the head of the table, and brother Charles the foot; and Tim Linkinwater’s sister sat on the left hand of brother Ned, and Tim Linkinwater himself on his right: and an ancient butler of apoplectic94 appearance, and with very short legs, took up his position at the back of brother Ned’s armchair, and, waving his right arm preparatory to taking off the covers with a flourish, stood bolt upright and motionless.
‘Lord, make us truly thankful, brother Ned,’ said Charles.
Whereupon the apoplectic butler whisked off the top of the soup tureen, and shot, all at once, into a state of violent activity.
There was abundance of conversation, and little fear of its ever flagging, for the good-humour of the glorious old twins drew everybody out, and Tim Linkinwater’s sister went off into a long and circumstantial account of Tim Linkinwater’s infancy96, immediately after the very first glass of champagne—taking care to premise97 that she was very much Tim’s junior, and had only become acquainted with the facts from their being preserved and handed down in the family. This history concluded, brother Ned related how that, exactly thirty-five years ago, Tim Linkinwater was suspected to have received a love-letter, and how that vague information had been brought to the counting-house of his having been seen walking down Cheapside with an uncommonly98 handsome spinster; at which there was a roar of laughter, and Tim Linkinwater being charged with blushing, and called upon to explain, denied that the accusation100 was true; and further, that there would have been any harm in it if it had been; which last position occasioned the superannuated bank clerk to laugh tremendously, and to declare that it was the very best thing he had ever heard in his life, and that Tim Linkinwater might say a great many things before he said anything which would beat that.
There was one little ceremony peculiar101 to the day, both the matter and manner of which made a very strong impression upon Nicholas. The cloth having been removed and the decanters sent round for the first time, a profound silence succeeded, and in the cheerful faces of the brothers there appeared an expression, not of absolute melancholy, but of quiet thoughtfulness very unusual at a festive102 table. As Nicholas, struck by this sudden alteration103, was wondering what it could portend104, the brothers rose together, and the one at the top of the table leaning forward towards the other, and speaking in a low voice as if he were addressing him individually, said:
‘Brother Charles, my dear fellow, there is another association connected with this day which must never be forgotten, and never can be forgotten, by you and me. This day, which brought into the world a most faithful and excellent and exemplary fellow, took from it the kindest and very best of parents, the very best of parents to us both. I wish that she could have seen us in our prosperity, and shared it, and had the happiness of knowing how dearly we loved her in it, as we did when we were two poor boys; but that was not to be. My dear brother—The Memory of our Mother.’
‘Good Lord!’ thought Nicholas, ‘and there are scores of people of their own station, knowing all this, and twenty thousand times more, who wouldn’t ask these men to dinner because they eat with their knives and never went to school!’
But there was no time to moralise, for the joviality105 again became very brisk, and the decanter of port being nearly out, brother Ned pulled the bell, which was instantly answered by the apoplectic butler.
‘David,’ said brother Ned.
‘Sir,’ replied the butler.
‘A magnum of the double-diamond, David, to drink the health of Mr Linkinwater.’
Instantly, by a feat67 of dexterity106, which was the admiration107 of all the company, and had been, annually108, for some years past, the apoplectic butler, bringing his left hand from behind the small of his back, produced the bottle with the corkscrew already inserted; uncorked it at a jerk; and placed the magnum and the cork109 before his master with the dignity of conscious cleverness.
‘Ha!’ said brother Ned, first examining the cork and afterwards filling his glass, while the old butler looked complacently110 and amiably111 on, as if it were all his own property, but the company were quite welcome to make free with it, ‘this looks well, David.’
‘It ought to, sir,’ replied David. ‘You’d be troubled to find such a glass of wine as is our double-diamond, and that Mr. Linkinwater knows very well. That was laid down when Mr. Linkinwater first come: that wine was, gentlemen.’
‘Nay, David, nay,’ interposed brother Charles.
‘I wrote the entry in the cellar-book myself, sir, if you please,’ said David, in the tone of a man, quite confident in the strength of his facts. ‘Mr. Linkinwater had only been here twenty year, sir, when that pipe of double-diamond was laid down.’
‘David is quite right, quite right, brother Charles,’ said Ned: ‘are the people here, David?’
‘Outside the door, sir,’ replied the butler.
‘Show ‘em in, David, show ‘em in.’
At this bidding, the older butler placed before his master a small tray of clean glasses, and opening the door admitted the jolly porters and warehousemen whom Nicholas had seen below. They were four in all, and as they came in, bowing, and grinning, and blushing, the housekeeper, and cook, and housemaid, brought up the rear.
‘Seven,’ said brother Ned, filling a corresponding number of glasses with the double-diamond, ‘and David, eight. There! Now, you’re all of you to drink the health of your best friend Mr. Timothy Linkinwater, and wish him health and long life and many happy returns of this day, both for his own sake and that of your old masters, who consider him an inestimable treasure. Tim Linkinwater, sir, your health. Devil take you, Tim Linkinwater, sir, God bless you.’
With this singular contradiction of terms, brother Ned gave Tim Linkinwater a slap on the back, which made him look, for the moment, almost as apoplectic as the butler: and tossed off the contents of his glass in a twinkling.
The toast was scarcely drunk with all honour to Tim Linkinwater, when the sturdiest and jolliest subordinate elbowed himself a little in advance of his fellows, and exhibiting a very hot and flushed countenance112, pulled a single lock of grey hair in the middle of his forehead as a respectful salute113 to the company, and delivered himself as follows—rubbing the palms of his hands very hard on a blue cotton handkerchief as he did so:
‘We’re allowed to take a liberty once a year, gen’lemen, and if you please we’ll take it now; there being no time like the present, and no two birds in the hand worth one in the bush, as is well known—leastways in a contrairy sense, which the meaning is the same. (A pause—the butler unconvinced.) What we mean to say is, that there never was (looking at the butler)—such—(looking at the cook) noble—excellent—(looking everywhere and seeing nobody) free, generous-spirited masters as them as has treated us so handsome this day. And here’s thanking of ‘em for all their goodness as is so constancy a diffusing114 of itself over everywhere, and wishing they may live long and die happy!’
When the foregoing speech was over—and it might have been much more elegant and much less to the purpose—the whole body of subordinates under command of the apoplectic butler gave three soft cheers; which, to that gentleman’s great indignation, were not very regular, inasmuch as the women persisted in giving an immense number of little shrill115 hurrahs among themselves, in utter disregard of the time. This done, they withdrew; shortly afterwards, Tim Linkinwater’s sister withdrew; in reasonable time after that, the sitting was broken up for tea and coffee, and a round game of cards.
At half-past ten—late hours for the square—there appeared a little tray of sandwiches and a bowl of bishop116, which bishop coming on the top of the double-diamond, and other excitements, had such an effect upon Tim Linkinwater, that he drew Nicholas aside, and gave him to understand, confidentially117, that it was quite true about the uncommonly handsome spinster, and that she was to the full as good-looking as she had been described—more so, indeed—but that she was in too much of a hurry to change her condition, and consequently, while Tim was courting her and thinking of changing his, got married to somebody else. ‘After all, I dare say it was my fault,’ said Tim. ‘I’ll show you a print I have got upstairs, one of these days. It cost me five-and-twenty shillings. I bought it soon after we were cool to each other. Don’t mention it, but it’s the most extraordinary accidental likeness118 you ever saw—her very portrait, sir!’
By this time it was past eleven o’clock; and Tim Linkinwater’s sister declaring that she ought to have been at home a full hour ago, a coach was procured119, into which she was handed with great ceremony by brother Ned, while brother Charles imparted the fullest directions to the coachman, and besides paying the man a shilling over and above his fare, in order that he might take the utmost care of the lady, all but choked him with a glass of spirits of uncommon99 strength, and then nearly knocked all the breath out of his body in his energetic endeavours to knock it in again.
At length the coach rumbled120 off, and Tim Linkinwater’s sister being now fairly on her way home, Nicholas and Tim Linkinwater’s friend took their leaves together, and left old Tim and the worthy121 brothers to their repose122.
As Nicholas had some distance to walk, it was considerably123 past midnight by the time he reached home, where he found his mother and Smike sitting up to receive him. It was long after their usual hour of retiring, and they had expected him, at the very latest, two hours ago; but the time had not hung heavily on their hands, for Mrs. Nickleby had entertained Smike with a genealogical account of her family by the mother’s side, comprising biographical sketches124 of the principal members, and Smike had sat wondering what it was all about, and whether it was learnt from a book, or said out of Mrs. Nickleby’s own head; so that they got on together very pleasantly.
Nicholas could not go to bed without expatiating125 on the excellences126 and munificence127 of the brothers Cheeryble, and relating the great success which had attended his efforts that day. But before he had said a dozen words, Mrs. Nickleby, with many sly winks and nods, observed, that she was sure Mr. Smike must be quite tired out, and that she positively128 must insist on his not sitting up a minute longer.
‘A most biddable creature he is, to be sure,’ said Mrs. Nickleby, when Smike had wished them good-night and left the room. ‘I know you’ll excuse me, Nicholas, my dear, but I don’t like to do this before a third person; indeed, before a young man it would not be quite proper, though really, after all, I don’t know what harm there is in it, except that to be sure it’s not a very becoming thing, though some people say it is very much so, and really I don’t know why it should not be, if it’s well got up, and the borders are small-plaited; of course, a good deal depends upon that.’
With which preface, Mrs. Nickleby took her nightcap from between the leaves of a very large prayer-book where it had been folded up small, and proceeded to tie it on: talking away in her usual discursive129 manner, all the time.
‘People may say what they like,’ observed Mrs. Nickleby, ‘but there’s a great deal of comfort in a nightcap, as I’m sure you would confess, Nicholas my dear, if you would only have strings130 to yours, and wear it like a Christian131, instead of sticking it upon the very top of your head like a blue-coat boy. You needn’t think it an unmanly or quizzical thing to be particular about your nightcap, for I have often heard your poor dear papa, and the Reverend Mr. What’s-his-name, who used to read prayers in that old church with the curious little steeple that the weathercock was blown off the night week before you were born,—I have often heard them say, that the young men at college are uncommonly particular about their nightcaps, and that the Oxford132 nightcaps are quite celebrated133 for their strength and goodness; so much so, indeed, that the young men never dream of going to bed without ‘em, and I believe it’s admitted on all hands that they know what’s good, and don’t coddle themselves.’
Nicholas laughed, and entering no further into the subject of this lengthened134 harangue135, reverted136 to the pleasant tone of the little birthday party. And as Mrs. Nickleby instantly became very curious respecting it, and made a great number of inquiries137 touching138 what they had had for dinner, and how it was put on table, and whether it was overdone139 or underdone, and who was there, and what ‘the Mr. Cherrybles’ said, and what Nicholas said, and what the Mr. Cherrybles said when he said that; Nicholas described the festivities at full length, and also the occurrences of the morning.
‘Late as it is,’ said Nicholas, ‘I am almost selfish enough to wish that Kate had been up to hear all this. I was all impatience, as I came along, to tell her.’
‘Why, Kate,’ said Mrs. Nickleby, putting her feet upon the fender, and drawing her chair close to it, as if settling herself for a long talk. ‘Kate has been in bed—oh! a couple of hours—and I’m very glad, Nicholas my dear, that I prevailed upon her not to sit up, for I wished very much to have an opportunity of saying a few words to you. I am naturally anxious about it, and of course it’s a very delightful140 and consoling thing to have a grown-up son that one can put confidence in, and advise with; indeed I don’t know any use there would be in having sons at all, unless people could put confidence in them.’
Nicholas stopped in the middle of a sleepy yawn, as his mother began to speak: and looked at her with fixed141 attention.
‘There was a lady in our neighbourhood,’ said Mrs. Nickleby, ‘speaking of sons puts me in mind of it—a lady in our neighbourhood when we lived near Dawlish, I think her name was Rogers; indeed I am sure it was if it wasn’t Murphy, which is the only doubt I have—’
‘Is it about her, mother, that you wished to speak to me?’ said Nicholas quietly.
‘About her!’ cried Mrs. Nickleby. ‘Good gracious, Nicholas, my dear, how can you be so ridiculous! But that was always the way with your poor dear papa,—just his way—always wandering, never able to fix his thoughts on any one subject for two minutes together. I think I see him now!’ said Mrs. Nickleby, wiping her eyes, ‘looking at me while I was talking to him about his affairs, just as if his ideas were in a state of perfect conglomeration142! Anybody who had come in upon us suddenly, would have supposed I was confusing and distracting him instead of making things plainer; upon my word they would.’
‘I am very sorry, mother, that I should inherit this unfortunate slowness of apprehension,’ said Nicholas, kindly; ‘but I’ll do my best to understand you, if you’ll only go straight on: indeed I will.’
‘Your poor pa!’ said Mrs. Nickleby, pondering. ‘He never knew, till it was too late, what I would have had him do!’
This was undoubtedly143 the case, inasmuch as the deceased Mr. Nickleby had not arrived at the knowledge when he died. Neither had Mrs. Nickleby herself; which is, in some sort, an explanation of the circumstance.
‘However,’ said Mrs. Nickleby, drying her tears, ‘this has nothing to do—certainly nothing whatever to do—with the gentleman in the next house.’
‘I should suppose that the gentleman in the next house has as little to do with us,’ returned Nicholas.
‘There can be no doubt,’ said Mrs. Nickleby, ‘that he is a gentleman, and has the manners of a gentleman, and the appearance of a gentleman, although he does wear smalls and grey worsted stockings. That may be eccentricity144, or he may be proud of his legs. I don’t see why he shouldn’t be. The Prince Regent was proud of his legs, and so was Daniel Lambert, who was also a fat man; he was proud of his legs. So was Miss Biffin: she was—no,’ added Mrs. Nickleby, correcting, herself, ‘I think she had only toes, but the principle is the same.’
Nicholas looked on, quite amazed at the introduction of this new theme. Which seemed just what Mrs. Nickleby had expected him to be.
‘You may well be surprised, Nicholas, my dear,’ she said, ‘I am sure I was. It came upon me like a flash of fire, and almost froze my blood. The bottom of his garden joins the bottom of ours, and of course I had several times seen him sitting among the scarlet-beans in his little arbour, or working at his little hot-beds. I used to think he stared rather, but I didn’t take any particular notice of that, as we were newcomers, and he might be curious to see what we were like. But when he began to throw his cucumbers over our wall—’
‘To throw his cucumbers over our wall!’ repeated Nicholas, in great astonishment.
‘Yes, Nicholas, my dear,’ replied Mrs. Nickleby in a very serious tone; ‘his cucumbers over our wall. And vegetable marrows146 likewise.’
‘I don’t think he means it impertinently at all,’ replied Mrs. Nickleby.
‘What!’ said Nicholas, ‘cucumbers and vegetable marrows flying at the heads of the family as they walk in their own garden, and not meant impertinently! Why, mother—’
Nicholas stopped short; for there was an indescribable expression of placid148 triumph, mingled149 with a modest confusion, lingering between the borders of Mrs. Nickleby’s nightcap, which arrested his attention suddenly.
‘He must be a very weak, and foolish, and inconsiderate man,’ said Mrs Nickleby; ‘blamable indeed—at least I suppose other people would consider him so; of course I can’t be expected to express any opinion on that point, especially after always defending your poor dear papa when other people blamed him for making proposals to me; and to be sure there can be no doubt that he has taken a very singular way of showing it. Still at the same time, his attentions are—that is, as far as it goes, and to a certain extent of course—a flattering sort of thing; and although I should never dream of marrying again with a dear girl like Kate still unsettled in life—’
‘Surely, mother, such an idea never entered your brain for an instant?’ said Nicholas.
‘Bless my heart, Nicholas my dear,’ returned his mother in a peevish150 tone, ‘isn’t that precisely what I am saying, if you would only let me speak? Of course, I never gave it a second thought, and I am surprised and astonished that you should suppose me capable of such a thing. All I say is, what step is the best to take, so as to reject these advances civilly and delicately, and without hurting his feelings too much, and driving him to despair, or anything of that kind? My goodness me!’ exclaimed Mrs Nickleby, with a half-simper, ‘suppose he was to go doing anything rash to himself. Could I ever be happy again, Nicholas?’
Despite his vexation and concern, Nicholas could scarcely help smiling, as he rejoined, ‘Now, do you think, mother, that such a result would be likely to ensue from the most cruel repulse151?’
‘Upon my word, my dear, I don’t know,’ returned Mrs. Nickleby; ‘really, I don’t know. I am sure there was a case in the day before yesterday’s paper, extracted from one of the French newspapers, about a journeyman shoemaker who was jealous of a young girl in an adjoining village, because she wouldn’t shut herself up in an air-tight three-pair-of-stairs, and charcoal152 herself to death with him; and who went and hid himself in a wood with a sharp-pointed knife, and rushed out, as she was passing by with a few friends, and killed himself first, and then all the friends, and then her—no, killed all the friends first, and then herself, and then himself—which it is quite frightful153 to think of. Somehow or other,’ added Mrs. Nickleby, after a momentary154 pause, ‘they always are journeyman shoemakers who do these things in France, according to the papers. I don’t know how it is—something in the leather, I suppose.’
‘But this man, who is not a shoemaker—what has he done, mother, what has he said?’ inquired Nicholas, fretted155 almost beyond endurance, but looking nearly as resigned and patient as Mrs. Nickleby herself. ‘You know, there is no language of vegetables, which converts a cucumber into a formal declaration of attachment.’
‘My dear,’ replied Mrs. Nickleby, tossing her head and looking at the ashes in the grate, ‘he has done and said all sorts of things.’
‘Is there no mistake on your part?’ asked Nicholas.
‘Mistake!’ cried Mrs. Nickleby. ‘Lord, Nicholas my dear, do you suppose I don’t know when a man’s in earnest?’
‘Well, well!’ muttered Nicholas.
‘Every time I go to the window,’ said Mrs. Nickleby, ‘he kisses one hand, and lays the other upon his heart—of course it’s very foolish of him to do so, and I dare say you’ll say it’s very wrong, but he does it very respectfully—very respectfully indeed—and very tenderly, extremely tenderly. So far, he deserves the greatest credit; there can be no doubt about that. Then, there are the presents which come pouring over the wall every day, and very fine they certainly are, very fine; we had one of the cucumbers at dinner yesterday, and think of pickling the rest for next winter. And last evening,’ added Mrs. Nickleby, with increased confusion, ‘he called gently over the wall, as I was walking in the garden, and proposed marriage, and an elopement. His voice is as clear as a bell or a musical glass—very like a musical glass indeed—but of course I didn’t listen to it. Then, the question is, Nicholas my dear, what am I to do?’
‘Does Kate know of this?’ asked Nicholas.
‘I have not said a word about it yet,’ answered his mother.
‘Then, for Heaven’s sake,’ rejoined Nicholas, rising, ‘do not, for it would make her very unhappy. And with regard to what you should do, my dear mother, do what your good sense and feeling, and respect for my father’s memory, would prompt. There are a thousand ways in which you can show your dislike of these preposterous156 and doting157 attentions. If you act as decidedly as you ought and they are still continued, and to your annoyance158, I can speedily put a stop to them. But I should not interfere159 in a matter so ridiculous, and attach importance to it, until you have vindicated160 yourself. Most women can do that, but especially one of your age and condition, in circumstances like these, which are unworthy of a serious thought. I would not shame you by seeming to take them to heart, or treat them earnestly for an instant. Absurd old idiot!’
So saying, Nicholas kissed his mother, and bade her good-night, and they retired to their respective chambers161.
To do Mrs. Nickleby justice, her attachment to her children would have prevented her seriously contemplating162 a second marriage, even if she could have so far conquered her recollections of her late husband as to have any strong inclinations163 that way. But, although there was no evil and little real selfishness in Mrs. Nickleby’s heart, she had a weak head and a vain one; and there was something so flattering in being sought (and vainly sought) in marriage at this time of day, that she could not dismiss the passion of the unknown gentleman quite so summarily or lightly as Nicholas appeared to deem becoming.
‘As to its being preposterous, and doting, and ridiculous,’ thought Mrs Nickleby, communing with herself in her own room, ‘I don’t see that, at all. It’s hopeless on his part, certainly; but why he should be an absurd old idiot, I confess I don’t see. He is not to be supposed to know it’s hopeless. Poor fellow! He is to be pitied, I think!’
Having made these reflections, Mrs. Nickleby looked in her little dressing-glass, and walking backward a few steps from it, tried to remember who it was who used to say that when Nicholas was one-and-twenty he would have more the appearance of her brother than her son. Not being able to call the authority to mind, she extinguished her candle, and drew up the window-blind to admit the light of morning, which had, by this time, begun to dawn.
‘It’s a bad light to distinguish objects in,’ murmured Mrs. Nickleby, peering into the garden, ‘and my eyes are not very good—I was short-sighted from a child—but, upon my word, I think there’s another large vegetable marrow145 sticking, at this moment, on the broken glass bottles at the top of the wall!’
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1
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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fervent
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| adj.热的，热烈的，热情的 | |
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vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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frigidity
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| n.寒冷；冷淡；索然无味；（尤指妇女的）性感缺失 | |
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gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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hem
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| n.贴边，镶边；vt.缝贴边；(in)包围，限制 | |
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darts
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| n.掷飞镖游戏；飞镖( dart的名词复数 )；急驰，飞奔v.投掷，投射( dart的第三人称单数 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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broiling
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| adj.酷热的，炽热的，似烧的v.（用火）烤（焙、炙等）( broil的现在分词 )；使卷入争吵；使混乱；被烤（或炙） | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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droops
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的名词复数 ) | |
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winks
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| v.使眼色( wink的第三人称单数 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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recoils
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| n.（尤指枪炮的）反冲，后坐力( recoil的名词复数 )v.畏缩( recoil的第三人称单数 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
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animate
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| v.赋于生命，鼓励；adj.有生命的，有生气的 | |
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scrupulous
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| adj.审慎的，小心翼翼的，完全的，纯粹的 | |
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fabled
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| adj.寓言中的，虚构的 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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unimpeachable
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| adj.无可指责的；adv.无可怀疑地 | |
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dozed
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| v.打盹儿，打瞌睡( doze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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33
anecdote
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| n.轶事，趣闻，短故事 | |
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compassionating
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| v.同情（compassionate的现在分词形式） | |
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humanely
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| adv.仁慈地；人道地；富人情地；慈悲地 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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melodious
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| adj.旋律美妙的，调子优美的，音乐性的 | |
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38
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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shipping
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| n.船运（发货，运输，乘船） | |
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rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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42
reigning
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| adj.统治的，起支配作用的 | |
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emblems
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| n.象征，标记( emblem的名词复数 ) | |
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44
stimulated
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| a.刺激的 | |
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45
exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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46
incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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47
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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48
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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49
perseverance
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| n.坚持不懈，不屈不挠 | |
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50
parental
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| adj.父母的；父的；母的 | |
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51
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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52
effigy
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| n.肖像 | |
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53
proficiency
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| n.精通，熟练，精练 | |
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54
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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55
ledger
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| n.总帐，分类帐；帐簿 | |
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56
ledgers
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| n.分类账( ledger的名词复数 ) | |
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57
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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58
reproof
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| n.斥责，责备 | |
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59
undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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60
adventurous
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| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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61
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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62
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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63
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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64
tilting
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| 倾斜，倾卸 | |
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65
nib
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| n.钢笔尖；尖头 | |
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66
tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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67
feat
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| n.功绩；武艺，技艺；adj.灵巧的，漂亮的，合适的 | |
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68
resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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69
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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70
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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71
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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72
perch
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| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
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73
croak
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| vi.嘎嘎叫，发牢骚 | |
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74
extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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75
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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76
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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77
forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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78
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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79
rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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80
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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81
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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82
trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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83
costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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84
housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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85
consignment
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| n.寄售；发货；委托；交运货物 | |
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86
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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87
enjoined
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| v.命令( enjoin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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88
divers
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| adj.不同的；种种的 | |
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89
lamented
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| adj.被哀悼的，令人遗憾的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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90
condoled
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| v.表示同情，吊唁( condole的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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91
puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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92
stilts
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| n.（支撑建筑物高出地面或水面的）桩子，支柱( stilt的名词复数 )；高跷 | |
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93
superannuated
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| adj.老朽的，退休的；v.因落后于时代而废除，勒令退学 | |
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94
apoplectic
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| adj.中风的；愤怒的；n.中风患者 | |
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95
blessings
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| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
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96
infancy
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| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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97
premise
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| n.前提；v.提论，预述 | |
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98
uncommonly
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| adv. 稀罕(极，非常) | |
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99
uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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100
accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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101
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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102
festive
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| adj.欢宴的，节日的 | |
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103
alteration
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| n.变更，改变；蚀变 | |
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104
portend
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| v.预兆，预示；给…以警告 | |
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105
joviality
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| n.快活 | |
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106
dexterity
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| n.(手的)灵巧，灵活 | |
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107
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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108
annually
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| adv.一年一次，每年 | |
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109
cork
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| n.软木，软木塞 | |
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complacently
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| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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111
amiably
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| adv.和蔼可亲地，亲切地 | |
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112
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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113
salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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114
diffusing
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| （使光）模糊，漫射，漫散( diffuse的现在分词 )； （使）扩散； （使）弥漫； （使）传播 | |
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115
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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116
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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117
confidentially
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| ad.秘密地，悄悄地 | |
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118
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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119
procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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120
rumbled
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| 发出隆隆声，发出辘辘声( rumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 轰鸣着缓慢行进； 发现…的真相； 看穿（阴谋） | |
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121
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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122
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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123
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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124
sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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125
expatiating
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| v.详述，细说( expatiate的现在分词 ) | |
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126
excellences
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| n.卓越( excellence的名词复数 )；（只用于所修饰的名词后）杰出的；卓越的；出类拔萃的 | |
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127
munificence
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| n.宽宏大量，慷慨给与 | |
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128
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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129
discursive
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| adj.离题的，无层次的 | |
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130
strings
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| n.弦 | |
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131
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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133
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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134
lengthened
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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harangue
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| n.慷慨冗长的训话，言辞激烈的讲话 | |
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136
reverted
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| 恢复( revert的过去式和过去分词 )； 重提； 回到…上； 归还 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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138
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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139
overdone
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| v.做得过分( overdo的过去分词 )；太夸张；把…煮得太久；（工作等）过度 | |
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140
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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141
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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142
conglomeration
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| n.团块，聚集，混合物 | |
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143
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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144
eccentricity
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| n.古怪，反常，怪癖 | |
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marrow
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| n.骨髓；精华；活力 | |
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marrows
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| n.骨髓（marrow的复数形式） | |
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147
impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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150
peevish
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| adj.易怒的，坏脾气的 | |
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151
repulse
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| n.击退，拒绝；vt.逐退，击退，拒绝 | |
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152
charcoal
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| n.炭，木炭，生物炭 | |
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153
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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154
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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155
fretted
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| 焦躁的，附有弦马的，腐蚀的 | |
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156
preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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157
doting
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| adj.溺爱的，宠爱的 | |
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158
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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159
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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160
vindicated
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| v.澄清（某人/某事物）受到的责难或嫌疑( vindicate的过去式和过去分词 )；表明或证明（所争辩的事物）属实、正当、有效等；维护 | |
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161
chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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162
contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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163
inclinations
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| 倾向( inclination的名词复数 )； 倾斜； 爱好； 斜坡 | |
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