Wherein Mr Ralph Nickleby is visited by Personswith whom the Reader has been already madeacquainted.
‘W hat a demnition long time you have kept me ringingat this confounded old cracked tea-kettle of a bell,every tinkle1 of which is enough to throw a strongman into blue convulsions, upon my life and soul, oh demmit,’—said Mr Mantalini to Newman Noggs, scraping his boots, as hespoke, on Ralph Nickleby’s scraper.
‘I didn’t hear the bell more than once,’ replied Newman.
‘Then you are most immensely and outr-i-geously deaf,’ said MrMantalini, ‘as deaf as a demnition post.’
Mr Mantalini had got by this time into the passage, and wasmaking his way to the door of Ralph’s office with very littleceremony, when Newman interposed his body; and hinting thatMr Nickleby was unwilling3 to be disturbed, inquired whether theclient’s business was of a pressing nature.
‘It is most demnebly particular,’ said Mr Mantalini. ‘It is to meltsome scraps4 of dirty paper into bright, shining, chinking, tinkling,demd mint sauce.’
Newman uttered a significant grunt6, and taking Mr Mantalini’sproffered card, limped with it into his master’s office. As he thrusthis head in at the door, he saw that Ralph had resumed thethoughtful posture7 into which he had fallen after perusing8 hisnephew’s letter, and that he seemed to have been reading it again, as he once more held it open in his hand. The glance was butmomentary, for Ralph, being disturbed, turned to demand thecause of the interruption.
As Newman stated it, the cause himself swaggered into theroom, and grasping Ralph’s horny hand with uncommon9 affection,vowed that he had never seen him looking so well in all his life.
‘There is quite a bloom upon your demd countenance10,’ said MrMantalini, seating himself unbidden, and arranging his hair andwhiskers. ‘You look quite juvenile11 and jolly, demmit!’
‘We are alone,’ returned Ralph, tartly12. ‘What do you want withme?’
‘Good!’ cried Mr Mantalini, displaying his teeth. ‘What did Iwant! Yes. Ha, ha! Very good. What did I want. Ha, ha. Oh dem!’
‘What do you want, man?’ demanded Ralph, sternly.
‘Demnition discount,’ returned Mr Mantalini, with a grin, andshaking his head waggishly13.
‘Money is scarce,’ said Ralph.
‘Demd scarce, or I shouldn’t want it,’ interrupted Mr Mantalini.
‘The times are bad, and one scarcely knows whom to trust,’
continued Ralph. ‘I don’t want to do business just now, in fact Iwould rather not; but as you are a friend—how many bills haveyou there?’
‘Two,’ returned Mr Mantalini.
‘What is the gross amount?’
‘Demd trifling—five-and-seventy.’
‘And the dates?’
‘Two months, and four.’
‘I’ll do them for you—mind, for you; I wouldn’t for manypeople—for five-and-twenty pounds,’ said Ralph, deliberately15.
‘Oh demmit!’ cried Mr Mantalini, whose face lengthenedconsiderably at this handsome proposal.
‘Why, that leaves you fifty,’ retorted Ralph. ‘What would youhave? Let me see the names.’
‘You are so demd hard, Nickleby,’ remonstrated16 Mr Mantalini.
‘Let me see the names,’ replied Ralph, impatiently extendinghis hand for the bills. ‘Well! They are not sure, but they are safeenough. Do you consent to the terms, and will you take themoney? I don’t want you to do so. I would rather you didn’t.’
‘Demmit, Nickleby, can’t you—’ began Mr Mantalini.
‘No,’ replied Ralph, interrupting him. ‘I can’t. Will you take themoney—down, mind; no delay, no going into the city andpretending to negotiate with some other party who has noexistence, and never had. Is it a bargain, or is it not?’
Ralph pushed some papers from him as he spoke2, andcarelessly rattled17 his cash-box, as though by mere18 accident. Thesound was too much for Mr Mantalini. He closed the bargaindirectly it reached his ears, and Ralph told the money out uponthe table.
He had scarcely done so, and Mr Mantalini had not yetgathered it all up, when a ring was heard at the bell, andimmediately afterwards Newman ushered20 in no less a person thanMadame Mantalini, at sight of whom Mr Mantalini evincedconsiderable discomposure, and swept the cash into his pocketwith remarkable21 alacrity22.
‘Oh, you are here,’ said Madame Mantalini, tossing her head.
‘Yes, my life and soul, I am,’ replied her husband, dropping onhis knees, and pouncing23 with kitten-like playfulness upon a straysovereign. ‘I am here, my soul’s delight, upon Tom Tiddler’s ground, picking up the demnition gold and silver.’
‘I am ashamed of you,’ said Madame Mantalini, with muchindignation.
‘Ashamed—of me, my joy? It knows it is talking demd charmingsweetness, but naughty fibs,’ returned Mr Mantalini. ‘It knows it isnot ashamed of its own popolorum tibby.’
Whatever were the circumstances which had led to such aresult, it certainly appeared as though the popolorum tibby hadrather miscalculated, for the nonce, the extent of his lady’saffection. Madame Mantalini only looked scornful in reply; and,turning to Ralph, begged him to excuse her intrusion.
‘Which is entirely24 attributable,’ said Madame, ‘to the grossmisconduct and most improper25 behaviour of Mr Mantalini.’
‘Of me, my essential juice of pineapple!’
‘Of you,’ returned his wife. ‘But I will not allow it. I will notsubmit to be ruined by the extravagance and profligacy26 of anyman. I call Mr Nickleby to witness the course I intend to pursuewith you.’
‘Pray don’t call me to witness anything, ma’am,’ said Ralph.
‘Settle it between yourselves, settle it between yourselves.’
‘No, but I must beg you as a favour,’ said Madame Mantalini, ‘tohear me give him notice of what it is my fixed27 intention to do—myfixed intention, sir,’ repeated Madame Mantalini, darting28 an angrylook at her husband.
‘Will she call me “Sir”?’ cried Mantalini. ‘Me who dote upon herwith the demdest ardour! She, who coils her fascinations29 roundme like a pure angelic rattlesnake! It will be all up with myfeelings; she will throw me into a demd state.’
‘Don’t talk of feelings, sir,’ rejoined Madame Mantalini, seating herself, and turning her back upon him. ‘You don’t consider mine.’
‘I do not consider yours, my soul!’ exclaimed Mr Mantalini.
‘No,’ replied his wife.
And notwithstanding various blandishments on the part of MrMantalini, Madame Mantalini still said no, and said it too withsuch determined30 and resolute31 ill-temper, that Mr Mantalini wasclearly taken aback.
‘His extravagance, Mr Nickleby,’ said Madame Mantalini,addressing herself to Ralph, who leant against his easy-chair withhis hands behind him, and regarded the amiable32 couple with asmile of the supremest and most unmitigated contempt,—‘hisextravagance is beyond all bounds.’
‘I should scarcely have supposed it,’ answered Ralph,sarcastically.
‘I assure you, Mr Nickleby, however, that it is,’ returnedMadame Mantalini. ‘It makes me miserable33! I am under constantapprehensions, and in constant difficulty. And even this,’ saidMadame Mantalini, wiping her eyes, ‘is not the worst. He tooksome papers of value out of my desk this morning without askingmy permission.’
Mr Mantalini groaned35 slightly, and buttoned his trouserspocket.
‘I am obliged,’ continued Madame Mantalini, ‘since our latemisfortunes, to pay Miss Knag a great deal of money for havingher name in the business, and I really cannot afford to encouragehim in all his wastefulness36. As I have no doubt that he camestraight here, Mr Nickleby, to convert the papers I have spoken of,into money, and as you have assisted us very often before, and arevery much connected with us in this kind of matters, I wish you to know the determination at which his conduct has compelled me toarrive.’
Mr Mantalini groaned once more from behind his wife’s bonnet,and fitting a sovereign into one of his eyes, winked37 with the otherat Ralph. Having achieved this performance with great dexterity,he whipped the coin into his pocket, and groaned again withincreased penitence38.
‘I have made up my mind,’ said Madame Mantalini, as tokens ofimpatience manifested themselves in Ralph’s countenance, ‘toallowance him.’
‘To do that, my joy?’ inquired Mr Mantalini, who did not seemto have caught the words.
‘To put him,’ said Madame Mantalini, looking at Ralph, andprudently abstaining40 from the slightest glance at her husband, lesthis many graces should induce her to falter41 in her resolution, ‘toput him upon a fixed allowance; and I say that if he has a hundredand twenty pounds a year for his clothes and pocket-money, hemay consider himself a very fortunate man.’
Mr Mantalini waited, with much decorum, to hear the amountof the proposed stipend42, but when it reached his ears, he cast hishat and cane43 upon the floor, and drawing out his pocket-handkerchief, gave vent14 to his feelings in a dismal44 moan.
‘Demnition!’ cried Mr Mantalini, suddenly skipping out of hischair, and as suddenly skipping into it again, to the greatdiscomposure of his lady’s nerves. ‘But no. It is a demd horriddream. It is not reality. No!’
Comforting himself with this assurance, Mr Mantalini closed hiseyes and waited patiently till such time as he should wake up.
‘A very judicious46 arrangement,’ observed Ralph with a sneer47, ‘if your husband will keep within it, ma’am—as no doubt he will.’
‘Demmit!’ exclaimed Mr Mantalini, opening his eyes at thesound of Ralph’s voice, ‘it is a horrid45 reality. She is sitting therebefore me. There is the graceful48 outline of her form; it cannot bemistaken—there is nothing like it. The two countesses had nooutlines at all, and the dowager’s was a demd outline. Why is sheso excruciatingly beautiful that I cannot be angry with her, evennow?’
‘You have brought it upon yourself, Alfred,’ returned MadameMantalini—still reproachfully, but in a softened49 tone.
‘I am a demd villain50!’ cried Mr Mantalini, smiting51 himself on thehead. ‘I will fill my pockets with change for a sovereign inhalfpence and drown myself in the Thames; but I will not be angrywith her, even then, for I will put a note in the twopenny-post as Igo along, to tell her where the body is. She will be a lovely widow. Ishall be a body. Some handsome women will cry; she will laughdemnebly.’
‘Alfred, you cruel, cruel creature,’ said Madame Mantalini,sobbing at the dreadful picture.
‘She calls me cruel—me—me—who for her sake will become ademd, damp, moist, unpleasant body!’ exclaimed Mr Mantalini.
‘You know it almost breaks my heart, even to hear you talk ofsuch a thing,’ replied Madame Mantalini.
‘Can I live to be mistrusted?’ cried her husband. ‘Have I cut myheart into a demd extraordinary number of little pieces, and giventhem all away, one after another, to the same little engrossingdemnition captivater, and can I live to be suspected by her?
Demmit, no I can’t.’
‘Ask Mr Nickleby whether the sum I have mentioned is not a proper one,’ reasoned Madame Mantalini.
‘I don’t want any sum,’ replied her disconsolate52 husband; ‘Ishall require no demd allowance. I will be a body.’
On this repetition of Mr Mantalini’s fatal threat, MadameMantalini wrung53 her hands, and implored54 the interference ofRalph Nickleby; and after a great quantity of tears and talking,and several attempts on the part of Mr Mantalini to reach thedoor, preparatory to straightway committing violence uponhimself, that gentleman was prevailed upon, with difficulty, topromise that he wouldn’t be a body. This great point attained,Madame Mantalini argued the question of the allowance, and MrMantalini did the same, taking occasion to show that he could livewith uncommon satisfaction upon bread and water, and go clad inrags, but that he could not support existence with the additionalburden of being mistrusted by the object of his most devoted55 anddisinterested affection. This brought fresh tears into MadameMantalini’s eyes, which having just begun to open to some few ofthe demerits of Mr Mantalini, were only open a very little way, andcould be easily closed again. The result was, that without quitegiving up the allowance question, Madame Mantalini, postponedits further consideration; and Ralph saw, clearly enough, that MrMantalini had gained a fresh lease of his easy life, and that, forsome time longer at all events, his degradation56 and downfall werepostponed.
‘But it will come soon enough,’ thought Ralph; ‘all love—bah!
that I should use the cant5 of boys and girls—is fleeting57 enough;though that which has its sole root in the admiration58 of awhiskered face like that of yonder baboon59, perhaps lasts thelongest, as it originates in the greater blindness and is fed by vanity. Meantime the fools bring grist to my mill, so let them liveout their day, and the longer it is, the better.’
These agreeable reflections occurred to Ralph Nickleby, assundry small caresses60 and endearments61, supposed to be unseen,were exchanged between the objects of his thoughts.
‘If you have nothing more to say, my dear, to Mr Nickleby,’ saidMadame Mantalini, ‘we will take our leaves. I am sure we havedetained him much too long already.’
Mr Mantalini answered, in the first instance, by tappingMadame Mantalini several times on the nose, and then, byremarking in words that he had nothing more to say.
‘Demmit! I have, though,’ he added almost immediately,drawing Ralph into a corner. ‘Here’s an affair about your friendSir Mulberry. Such a demd extraordinary out-of-the-way kind ofthing as never was—eh?’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Ralph.
‘Don’t you know, demmit?’ asked Mr Mantalini.
‘I see by the paper that he was thrown from his cabriolet lastnight, and severely62 injured, and that his life is in some danger,’
answered Ralph with great composure; ‘but I see nothingextraordinary in that—accidents are not miraculous63 events, whenmen live hard, and drive after dinner.’
‘Whew!’ cried Mr Mantalini in a long shrill64 whistle. ‘Then don’tyou know how it was?’
‘Not unless it was as I have just supposed,’ replied Ralph,shrugging his shoulders carelessly, as if to give his questioner tounderstand that he had no curiosity upon the subject.
‘Demmit, you amaze me,’ cried Mantalini.
Ralph shrugged65 his shoulders again, as if it were no great feat66 to amaze Mr Mantalini, and cast a wistful glance at the face ofNewman Noggs, which had several times appeared behind acouple of panes67 of glass in the room door; it being a part ofNewman’s duty, when unimportant people called, to make variousfeints of supposing that the bell had rung for him to show themout: by way of a gentle hint to such visitors that it was time to go.
‘Don’t you know,’ said Mr Mantalini, taking Ralph by thebutton, ‘that it wasn’t an accident at all, but a demd, furious,manslaughtering attack made upon him by your nephew?’
‘What!’ snarled68 Ralph, clenching69 his fists and turning a lividwhite.
‘Demmit, Nickleby, you’re as great a tiger as he is,’ saidMantalini, alarmed at these demonstrations70.
‘Go on,’ cried Ralph. ‘Tell me what you mean. What is thisstory? Who told you? Speak,’ growled71 Ralph. ‘Do you hear me?’
‘‘Gad, Nickleby,’ said Mr Mantalini, retreating towards his wife,‘what a demneble fierce old evil genius you are! You’re enough tofrighten the life and soul out of her little delicious wits—flying allat once into such a blazing, ravaging72, raging passion as never was,demmit!’
‘Pshaw,’ rejoined Ralph, forcing a smile. ‘It is but manner.’
‘It is a demd uncomfortable, private-madhouse-sort of amanner,’ said Mr Mantalini, picking up his cane.
Ralph affected73 to smile, and once more inquired from whom MrMantalini had derived74 his information.
‘From Pyke; and a demd, fine, pleasant, gentlemanly dog it is,’
replied Mantalini. ‘Demnition pleasant, and a tip-top sawyer.’
‘And what said he?’ asked Ralph, knitting his brows.
‘That it happened this way—that your nephew met him at a coffeehouse, fell upon him with the most demneble ferocity,followed him to his cab, swore he would ride home with him, if herode upon the horse’s back or hooked himself on to the horse’stail; smashed his countenance, which is a demd fine countenancein its natural state; frightened the horse, pitched out Sir Mulberryand himself, and—’
‘And was killed?’ interposed Ralph with gleaming eyes. ‘Washe? Is he dead?’
Mantalini shook his head.
‘Ugh,’ said Ralph, turning away. ‘Then he has done nothing.
Stay,’ he added, looking round again. ‘He broke a leg or an arm, orput his shoulder out, or fractured his collar-bone, or ground a ribor two? His neck was saved for the halter, but he got some painfuland slow-healing injury for his trouble? Did he? You must haveheard that, at least.’
‘No,’ rejoined Mantalini, shaking his head again. ‘Unless he wasdashed into such little pieces that they blew away, he wasn’t hurt,for he went off as quiet and comfortable as—as—as demnition,’
said Mr Mantalini, rather at a loss for a simile75.
‘And what,’ said Ralph, hesitating a little, ‘what was the cause ofquarrel?’
‘You are the demdest, knowing hand,’ replied Mr Mantalini, inan admiring tone, ‘the cunningest, rummest, superlativest oldfox—oh dem!—to pretend now not to know that it was the littlebright-eyed niece—the softest, sweetest, prettiest—’
‘Alfred!’ interposed Madame Mantalini.
‘She is always right,’ rejoined Mr Mantalini soothingly76, ‘andwhen she says it is time to go, it is time, and go she shall; and whenshe walks along the streets with her own tulip, the women shall say, with envy, she has got a demd fine husband; and the menshall say with rapture77, he has got a demd fine wife; and they shallboth be right and neither wrong, upon my life and soul—ohdemmit!’
With which remarks, and many more, no less intellectual and tothe purpose, Mr Mantalini kissed the fingers of his gloves to RalphNickleby, and drawing his lady’s arm through his, led hermincingly away.
‘So, so,’ muttered Ralph, dropping into his chair; ‘this devil isloose again, and thwarting78 me, as he was born to do, at every turn.
He told me once there should be a day of reckoning between us,sooner or later. I’ll make him a true prophet, for it shall surelycome.’
‘Are you at home?’ asked Newman, suddenly popping in hishead.
‘No,’ replied Ralph, with equal abruptness79.
Newman withdrew his head, but thrust it in again.
‘You’re quite sure you’re not at home, are you?’ said Newman.
‘What does the idiot mean?’ cried Ralph, testily80.
‘He has been waiting nearly ever since they first came in, andmay have heard your voice—that’s all,’ said Newman, rubbing hishands.
‘Who has?’ demanded Ralph, wrought81 by the intelligence hehad just heard, and his clerk’s provoking coolness, to an intensepitch of irritation82.
The necessity of a reply was superseded83 by the unlooked-forentrance of a third party—the individual in question—who,bringing his one eye (for he had but one) to bear on RalphNickleby, made a great many shambling bows, and sat himself down in an armchair, with his hands on his knees, and his shortblack trousers drawn84 up so high in the legs by the exertion85 ofseating himself, that they scarcely reached below the tops of hisWellington boots.’
‘Why, this IS a surprise!’ said Ralph, bending his gaze upon thevisitor, and half smiling as he scrutinised him attentively86; ‘I shouldknow your face, Mr Squeers.’
‘Ah!’ replied that worthy87, ‘and you’d have know’d it better, sir,if it hadn’t been for all that I’ve been a-going through. Just lift thatlittle boy off the tall stool in the back-office, and tell him to come inhere, will you, my man?’ said Squeers, addressing himself toNewman. ‘Oh, he’s lifted his-self off. My son, sir, little Wackford.
What do you think of him, sir, for a specimen88 of the DotheboysHall feeding? Ain’t he fit to bust89 out of his clothes, and start theseams, and make the very buttons fly off with his fatness? Here’sflesh!’ cried Squeers, turning the boy about, and indenting90 theplumpest parts of his figure with divers91 pokes92 and punches, to thegreat discomposure of his son and heir. ‘Here’s firmness, here’ssolidness! Why you can hardly get up enough of him between yourfinger and thumb to pinch him anywheres.’
In however good condition Master Squeers might have been, hecertainly did not present this remarkable compactness of person,for on his father’s closing his finger and thumb in illustration of hisremark, he uttered a sharp cry, and rubbed the place in the mostnatural manner possible.
‘Well,’ remarked Squeers, a little disconcerted, ‘I had him there;but that’s because we breakfasted early this morning, and hehasn’t had his lunch yet. Why you couldn’t shut a bit of him in adoor, when he’s had his dinner. Look at them tears, sir,’ said Squeers, with a triumphant93 air, as Master Wackford wiped hiseyes with the cuff94 of his jacket, ‘there’s oiliness!’
‘He looks well, indeed,’ returned Ralph, who, for some purposesof his own, seemed desirous to conciliate the schoolmaster. ‘Buthow is Mrs Squeers, and how are you?’
‘Mrs Squeers, sir,’ replied the proprietor95 of Dotheboys, ‘is asshe always is—a mother to them lads, and a blessing96, and acomfort, and a joy to all them as knows her. One of our boys—gorging his-self with vittles, and then turning in; that’s their way—got a abscess on him last week. To see how she operated upon himwith a pen-knife! Oh Lor!’ said Squeers, heaving a sigh, andnodding his head a great many times, ‘what a member of societythat woman is!’
Mr Squeers indulged in a retrospective look, for some quarterof a minute, as if this allusion97 to his lady’s excellences98 hadnaturally led his mind to the peaceful village of Dotheboys nearGreta Bridge in Yorkshire; and then looked at Ralph, as if waitingfor him to say something.
‘Have you quite recovered that scoundrel’s attack?’ askedRalph.
‘I’ve only just done it, if I’ve done it now,’ replied Squeers. ‘Iwas one blessed bruise99, sir,’ said Squeers, touching100 first the rootsof his hair, and then the toes of his boots, ‘from here to there.
Vinegar and brown paper, vinegar and brown paper, frommorning to night. I suppose there was a matter of half a ream ofbrown paper stuck upon me, from first to last. As I laid all of aheap in our kitchen, plastered all over, you might have thought Iwas a large brown-paper parcel, chock full of nothing but groans101.
Did I groan34 loud, Wackford, or did I groan soft?’ asked Mr Squeers, appealing to his son.
‘Loud,’ replied Wackford.
‘Was the boys sorry to see me in such a dreadful condition,Wackford, or was they glad?’ asked Mr Squeers, in a sentimentalmanner.
‘Gl—’
‘Eh?’ cried Squeers, turning sharp round.
‘Sorry,’ rejoined his son.
‘Oh!’ said Squeers, catching102 him a smart box on the ear. ‘Thentake your hands out of your pockets, and don’t stammer103 whenyou’re asked a question. Hold your noise, sir, in a gentleman’soffice, or I’ll run away from my family and never come back anymore; and then what would become of all them precious andforlorn lads as would be let loose on the world, without their bestfriend at their elbers?’
‘Were you obliged to have medical attendance?’ inquiredRalph.
‘Ay, was I,’ rejoined Squeers, ‘and a precious bill the medicalattendant brought in too; but I paid it though.’
Ralph elevated his eyebrows104 in a manner which might beexpressive of either sympathy or astonishment—just as thebeholder was pleased to take it.
‘Yes, I paid it, every farthing,’ replied Squeers, who seemed toknow the man he had to deal with, too well to suppose that anyblinking of the question would induce him to subscribe105 towardsthe expenses; ‘I wasn’t out of pocket by it after all, either.’
‘No!’ said Ralph.
‘Not a halfpenny,’ replied Squeers. ‘The fact is, we have onlyone extra with our boys, and that is for doctors when required— and not then, unless we’re sure of our customers. Do you see?’
‘I understand,’ said Ralph.
‘Very good,’ rejoined Squeers. ‘Then, after my bill was run up,we picked out five little boys (sons of small tradesmen, as was surepay) that had never had the scarlet106 fever, and we sent one to acottage where they’d got it, and he took it, and then we put thefour others to sleep with him, and they took it, and then the doctorcame and attended ’em once all round, and we divided my totalamong ’em, and added it on to their little bills, and the parentspaid it. Ha! ha! ha!’
‘And a good plan too,’ said Ralph, eyeing the schoolmasterstealthily.
‘I believe you,’ rejoined Squeers. ‘We always do it. Why, whenMrs Squeers was brought to bed with little Wackford here, we ranthe hooping-cough through half-a-dozen boys, and charged herexpenses among ’em, monthly nurse included. Ha! ha! ha!’
Ralph never laughed, but on this occasion he produced thenearest approach to it that he could, and waiting until Mr Squeershad enjoyed the professional joke to his heart’s content, inquiredwhat had brought him to town.
‘Some bothering law business,’ replied Squeers, scratching hishead, ‘connected with an action, for what they call neglect of aboy. I don’t know what they would have. He had as good grazing,that boy had, as there is about us.’
Ralph looked as if he did not quite understand the observation.
‘Grazing,’ said Squeers, raising his voice, under the impressionthat as Ralph failed to comprehend him, he must be deaf. ‘When aboy gets weak and ill and don’t relish107 his meals, we give him achange of diet—turn him out, for an hour or so every day, into a neighbour’s turnip108 field, or sometimes, if it’s a delicate case, aturnip field and a piece of carrots alternately, and let him eat asmany as he likes. There an’t better land in the country than thisperwerse lad grazed on, and yet he goes and catches cold andindigestion and what not, and then his friends brings a lawsuitagainst me! Now, you’d hardly suppose,’ added Squeers, moving inhis chair with the impatience39 of an ill-used man, ‘that people’singratitude would carry them quite as far as that; would you?’
‘A hard case, indeed,’ observed Ralph.
‘You don’t say more than the truth when you say that,’ repliedSqueers. ‘I don’t suppose there’s a man going, as possesses thefondness for youth that I do. There’s youth to the amount of eighthundred pound a year at Dotheboys Hall at this present time. I’dtake sixteen hundred pound worth if I could get ’em, and be asfond of every individual twenty pound among ’em as nothingshould equal it!’
‘Are you stopping at your old quarters?’ asked Ralph.
‘Yes, we are at the Saracen,’ replied Squeers, ‘and as it don’twant very long to the end of the half-year, we shall continney tostop there till I’ve collected the money, and some new boys too, Ihope. I’ve brought little Wackford up, on purpose to show toparents and guardians109. I shall put him in the advertisement, thistime. Look at that boy—himself a pupil. Why he’s a miracle of highfeeding, that boy is!’
‘I should like to have a word with you,’ said Ralph, who hadboth spoken and listened mechanically for some time, and seemedto have been thinking.
‘As many words as you like, sir,’ rejoined Squeers. ‘Wackford,you go and play in the back office, and don’t move about too much or you’ll get thin, and that won’t do. You haven’t got such a thingas twopence, Mr Nickleby, have you?’ said Squeers, rattling110 abunch of keys in his coat pocket, and muttering something aboutits being all silver.
‘I—think I have,’ said Ralph, very slowly, and producing, aftermuch rummaging111 in an old drawer, a penny, a halfpenny, and twofarthings.
‘Thankee,’ said Squeers, bestowing112 it upon his son. ‘Here! Yougo and buy a tart—Mr Nickleby’s man will show you where—andmind you buy a rich one. Pastry,’ added Squeers, closing the dooron Master Wackford, ‘makes his flesh shine a good deal, andparents thinks that a healthy sign.’
With this explanation, and a peculiarly knowing look to eke113 itout, Mr Squeers moved his chair so as to bring himself opposite toRalph Nickleby at no great distance off; and having planted it tohis entire satisfaction, sat down.
‘Attend to me,’ said Ralph, bending forward a little.
Squeers nodded.
‘I am not to suppose,’ said Ralph, ‘that you are dolt114 enough toforgive or forget, very readily, the violence that was committedupon you, or the exposure which accompanied it?’
‘Devil a bit,’ replied Squeers, tartly.
‘Or to lose an opportunity of repaying it with interest, if youcould get one?’ said Ralph.
‘Show me one, and try,’ rejoined Squeers.
‘Some such object it was, that induced you to call on me?’ saidRalph, raising his eyes to the schoolmaster’s face.
‘N-n-no, I don’t know that,’ replied Squeers. ‘I thought that if itwas in your power to make me, besides the trifle of money you sent, any compensation—’
‘Ah!’ cried Ralph, interrupting him. ‘You needn’t go on.’
After a long pause, during which Ralph appeared absorbed incontemplation, he again broke silence by asking:
‘Who is this boy that he took with him?’
Squeers stated his name.
‘Was he young or old, healthy or sickly, tractable115 or rebellious116?
Speak out, man,’ retorted Ralph.
‘Why, he wasn’t young,’ answered Squeers; ‘that is, not youngfor a boy, you know.’
‘That is, he was not a boy at all, I suppose?’ interrupted Ralph.
‘Well,’ returned Squeers, briskly, as if he felt relieved by thesuggestion, ‘he might have been nigh twenty. He wouldn’t seem soold, though, to them as didn’t know him, for he was a little wantinghere,’ touching his forehead; ‘nobody at home, you know, if youknocked ever so often.’
‘And you did knock pretty often, I dare say?’ muttered Ralph.
‘Pretty well,’ returned Squeers with a grin.
‘When you wrote to acknowledge the receipt of this trifle ofmoney as you call it,’ said Ralph, ‘you told me his friends haddeserted him long ago, and that you had not the faintest clue ortrace to tell you who he was. Is that the truth?’
‘It is, worse luck!’ replied Squeers, becoming more and moreeasy and familiar in his manner, as Ralph pursued his inquirieswith the less reserve. ‘It’s fourteen years ago, by the entry in mybook, since a strange man brought him to my place, one autumnnight, and left him there; paying five pound five, for his firstquarter in advance. He might have been five or six year old at thattime—not more.’
‘What more do you know about him?’ demanded Ralph.
‘Devilish little, I’m sorry to say,’ replied Squeers. ‘The moneywas paid for some six or eight year, and then it stopped. He hadgiven an address in London, had this chap; but when it came tothe point, of course nobody knowed anything about him. So I keptthe lad out of—out of—’
‘Charity?’ suggested Ralph drily.
‘Charity, to be sure,’ returned Squeers, rubbing his knees, ‘andwhen he begins to be useful in a certain sort of way, this youngscoundrel of a Nickleby comes and carries him off. But the mostvexatious and aggeravating part of the whole affair is,’ saidSqueers, dropping his voice, and drawing his chair still closer toRalph, ‘that some questions have been asked about him at last—not of me, but, in a roundabout kind of way, of people in ourvillage. So, that just when I might have had all arrears117 paid up,perhaps, and perhaps—who knows? such things have happened inour business before—a present besides for putting him out to afarmer, or sending him to sea, so that he might never turn up todisgrace his parents, supposing him to be a natural boy, as manyof our boys are—damme, if that villain of a Nickleby don’t collarhim in open day, and commit as good as highway robbery uponmy pocket.’
‘We will both cry quits with him before long,’ said Ralph, layinghis hand on the arm of the Yorkshire schoolmaster.
‘Quits!’ echoed Squeers. ‘Ah! and I should like to leave a smallbalance in his favour, to be settled when he can. I only wish MrsSqueers could catch hold of him. Bless her heart! She’d murderhim, Mr Nickleby—she would, as soon as eat her dinner.’
‘We will talk of this again,’ said Ralph. ‘I must have time to think of it. To wound him through his own affections and fancies—. If I could strike him through this boy—’
‘Strike him how you like, sir,’ interrupted Squeers, ‘only hit himhard enough, that’s all—and with that, I’ll say good-morning.
Here!—just chuck that little boy’s hat off that corner peg118, and lifthim off the stool will you?’
Bawling these requests to Newman Noggs, Mr Squeers betookhimself to the little back-office, and fitted on his child’s hat withparental anxiety, while Newman, with his pen behind his ear, sat,stiff and immovable, on his stool, regarding the father and son byturns with a broad stare.
‘He’s a fine boy, an’t he?’ said Squeers, throwing his head alittle on one side, and falling back to the desk, the better toestimate the proportions of little Wackford.
‘Very,’ said Newman.
‘Pretty well swelled119 out, an’t he?’ pursued Squeers. ‘He has thefatness of twenty boys, he has.’
‘Ah!’ replied Newman, suddenly thrusting his face into that ofSqueers, ‘he has;—the fatness of twenty!—more! He’s got it all.
God help that others. Ha! ha! Oh Lord!’
Having uttered these fragmentary observations, Newmandropped upon his desk and began to write with most marvellousrapidity.
‘Why, what does the man mean?’ cried Squeers, colouring. ‘Ishe drunk?’
Newman made no reply.
‘Is he mad?’ said Squeers.
But, still Newman betrayed no consciousness of any presencesave his own; so, Mr Squeers comforted himself by saying that he was both drunk and mad; and, with this parting observation, heled his hopeful son away.
In exact proportion as Ralph Nickleby became conscious of astruggling and lingering regard for Kate, had his detestation ofNicholas augmented120. It might be, that to atone121 for the weakness ofinclining to any one person, he held it necessary to hate someother more intensely than before; but such had been the course ofhis feelings. And now, to be defied and spurned122, to be held up toher in the worst and most repulsive123 colours, to know that she wastaught to hate and despise him: to feel that there was infection inhis touch, and taint124 in his companionship—to know all this, and toknow that the mover of it all was that same boyish poor relationwho had twitted him in their very first interview, and openlybearded and braved him since, wrought his quiet and stealthymalignity to such a pitch, that there was scarcely anything hewould not have hazarded to gratify it, if he could have seen hisway to some immediate19 retaliation125.
But, fortunately for Nicholas, Ralph Nickleby did not; andalthough he cast about all that day, and kept a corner of his brainworking on the one anxious subject through all the round ofschemes and business that came with it, night found him at last,still harping126 on the same theme, and still pursuing the sameunprofitable reflections.
‘When my brother was such as he,’ said Ralph, ‘the firstcomparisons were drawn between us—always in my disfavour. HEwas open, liberal, gallant127, gay; I a crafty128 hunks of cold andstagnant blood, with no passion but love of saving, and no spiritbeyond a thirst for gain. I recollected129 it well when I first saw thiswhipster; but I remember it better now.’
He had been occupied in tearing Nicholas’s letter into atoms;and as he spoke, he scattered130 it in a tiny shower about him.
‘Recollections like these,’ pursued Ralph, with a bitter smile,‘flock upon me—when I resign myself to them—in crowds, andfrom countless131 quarters. As a portion of the world affect to despisethe power of money, I must try and show them what it is.’
And being, by this time, in a pleasant frame of mind forslumber, Ralph Nickleby went to bed.
收听单词发音 |
1
tinkle
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| vi.叮当作响；n.叮当声 | |
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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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unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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cant
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| n.斜穿，黑话，猛扔 | |
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grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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posture
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| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
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perusing
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| v.读（某篇文字）( peruse的现在分词 )；（尤指）细阅；审阅；匆匆读或心不在焉地浏览（某篇文字） | |
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uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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juvenile
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| n.青少年，少年读物；adj.青少年的，幼稚的 | |
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tartly
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| adv.辛辣地，刻薄地 | |
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waggishly
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| adv.waggish（滑稽的，诙谐的）的变形 | |
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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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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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pouncing
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| v.突然袭击( pounce的现在分词 )；猛扑；一眼看出；抓住机会（进行抨击） | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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25
improper
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| adj.不适当的，不合适的，不正确的，不合礼仪的 | |
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profligacy
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| n.放荡，不检点，肆意挥霍 | |
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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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darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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29
fascinations
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| n.魅力( fascination的名词复数 )；有魅力的东西；迷恋；陶醉 | |
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30
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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31
resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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32
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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34
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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36
wastefulness
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| 浪费，挥霍，耗费 | |
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37
winked
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| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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38
penitence
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| n.忏悔，赎罪；悔过 | |
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39
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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40
abstaining
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| 戒（尤指酒），戒除( abstain的现在分词 )； 弃权（不投票） | |
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41
falter
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| vi.(嗓音)颤抖，结巴地说；犹豫；蹒跚 | |
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42
stipend
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| n.薪贴；奖学金；养老金 | |
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43
cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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44
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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45
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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46
judicious
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| adj.明智的，明断的，能作出明智决定的 | |
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47
sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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48
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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49
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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50
villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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51
smiting
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的现在分词 ) | |
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52
disconsolate
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| adj.忧郁的，不快的 | |
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53
wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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54
implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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55
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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56
degradation
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| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
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57
fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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58
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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59
baboon
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| n.狒狒 | |
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60
caresses
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| 爱抚，抚摸( caress的名词复数 ) | |
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61
endearments
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| n.表示爱慕的话语，亲热的表示( endearment的名词复数 ) | |
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62
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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63
miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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64
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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65
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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66
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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panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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68
snarled
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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69
clenching
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的现在分词 ) | |
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demonstrations
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| 证明( demonstration的名词复数 )； 表明； 表达； 游行示威 | |
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71
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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72
ravaging
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| 毁坏( ravage的现在分词 )； 蹂躏； 劫掠； 抢劫 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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simile
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| n.直喻，明喻 | |
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soothingly
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| adv.抚慰地，安慰地；镇痛地 | |
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rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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78
thwarting
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| 阻挠( thwart的现在分词 )； 使受挫折； 挫败； 横过 | |
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79
abruptness
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| n. 突然，唐突 | |
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80
testily
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| adv. 易怒地, 暴躁地 | |
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81
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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82
irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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83
superseded
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| [医]被代替的，废弃的 | |
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84
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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85
exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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86
attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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88
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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89
bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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indenting
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| n.成穴的v.切割…使呈锯齿状( indent的现在分词 )；缩进排版 | |
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91
divers
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| adj.不同的；种种的 | |
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92
pokes
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| v.伸出( poke的第三人称单数 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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93
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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94
cuff
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| n.袖口；手铐；护腕；vt.用手铐铐；上袖口 | |
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95
proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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96
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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97
allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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98
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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99
bruise
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| n.青肿，挫伤；伤痕；vt.打青；挫伤 | |
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100
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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101
groans
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| n.呻吟，叹息( groan的名词复数 )；呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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102
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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103
stammer
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| n.结巴，口吃；v.结结巴巴地说 | |
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104
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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105
subscribe
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| vi.(to)订阅，订购；同意；vt.捐助，赞助 | |
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106
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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107
relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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108
turnip
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| n.萝卜，芜菁 | |
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109
guardians
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| 监护人( guardian的名词复数 )； 保护者，维护者 | |
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110
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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111
rummaging
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| 翻找，搜寻( rummage的现在分词 )； 海关检查 | |
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112
bestowing
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| 砖窑中砖堆上层已烧透的砖 | |
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113
eke
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| v.勉强度日，节约使用 | |
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114
dolt
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| n.傻瓜 | |
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115
tractable
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| adj.易驾驭的；温顺的 | |
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116
rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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117
arrears
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| n.到期未付之债，拖欠的款项；待做的工作 | |
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118
peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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119
swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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120
Augmented
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| adj.增音的 动词augment的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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121
atone
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| v.赎罪，补偿 | |
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122
spurned
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| v.一脚踢开，拒绝接受( spurn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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123
repulsive
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| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
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124
taint
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| n.污点；感染；腐坏；v.使感染；污染 | |
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125
retaliation
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| n.报复，反击 | |
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126
harping
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| n.反复述说 | |
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127
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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128
crafty
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| adj.狡猾的，诡诈的 | |
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129
recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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130
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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131
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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