Smike becomes known to Mrs Nickleby and Kate.
Nicholas also meets with new Acquaintances.
Brighter Days seem to dawn upon the Family.
Having established his mother and sister in theapartments of the kind-hearted miniature painter, andascertained that Sir Mulberry Hawk1 was in no danger oflosing his life, Nicholas turned his thoughts to poor Smike, who,after breakfasting with Newman Noggs, had remained, in adisconsolate state, at that worthy2 creature’s lodgings3, waiting, withmuch anxiety, for further intelligence of his protector.
‘As he will be one of our own little household, wherever we live,or whatever fortune is in reserve for us,’ thought Nicholas, ‘I mustpresent the poor fellow in due form. They will be kind to him forhis own sake, and if not (on that account solely) to the full extent Icould wish, they will stretch a point, I am sure, for mine.’
Nicholas said ‘they’, but his misgivings4 were confined to oneperson. He was sure of Kate, but he knew his mother’speculiarities, and was not quite so certain that Smike would findfavour in the eyes of Mrs Nickleby.
‘However,’ thought Nicholas as he departed on his benevolenterrand; ‘she cannot fail to become attached to him, when sheknows what a devoted5 creature he is, and as she must quicklymake the discovery, his probation6 will be a short one.’
‘I was afraid,’ said Smike, overjoyed to see his friend again,‘that you had fallen into some fresh trouble; the time seemed so long, at last, that I almost feared you were lost.’
‘Lost!’ replied Nicholas gaily7. ‘You will not be rid of me soeasily, I promise you. I shall rise to the surface many thousandtimes yet, and the harder the thrust that pushes me down, themore quickly I shall rebound8, Smike. But come; my errand here isto take you home.’
‘Home!’ faltered9 Smike, drawing timidly back.
‘Ay,’ rejoined Nicholas, taking his arm. ‘Why not?’
‘I had such hopes once,’ said Smike; ‘day and night, day andnight, for many years. I longed for home till I was weary, andpined away with grief, but now—’
‘And what now?’ asked Nicholas, looking kindly10 in his face.
‘What now, old friend?’
‘I could not part from you to go to any home on earth,’ repliedSmike, pressing his hand; ‘except one, except one. I shall never bean old man; and if your hand placed me in the grave, and I couldthink, before I died, that you would come and look upon itsometimes with one of your kind smiles, and in the summerweather, when everything was alive—not dead like me—I could goto that home almost without a tear.’
‘Why do you talk thus, poor boy, if your life is a happy one withme?’ said Nicholas.
‘Because I should change; not those about me. And if theyforgot me, I should never know it,’ replied Smike. ‘In thechurchyard we are all alike, but here there are none like me. I ama poor creature, but I know that.’
‘You are a foolish, silly creature,’ said Nicholas cheerfully. ‘Ifthat is what you mean, I grant you that. Why, here’s a dismal11 facefor ladies’ company!—my pretty sister too, whom you have so often asked me about. Is this your Yorkshire gallantry? Forshame! for shame!’
Smike brightened up and smiled.
‘When I talk of home,’ pursued Nicholas, ‘I talk of mine—whichis yours of course. If it were defined by any particular four wallsand a roof, God knows I should be sufficiently12 puzzled to saywhereabouts it lay; but that is not what I mean. When I speak ofhome, I speak of the place where—in default of a better—those Ilove are gathered together; and if that place were a gypsy’s tent, ora barn, I should call it by the same good name notwithstanding.
And now, for what is my present home, which, however alarmingyour expectations may be, will neither terrify you by its extent norits magnificence!’
So saying, Nicholas took his companion by the arm, and sayinga great deal more to the same purpose, and pointing out variousthings to amuse and interest him as they went along, led the wayto Miss La Creevy’s house.
‘And this, Kate,’ said Nicholas, entering the room where hissister sat alone, ‘is the faithful friend and affectionate fellow-traveller whom I prepared you to receive.’
Poor Smike was bashful, and awkward, and frightened enough,at first, but Kate advanced towards him so kindly, and said, insuch a sweet voice, how anxious she had been to see him after allher brother had told her, and how much she had to thank him forhaving comforted Nicholas so greatly in their very trying reverses,that he began to be very doubtful whether he should shed tears ornot, and became still more flurried. However, he managed to say,in a broken voice, that Nicholas was his only friend, and that hewould lay down his life to help him; and Kate, although she was so kind and considerate, seemed to be so wholly unconscious of hisdistress and embarrassment14, that he recovered almostimmediately and felt quite at home.
Then, Miss La Creevy came in; and to her Smike had to bepresented also. And Miss La Creevy was very kind too, andwonderfully talkative: not to Smike, for that would have made himuneasy at first, but to Nicholas and his sister. Then, after a time,she would speak to Smike himself now and then, asking himwhether he was a judge of likenesses, and whether he thought thatpicture in the corner was like herself, and whether he didn’t thinkit would have looked better if she had made herself ten yearsyounger, and whether he didn’t think, as a matter of generalobservation, that young ladies looked better not only in pictures,but out of them too, than old ones; with many more small jokesand facetious15 remarks, which were delivered with such good-humour and merriment, that Smike thought, within himself, shewas the nicest lady he had ever seen; even nicer than MrsGrudden, of Mr Vincent Crummles’s theatre; and she was a nicelady too, and talked, perhaps more, but certainly louder, than MissLa Creevy.
At length the door opened again, and a lady in mourning camein; and Nicholas kissing the lady in mourning affectionately, andcalling her his mother, led her towards the chair from whichSmike had risen when she entered the room.
‘You are always kind-hearted, and anxious to help theoppressed, my dear mother,’ said Nicholas, ‘so you will befavourably disposed towards him, I know.’
‘I am sure, my dear Nicholas,’ replied Mrs Nickleby, lookingvery hard at her new friend, and bending to him with something more of majesty16 than the occasion seemed to require: ‘I am sureany friend of yours has, as indeed he naturally ought to have, andmust have, of course, you know, a great claim upon me, and ofcourse, it is a very great pleasure to me to be introduced toanybody you take an interest in. There can he no doubt about that;none at all; not the least in the world,’ said Mrs Nickleby. ‘At thesame time I must say, Nicholas, my dear, as I used to say to yourpoor dear papa, when he would bring gentlemen home to dinner,and there was nothing in the house, that if he had come the daybefore yesterday—no, I don’t mean the day before yesterday now;I should have said, perhaps, the year before last—we should havebeen better able to entertain him.’
With which remarks, Mrs Nickleby turned to her daughter, andinquired, in an audible whisper, whether the gentleman was goingto stop all night.
‘Because, if he is, Kate, my dear,’ said Mrs Nickleby, ‘I don’t seethat it’s possible for him to sleep anywhere, and that’s the truth.’
Kate stepped gracefully17 forward, and without any show ofannoyance or irritation18, breathed a few words into her mother’sear.
‘La, Kate, my dear,’ said Mrs Nickleby, shrinking back, ‘howyou do tickle19 one! Of course, I understand that, my love, withoutyour telling me; and I said the same to Nicholas, and I am verymuch pleased. You didn’t tell me, Nicholas, my dear,’ added MrsNickleby, turning round with an air of less reserve than she hadbefore assumed, ‘what your friend’s name is.’
‘His name, mother,’ replied Nicholas, ‘is Smike.’
The effect of this communication was by no means anticipated;but the name was no sooner pronounced, than Mrs Nickleby dropped upon a chair, and burst into a fit of crying.
‘What is the matter?’ exclaimed Nicholas, running to supporther.
‘It’s so like Pyke,’ cried Mrs Nickleby; ‘so exactly like Pyke. Oh!
don’t speak to me—I shall be better presently.’
And after exhibiting every symptom of slow suffocation20 in all itsstages, and drinking about a tea-spoonful of water from a fulltumbler, and spilling the remainder, Mrs Nickleby was better, andremarked, with a feeble smile, that she was very foolish, she knew.
‘It’s a weakness in our family,’ said Mrs Nickleby, ‘so, of course,I can’t be blamed for it. Your grandmama, Kate, was exactly thesame—precisely. The least excitement, the slightest surprise—shefainted away directly. I have heard her say, often and often, thatwhen she was a young lady, and before she was married, she wasturning a corner into Oxford21 Street one day, when she ran againsther own hairdresser, who, it seems, was escaping from a bear;—the mere22 suddenness of the encounter made her faint awaydirectly. Wait, though,’ added Mrs Nickleby, pausing to consider.
‘Let me be sure I’m right. Was it her hairdresser who had escapedfrom a bear, or was it a bear who had escaped from herhairdresser’s? I declare I can’t remember just now, but thehairdresser was a very handsome man, I know, and quite agentleman in his manners; so that it has nothing to do with thepoint of the story.’
Mrs Nickleby having fallen imperceptibly into one of herretrospective moods, improved in temper from that moment, andglided, by an easy change of the conversation occasionally, intovarious other anecdotes23, no less remarkable24 for their strictapplication to the subject in hand.
‘Mr Smike is from Yorkshire, Nicholas, my dear?’ said MrsNickleby, after dinner, and when she had been silent for sometime.
‘Certainly, mother,’ replied Nicholas. ‘I see you have notforgotten his melancholy25 history.’
‘O dear no,’ cried Mrs Nickleby. ‘Ah! melancholy, indeed. Youdon’t happen, Mr Smike, ever to have dined with the Grimbles ofGrimble Hall, somewhere in the North Riding, do you?’ said thegood lady, addressing herself to him. ‘A very proud man, SirThomas Grimble, with six grown-up and most lovely daughters,and the finest park in the county.’
‘My dear mother,’ reasoned Nicholas, ‘do you suppose that theunfortunate outcast of a Yorkshire school was likely to receivemany cards of invitation from the nobility and gentry26 in theneighbourhood?’
‘Really, my dear, I don’t know why it should be so veryextraordinary,’ said Mrs Nickleby. ‘I know that when I was atschool, I always went at least twice every half-year to theHawkinses at Taunton Vale, and they are much richer than theGrimbles, and connected with them in marriage; so you see it’s notso very unlikely, after all.’
Having put down Nicholas in this triumphant27 manner, MrsNickleby was suddenly seized with a forgetfulness of Smike’s realname, and an irresistible28 tendency to call him Mr Slammons;which circumstance she attributed to the remarkable similarity ofthe two names in point of sound both beginning with an S, andmoreover being spelt with an M. But whatever doubt there mightbe on this point, there was none as to his being a most excellentlistener; which circumstance had considerable influence in placing them on the very best terms, and inducing Mrs Nickleby toexpress the highest opinion of his general deportment anddisposition.
Thus, the little circle remained, on the most amicable29 andagreeable footing, until the Monday morning, when Nicholaswithdrew himself from it for a short time, seriously to reflect uponthe state of his affairs, and to determine, if he could, upon somecourse of life, which would enable him to support those who wereso entirely30 dependent upon his exertions31.
Mr Crummles occurred to him more than once; but althoughKate was acquainted with the whole history of his connection withthat gentleman, his mother was not; and he foresaw a thousandfretful objections, on her part, to his seeking a livelihood32 upon thestage. There were graver reasons, too, against his returning to thatmode of life. Independently of those arising out of its spare andprecarious earnings33, and his own internal conviction that he couldnever hope to aspire34 to any great distinction, even as a provincialactor, how could he carry his sister from town to town, and placeto place, and debar her from any other associates than those withwhom he would be compelled, almost without distinction, tomingle? ‘It won’t do,’ said Nicholas, shaking his head; ‘I must trysomething else.’
It was much easier to make this resolution than to carry it intoeffect. With no greater experience of the world than he hadacquired for himself in his short trials; with a sufficient share ofheadlong rashness and precipitation (qualities not altogetherunnatural at his time of life); with a very slender stock of money,and a still more scanty35 stock of friends; what could he do? ‘Egad!’
said Nicholas, ‘I’ll try that Register Office again.’
He smiled at himself as he walked away with a quick step; for,an instant before, he had been internally blaming his ownprecipitation. He did not laugh himself out of the intention,however, for on he went: picturing to himself, as he approachedthe place, all kinds of splendid possibilities, and impossibilities too,for that matter, and thinking himself, perhaps with good reason,very fortunate to be endowed with so buoyant and sanguine36 atemperament.
The office looked just the same as when he had left it last, and,indeed, with one or two exceptions, there seemed to be the verysame placards in the window that he had seen before. There werethe same unimpeachable37 masters and mistresses in want ofvirtuous servants, and the same virtuous38 servants in want ofunimpeachable masters and mistresses, and the same magnificentestates for the investment of capital, and the same enormousquantities of capital to be invested in estates, and, in short, thesame opportunities of all sorts for people who wanted to maketheir fortunes. And a most extraordinary proof it was of thenational prosperity, that people had not been found to availthemselves of such advantages long ago.
As Nicholas stopped to look in at the window, an old gentlemanhappened to stop too; and Nicholas, carrying his eye along thewindow-panes from left to right in search of some capital-textplacard which should be applicable to his own case, caught sightof this old gentleman’s figure, and instinctively39 withdrew his eyesfrom the window, to observe the same more closely.
He was a sturdy old fellow in a broad-skirted blue coat, madepretty large, to fit easily, and with no particular waist; his bulkylegs clothed in drab breeches and high gaiters, and his head protected by a low-crowned broad-brimmed white hat, such as awealthy grazier might wear. He wore his coat buttoned; and hisdimpled double chin rested in the folds of a white neckerchief—not one of your stiff-starched apoplectic40 cravats41, but a good, easy,old-fashioned white neckcloth that a man might go to bed in andbe none the worse for. But what principally attracted the attentionof Nicholas was the old gentleman’s eye,—never was such a clear,twinkling, honest, merry, happy eye, as that. And there he stood,looking a little upward, with one hand thrust into the breast of hiscoat, and the other playing with his old-fashioned gold watch-chain: his head thrown a little on one side, and his hat a little moreon one side than his head, (but that was evidently accident; not hisordinary way of wearing it,) with such a pleasant smile playingabout his mouth, and such a comical expression of mingledslyness, simplicity42, kind-heartedness, and good-humour, lightingup his jolly old face, that Nicholas would have been content tohave stood there and looked at him until evening, and to haveforgotten, meanwhile, that there was such a thing as a souredmind or a crabbed43 countenance44 to be met with in the whole wideworld.
But, even a very remote approach to this gratification was notto be made, for although he seemed quite unconscious of havingbeen the subject of observation, he looked casually45 at Nicholas;and the latter, fearful of giving offence, resumed his scrutiny46 of thewindow instantly.
Still, the old gentleman stood there, glancing from placard toplacard, and Nicholas could not forbear raising his eyes to his faceagain. Grafted47 upon the quaintness48 and oddity of his appearance,was something so indescribably engaging, and bespeaking49 so much worth, and there were so many little lights hovering50 aboutthe corners of his mouth and eyes, that it was not a mereamusement, but a positive pleasure and delight to look at him.
This being the case, it is no wonder that the old man caughtNicholas in the fact, more than once. At such times, Nicholascoloured and looked embarrassed: for the truth is, that he hadbegun to wonder whether the stranger could, by any possibility, belooking for a clerk or secretary; and thinking this, he felt as if theold gentleman must know it.
Long as all this takes to tell, it was not more than a couple ofminutes in passing. As the stranger was moving away, Nicholascaught his eye again, and, in the awkwardness of the moment,stammered out an apology. ‘No offence. Oh no offence!’ said theold man.
This was said in such a hearty51 tone, and the voice was soexactly what it should have been from such a speaker, and therewas such a cordiality in the manner, that Nicholas wasemboldened to speak again.
‘A great many opportunities here, sir,’ he said, half smiling ashe motioned towards the window.
‘A great many people willing and anxious to be employed haveseriously thought so very often, I dare say,’ replied the old man.
‘Poor fellows, poor fellows!’
He moved away as he said this; but seeing that Nicholas wasabout to speak, good-naturedly slackened his pace, as if he wereunwilling to cut him short. After a little of that hesitation52 whichmay be sometimes observed between two people in the street whohave exchanged a nod, and are both uncertain whether they shallturn back and speak, or not, Nicholas found himself at the old man’s side.
‘You were about to speak, young gentleman; what were yougoing to say?’
‘Merely that I almost hoped—I mean to say, thought—you hadsome object in consulting those advertisements,’ said Nicholas.
‘Ay, ay? what object now—what object?’ returned the old man,looking slyly at Nicholas. ‘Did you think I wanted a situationnow—eh? Did you think I did?’
Nicholas shook his head.
‘Ha! ha!’ laughed the old gentleman, rubbing his hands andwrists as if he were washing them. ‘A very natural thought, at allevents, after seeing me gazing at those bills. I thought the same ofyou, at first; upon my word I did.’
‘If you had thought so at last, too, sir, you would not have beenfar from the truth,’ rejoined Nicholas.
‘Eh?’ cried the old man, surveying him from head to foot.
‘What! Dear me! No, no. Well-behaved young gentleman reducedto such a necessity! No no, no no.’
Nicholas bowed, and bidding him good-morning, turned uponhis heel.
‘Stay,’ said the old man, beckoning53 him into a bye street, wherethey could converse54 with less interruption. ‘What d’ye mean, eh?’
‘Merely that your kind face and manner—both so unlike any Ihave ever seen—tempted me into an avowal55, which, to any otherstranger in this wilderness56 of London, I should not have dreamt ofmaking,’ returned Nicholas.
‘Wilderness! Yes, it is, it is. Good! It is a wilderness,’ said the oldman with much animation57. ‘It was a wilderness to me once. I camehere barefoot. I have never forgotten it. Thank God!’ and he raised his hat from his head, and looked very grave.
‘What’s the matter? What is it? How did it all come about?’ saidthe old man, laying his hand on the shoulder of Nicholas, andwalking him up the street. ‘You’re—Eh?’ laying his finger on thesleeve of his black coat. ‘Who’s it for, eh?’
‘My father,’ replied Nicholas.
‘Ah!’ said the old gentleman quickly. ‘Bad thing for a youngman to lose his father. Widowed mother, perhaps?’
Nicholas sighed.
‘Brothers and sisters too? Eh?’
‘One sister,’ rejoined Nicholas.
‘Poor thing, poor thing! You are a scholar too, I dare say?’ saidthe old man, looking wistfully into the face of the young one.
‘I have been tolerably well educated,’ said Nicholas.
‘Fine thing,’ said the old gentleman, ‘education a great thing: avery great thing! I never had any. I admire it the more in others. Avery fine thing. Yes, yes. Tell me more of your history. Let me hearit all. No impertinent curiosity—no, no, no.’
There was something so earnest and guileless in the way inwhich all this was said, and such a complete disregard of allconventional restraints and coldnesses, that Nicholas could notresist it. Among men who have any sound and sterling58 qualities,there is nothing so contagious59 as pure openness of heart. Nicholastook the infection instantly, and ran over the main points of hislittle history without reserve: merely suppressing names, andtouching as lightly as possible upon his uncle’s treatment of Kate.
The old man listened with great attention, and when he hadconcluded, drew his arm eagerly through his own.
‘Don’t say another word. Not another word’ said he. ‘Come along with me. We mustn’t lose a minute.’
So saying, the old gentleman dragged him back into OxfordStreet, and hailing an omnibus on its way to the city, pushedNicholas in before him, and followed himself.
As he appeared in a most extraordinary condition of restlessexcitement, and whenever Nicholas offered to speak, immediatelyinterposed with: ‘Don’t say another word, my dear sir, on anyaccount—not another word,’ the young man thought it better toattempt no further interruption. Into the city they journeyedaccordingly, without interchanging any conversation; and thefarther they went, the more Nicholas wondered what the end ofthe adventure could possibly be.
The old gentleman got out, with great alacrity61, when theyreached the Bank, and once more taking Nicholas by the arm,hurried him along Threadneedle Street, and through some lanesand passages on the right, until they, at length, emerged in a quietshady little square. Into the oldest and cleanest-looking house ofbusiness in the square, he led the way. The only inscription62 on thedoor-post was ‘Cheeryble, Brothers;’ but from a hasty glance atthe directions of some packages which were lying about, Nicholassupposed that the brothers Cheeryble were German merchants.
Passing through a warehouse63 which presented every indicationof a thriving business, Mr Cheeryble (for such Nicholas supposedhim to be, from the respect which had been shown him by thewarehousemen and porters whom they passed) led him into a littlepartitioned-off counting-house like a large glass case, in whichcounting-house there sat—as free from dust and blemish64 as if hehad been fixed65 into the glass case before the top was put on, andhad never come out since—a fat, elderly, large-faced clerk, with silver spectacles and a powdered head.
‘Is my brother in his room, Tim?’ said Mr Cheeryble, with noless kindness of manner than he had shown to Nicholas.
‘Yes, he is, sir,’ replied the fat clerk, turning his spectacle-glasses towards his principal, and his eyes towards Nicholas, ‘butMr Trimmers is with him.’
‘Ay! And what has he come about, Tim?’ said Mr Cheeryble.
‘He is getting up a subscription66 for the widow and family of aman who was killed in the East India Docks this morning, sir,’
rejoined Tim. ‘Smashed, sir, by a cask of sugar.’
‘He is a good creature,’ said Mr Cheeryble, with greatearnestness. ‘He is a kind soul. I am very much obliged toTrimmers. Trimmers is one of the best friends we have. He makesa thousand cases known to us that we should never discover ofourselves. I am very much obliged to Trimmers.’ Saying which, MrCheeryble rubbed his hands with infinite delight, and MrTrimmers happening to pass the door that instant, on his way out,shot out after him and caught him by the hand.
‘I owe you a thousand thanks, Trimmers, ten thousand thanks. Itake it very friendly of you, very friendly indeed,’ said MrCheeryble, dragging him into a corner to get out of hearing. ‘Howmany children are there, and what has my brother Ned given,Trimmers?’
‘There are six children,’ replied the gentleman, ‘and yourbrother has given us twenty pounds.’
‘My brother Ned is a good fellow, and you’re a good fellow too,Trimmers,’ said the old man, shaking him by both hands withtrembling eagerness. ‘Put me down for another twenty—or—stopa minute, stop a minute. We mustn’t look ostentatious; put me down ten pound, and Tim Linkinwater ten pound. A cheque fortwenty pound for Mr Trimmers, Tim. God bless you, Trimmers—and come and dine with us some day this week; you’ll always finda knife and fork, and we shall be delighted. Now, my dear sir—cheque from Mr Linkinwater, Tim. Smashed by a cask of sugar,and six poor children—oh dear, dear, dear!’
Talking on in this strain, as fast as he could, to prevent anyfriendly remonstrances67 from the collector of the subscription onthe large amount of his donation, Mr Cheeryble led Nicholas,equally astonished and affected68 by what he had seen and heard inthis short space, to the half-opened door of another room.
‘Brother Ned,’ said Mr Cheeryble, tapping with his knuckles,and stooping to listen, ‘are you busy, my dear brother, or can youspare time for a word or two with me?’
‘Brother Charles, my dear fellow,’ replied a voice from theinside, so like in its tones to that which had just spoken, thatNicholas started, and almost thought it was the same, ‘don’t askme such a question, but come in directly.’
They went in, without further parley70. What was the amazementof Nicholas when his conductor advanced, and exchanged a warmgreeting with another old gentleman, the very type and model ofhimself—the same face, the same figure, the same coat, waistcoat,and neckcloth, the same breeches and gaiters—nay, there was thevery same white hat hanging against the wall!
As they shook each other by the hand: the face of each lightedup by beaming looks of affection, which would have been mostdelightful to behold71 in infants, and which, in men so old, wasinexpressibly touching60: Nicholas could observe that the last oldgentleman was something stouter72 than his brother; this, and a slight additional shade of clumsiness in his gait and stature,formed the only perceptible difference between them. Nobodycould have doubted their being twin brothers.
‘Brother Ned,’ said Nicholas’s friend, closing the room-door,‘here is a young friend of mine whom we must assist. We mustmake proper inquiries73 into his statements, in justice to him as wellas to ourselves, and if they are confirmed—as I feel assured theywill be—we must assist him, we must assist him, brother Ned.’
‘It is enough, my dear brother, that you say we should,’
returned the other. ‘When you say that, no further inquiries areneeded. He shall be assisted. What are his necessities, and whatdoes he require? Where is Tim Linkinwater? Let us have himhere.’
Both the brothers, it may be here remarked, had a veryemphatic and earnest delivery; both had lost nearly the sameteeth, which imparted the same peculiarity74 to their speech; andboth spoke69 as if, besides possessing the utmost serenity75 of mindthat the kindliest and most unsuspecting nature could bestow,they had, in collecting the plums from Fortune’s choicest pudding,retained a few for present use, and kept them in their mouths.
‘Where is Tim Linkinwater?’ said brother Ned.
‘Stop, stop, stop!’ said brother Charles, taking the other aside.
‘I’ve a plan, my dear brother, I’ve a plan. Tim is getting old, andTim has been a faithful servant, brother Ned; and I don’t thinkpensioning Tim’s mother and sister, and buying a little tomb forthe family when his poor brother died, was a sufficientrecompense for his faithful services.’
‘No, no, no,’ replied the other. ‘Certainly not. Not half enough,not half.’
‘If we could lighten Tim’s duties,’ said the old gentleman, ‘andprevail upon him to go into the country, now and then, and sleepin the fresh air, besides, two or three times a week (which hecould, if he began business an hour later in the morning), old TimLinkinwater would grow young again in time; and he’s three goodyears our senior now. Old Tim Linkinwater young again! Eh,brother Ned, eh? Why, I recollect77 old Tim Linkinwater quite alittle boy, don’t you? Ha, ha, ha! Poor Tim, poor Tim!’
And the fine old fellows laughed pleasantly together: each witha tear of regard for old Tim Linkinwater standing13 in his eye.
‘But hear this first—hear this first, brother Ned,’ said the oldman, hastily, placing two chairs, one on each side of Nicholas: ‘I’lltell it you myself, brother Ned, because the young gentleman ismodest, and is a scholar, Ned, and I shouldn’t feel it right that heshould tell us his story over and over again as if he was a beggar,or as if we doubted him. No, no no.’
‘No, no, no,’ returned the other, nodding his head gravely. ‘Veryright, my dear brother, very right.’
‘He will tell me I’m wrong, if I make a mistake,’ said Nicholas’sfriend. ‘But whether I do or not, you’ll be very much affected,brother Ned, remembering the time when we were two friendlesslads, and earned our first shilling in this great city.’
The twins pressed each other’s hands in silence; and in his ownhomely manner, brother Charles related the particulars he hadheard from Nicholas. The conversation which ensued was a longone, and when it was over, a secret conference of almost equalduration took place between brother Ned and Tim Linkinwater inanother room. It is no disparagement78 to Nicholas to say, thatbefore he had been closeted with the two brothers ten minutes, he could only wave his hand at every fresh expression of kindnessand sympathy, and sob79 like a little child.
At length brother Ned and Tim Linkinwater came backtogether, when Tim instantly walked up to Nicholas andwhispered in his ear in a very brief sentence (for Tim wasordinarily a man of few words), that he had taken down theaddress in the Strand80, and would call upon him that evening, ateight. Having done which, Tim wiped his spectacles and put themon, preparatory to hearing what more the brothers Cheeryble hadgot to say.
‘Tim,’ said brother Charles, ‘you understand that we have anintention of taking this young gentleman into the counting-house?’
Brother Ned remarked that Tim was aware of that intention,and quite approved of it; and Tim having nodded, and said he did,drew himself up and looked particularly fat, and very important.
After which, there was a profound silence.
‘I’m not coming an hour later in the morning, you know,’ saidTim, breaking out all at once, and looking very resolute81. ‘I’m notgoing to sleep in the fresh air; no, nor I’m not going into thecountry either. A pretty thing at this time of day, certainly. Pho!’
‘Damn your obstinacy82, Tim Linkinwater,’ said brother Charles,looking at him without the faintest spark of anger, and with acountenance radiant with attachment83 to the old clerk. ‘Damn yourobstinacy, Tim Linkinwater, what do you mean, sir?’
‘It’s forty-four year,’ said Tim, making a calculation in the airwith his pen, and drawing an imaginary line before he cast it up,‘forty-four year, next May, since I first kept the books ofCheeryble, Brothers. I’ve opened the safe every morning all thattime (Sundays excepted) as the clock struck nine, and gone over the house every night at half-past ten (except on Foreign Postnights, and then twenty minutes before twelve) to see the doorsfastened, and the fires out. I’ve never slept out of the back-atticone single night. There’s the same mignonette box in the middle ofthe window, and the same four flower-pots, two on each side, thatI brought with me when I first came. There an’t—I’ve said it againand again, and I’ll maintain it—there an’t such a square as this inthe world. I know there an’t,’ said Tim, with sudden energy, andlooking sternly about him. ‘Not one. For business or pleasure, insummer-time or winter—I don’t care which—there’s nothing likeit. There’s not such a spring in England as the pump under thearchway. There’s not such a view in England as the view out of mywindow; I’ve seen it every morning before I shaved, and I ought toknow something about it. I have slept in that room,’ added Tim,sinking his voice a little, ‘for four-and-forty year; and if it wasn’tinconvenient, and didn’t interfere84 with business, I should requestleave to die there.’
‘Damn you, Tim Linkinwater, how dare you talk about dying?’
roared the twins by one impulse, and blowing their old nosesviolently.
‘That’s what I’ve got to say, Mr Edwin and Mr Charles,’ saidTim, squaring his shoulders again. ‘This isn’t the first time you’vetalked about superannuating me; but, if you please, we’ll make itthe last, and drop the subject for evermore.’
With these words, Tim Linkinwater stalked out, and shuthimself up in his glass case, with the air of a man who had had hissay, and was thoroughly85 resolved not to be put down.
The brothers interchanged looks, and coughed some half-dozentimes without speaking.
‘He must be done something with, brother Ned,’ said the other,warmly; ‘we must disregard his old scruples86; they can’t betolerated, or borne. He must be made a partner, brother Ned; andif he won’t submit to it peaceably, we must have recourse toviolence.’
‘Quite right,’ replied brother Ned, nodding his head as a manthoroughly determined87; ‘quite right, my dear brother. If he won’tlisten to reason, we must do it against his will, and show him thatwe are determined to exert our authority. We must quarrel withhim, brother Charles.’
‘We must. We certainly must have a quarrel with TimLinkinwater,’ said the other. ‘But in the meantime, my dearbrother, we are keeping our young friend; and the poor lady andher daughter will be anxious for his return. So let us say goodbyefor the present, and—there, there—take care of that box, my dearsir—and—no, no, not a word now; but be careful of the crossingsand—’
And with any disjointed and unconnected words which wouldprevent Nicholas from pouring forth76 his thanks, the brothershurried him out: shaking hands with him all the way, and affectingvery unsuccessfully—they were poor hands at deception88!—to bewholly unconscious of the feelings that completely mastered him.
Nicholas’s heart was too full to allow of his turning into thestreet until he had recovered some composure. When he at lastglided out of the dark doorway89 corner in which he had beencompelled to halt, he caught a glimpse of the twins stealthilypeeping in at one corner of the glass case, evidently undecidedwhether they should follow up their late attack without delay, orfor the present postpone90 laying further siege to the inflexible91 Tim Linkinwater.
To recount all the delight and wonder which the circumstancesjust detailed92 awakened93 at Miss La Creevy’s, and all the things thatwere done, said, thought, expected, hoped, and prophesied94 inconsequence, is beside the present course and purpose of theseadventures. It is sufficient to state, in brief, that Mr TimothyLinkinwater arrived, punctual to his appointment; that, oddity ashe was, and jealous, as he was bound to be, of the proper exerciseof his employers’ most comprehensive liberality, he reportedstrongly and warmly in favour of Nicholas; and that, next day, hewas appointed to the vacant stool in the counting-house ofCheeryble, Brothers, with a present salary of one hundred andtwenty pounds a year.
‘And I think, my dear brother,’ said Nicholas’s first friend, ‘thatif we were to let them that little cottage at Bow which is empty, atsomething under the usual rent, now? Eh, brother Ned?’
‘For nothing at all,’ said brother Ned. ‘We are rich, and shouldbe ashamed to touch the rent under such circumstances as these.
Where is Tim Linkinwater?—for nothing at all, my dear brother,for nothing at all.’
‘Perhaps it would be better to say something, brother Ned,’
suggested the other, mildly; ‘it would help to preserve habits offrugality, you know, and remove any painful sense ofoverwhelming obligations. We might say fifteen pound, or twentypound, and if it was punctually paid, make it up to them in someother way. And I might secretly advance a small loan towards alittle furniture, and you might secretly advance another small loan,brother Ned; and if we find them doing well—as we shall; there’sno fear, no fear—we can change the loans into gifts. Carefully, brother Ned, and by degrees, and without pressing upon them toomuch; what do you say now, brother?’
Brother Ned gave his hand upon it, and not only said it shouldbe done, but had it done too; and, in one short week, Nicholas tookpossession of the stool, and Mrs Nickleby and Kate tookpossession of the house, and all was hope, bustle96, and lightheartedness.
There surely never was such a week of discoveries andsurprises as the first week of that cottage. Every night whenNicholas came home, something new had been found out. One dayit was a grapevine, and another day it was a boiler97, and anotherday it was the key of the front-parlour closet at the bottom of thewater-butt, and so on through a hundred items. Then, this roomwas embellished98 with a muslin curtain, and that room wasrendered quite elegant by a window-blind, and suchimprovements were made, as no one would have supposedpossible. Then there was Miss La Creevy, who had come out in theomnibus to stop a day or two and help, and who was perpetuallylosing a very small brown-paper parcel of tin tacks99 and a verylarge hammer, and running about with her sleeves tucked up atthe wrists, and falling off pairs of steps and hurting herself verymuch—and Mrs Nickleby, who talked incessantly100, and didsomething now and then, but not often—and Kate, who busiedherself noiselessly everywhere, and was pleased with everything—and Smike, who made the garden a perfect wonder to look upon—and Nicholas, who helped and encouraged them every one—allthe peace and cheerfulness of home restored, with such new zestimparted to every frugal95 pleasure, and such delight to every hourof meeting, as misfortune and separation alone could give!
In short, the poor Nicklebys were social and happy; while therich Nickleby was alone and miserable101.
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hawk
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| n.鹰，骗子；鹰派成员 | |
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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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lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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misgivings
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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probation
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| n.缓刑(期)，(以观后效的)察看；试用(期) | |
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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rebound
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| v.弹回；n.弹回，跳回 | |
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faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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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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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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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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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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facetious
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| adj.轻浮的，好开玩笑的 | |
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majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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tickle
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| v.搔痒，胳肢；使高兴；发痒；n.搔痒，发痒 | |
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suffocation
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| n.窒息 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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anecdotes
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| n.掌故，趣闻，轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
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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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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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gentry
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| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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amicable
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| adj.和平的，友好的；友善的 | |
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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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exertions
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| n.努力( exertion的名词复数 )；费力；（能力、权力等的）运用；行使 | |
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livelihood
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| n.生计，谋生之道 | |
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earnings
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| n.工资收人；利润，利益，所得 | |
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aspire
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| vi.(to，after)渴望，追求，有志于 | |
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scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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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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unimpeachable
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| adj.无可指责的；adv.无可怀疑地 | |
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virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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apoplectic
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| adj.中风的；愤怒的；n.中风患者 | |
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cravats
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| n.（系在衬衫衣领里面的）男式围巾( cravat的名词复数 ) | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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crabbed
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| adj.脾气坏的；易怒的；（指字迹）难辨认的；（字迹等）难辨认的v.捕蟹( crab的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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grafted
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| 移植( graft的过去式和过去分词 )； 嫁接； 使（思想、制度等）成为（…的一部份）； 植根 | |
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quaintness
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| n.离奇有趣，古怪的事物 | |
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bespeaking
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| v.预定( bespeak的现在分词 )；订（货）；证明；预先请求 | |
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hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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beckoning
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| adj.引诱人的，令人心动的v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
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converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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avowal
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| n.公开宣称，坦白承认 | |
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56
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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sterling
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| adj.英币的(纯粹的，货真价实的)；n.英国货币(英镑) | |
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contagious
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| adj.传染性的，有感染力的 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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warehouse
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| n.仓库；vt.存入仓库 | |
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blemish
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| v.损害；玷污；瑕疵，缺点 | |
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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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subscription
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| n.预订，预订费，亲笔签名，调配法，下标（处方） | |
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remonstrances
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| n.抱怨，抗议( remonstrance的名词复数 ) | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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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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parley
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| n.谈判 | |
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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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stouter
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| 粗壮的( stout的比较级 )； 结实的； 坚固的； 坚定的 | |
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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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peculiarity
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| n.独特性，特色；特殊的东西；怪癖 | |
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serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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disparagement
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| n.轻视，轻蔑 | |
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sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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obstinacy
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| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
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attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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scruples
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| n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 )；顾虑，顾忌v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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deception
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| n.欺骗，欺诈；骗局，诡计 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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postpone
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| v.延期，推迟 | |
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inflexible
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| adj.不可改变的，不受影响的，不屈服的 | |
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detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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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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prophesied
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| v.预告，预言( prophesy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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frugal
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| adj.节俭的，节约的，少量的，微量的 | |
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bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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boiler
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| n.锅炉；煮器(壶，锅等) | |
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98
embellished
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| v.美化( embellish的过去式和过去分词 )；装饰；修饰；润色 | |
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99
tacks
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| 大头钉( tack的名词复数 )； 平头钉； 航向； 方法 | |
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100
incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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101
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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