Chapter 37

Nicholas finds further Favour in the Eyes of thebrothers Cheeryble and Mr Timothy Linkinwater.

　　The brothers give a Banquet on a great AnnualOccasion. Nicholas, on returning Home from it,receives a mysterious and important Disclosurefrom the Lips of Mrs Nickleby.

　　The square in which the counting-house of the brothersCheeryble was situated, although it might not whollyrealise the very sanguine expectations which a strangerwould be disposed to form on hearing the fervent encomiumsbestowed upon it by Tim Linkinwater, was, nevertheless, asufficiently desirable nook in the heart of a busy town like London,and one which occupied a high place in the affectionateremembrances of several grave persons domiciled in theneighbourhood, whose recollections, however, dated from a muchmore recent period, and whose attachment to the spot was far lessabsorbing, than were the recollections and attachment of theenthusiastic Tim.

　　And let not those whose eyes have been accustomed to thearistocratic gravity of Grosvenor Square and Hanover Square, thedowager barrenness and frigidity of Fitzroy Square, or the gravelwalks and garden seats of the Squares of Russell and Euston,suppose that the affections of Tim Linkinwater, or the inferiorlovers of this particular locality, had been awakened and kept alive by any refreshing associations with leaves, however dingy, orgrass, however bare and thin. The city square has no enclosure,save the lamp-post in the middle: and no grass, but the weedswhich spring up round its base. It is a quiet, little-frequented,retired spot, favourable to melancholy and contemplation, andappointments of long-waiting; and up and down its every side theAppointed saunters idly by the hour together wakening the echoeswith the monotonous sound of his footsteps on the smooth wornstones, and counting, first the windows, and then the very bricksof the tall silent houses that hem him round about. In winter-time,the snow will linger there, long after it has melted from the busystreets and highways. The summer’s sun holds it in some respect,and while he darts his cheerful rays sparingly into the square,keeps his fiery heat and glare for noisier and less-imposingprecincts. It is so quiet, that you can almost hear the ticking ofyour own watch when you stop to cool in its refreshingatmosphere. There is a distant hum—of coaches, not of insects—but no other sound disturbs the stillness of the square. The ticketporter leans idly against the post at the corner: comfortably warm,but not hot, although the day is broiling. His white apron flapslanguidly in the air, his head gradually droops upon his breast, hetakes very long winks with both eyes at once; even he is unable towithstand the soporific influence of the place, and is graduallyfalling asleep. But now, he starts into full wakefulness, recoils astep or two, and gazes out before him with eager wildness in hiseye. Is it a job, or a boy at marbles? Does he see a ghost, or hear anorgan? No; sight more unwonted still—there is a butterfly in thesquare—a real, live butterfly! astray from flowers and sweets, andfluttering among the iron heads of the dusty area railings.

　　 But if there were not many matters immediately without thedoors of Cheeryble Brothers, to engage the attention or distractthe thoughts of the young clerk, there were not a few within, tointerest and amuse him. There was scarcely an object in the place,animate or inanimate, which did not partake in some degree of thescrupulous method and punctuality of Mr Timothy Linkinwater.

　　Punctual as the counting-house dial, which he maintained to bethe best time-keeper in London next after the clock of some old,hidden, unknown church hard by, (for Tim held the fabledgoodness of that at the Horse Guards to be a pleasant fiction,invented by jealous West-enders,) the old clerk performed theminutest actions of the day, and arranged the minutest articles inthe little room, in a precise and regular order, which could nothave been exceeded if it had actually been a real glass case, fittedwith the choicest curiosities. Paper, pens, ink, ruler, sealing-wax,wafers, pounce-box, string-box, fire-box, Tim’s hat, Tim’sscrupulously-folded gloves, Tim’s other coat—looking preciselylike a back view of himself as it hung against the wall—all hadtheir accustomed inches of space. Except the clock, there was notsuch an accurate and unimpeachable instrument in existence asthe little thermometer which hung behind the door. There was nota bird of such methodical and business-like habits in all the world,as the blind blackbird, who dreamed and dozed away his days in alarge snug cage, and had lost his voice, from old age, years beforeTim first bought him. There was not such an eventful story in thewhole range of anecdote, as Tim could tell concerning theacquisition of that very bird; how, compassionating his starvedand suffering condition, he had purchased him, with the view ofhumanely terminating his wretched life; how he determined to wait three days and see whether the bird revived; how, before halfthe time was out, the bird did revive; and how he went on revivingand picking up his appetite and good looks until he graduallybecame what—‘what you see him now, sir,’—Tim would say,glancing proudly at the cage. And with that, Tim would utter amelodious chirrup, and cry ‘Dick;’ and Dick, who, for any sign oflife he had previously given, might have been a wooden or stuffedrepresentation of a blackbird indifferently executed, would cometo the side of the cage in three small jumps, and, thrusting his billbetween the bars, turn his sightless head towards his old master—and at that moment it would be very difficult to determine whichof the two was the happier, the bird or Tim Linkinwater.

　　Nor was this all. Everything gave back, besides, some reflectionof the kindly spirit of the brothers. The warehousemen andporters were such sturdy, jolly fellows, that it was a treat to seethem. Among the shipping announcements and steam-packet list’swhich decorated the counting-house wall, were designs foralmshouses, statements of charities, and plans for new hospitals. Ablunderbuss and two swords hung above the chimney-piece, forthe terror of evil-doers, but the blunderbuss was rusty andshattered, and the swords were broken and edgeless. Elsewhere,their open display in such a condition would have realised a smile;but, there, it seemed as though even violent and offensive weaponspartook of the reigning influence, and became emblems of mercyand forbearance.

　　Such thoughts as these occurred to Nicholas very strongly, onthe morning when he first took possession of the vacant stool, andlooked about him, more freely and at ease, than he had beforeenjoyed an opportunity of doing. Perhaps they encouraged and stimulated him to exertion, for, during the next two weeks, all hisspare hours, late at night and early in the morning, wereincessantly devoted to acquiring the mysteries of book-keepingand some other forms of mercantile account. To these, he appliedhimself with such steadiness and perseverance that, although hebrought no greater amount of previous knowledge to the subjectthan certain dim recollections of two or three very long sumsentered into a ciphering-book at school, and relieved for parentalinspection by the effigy of a fat swan tastefully flourished by thewriting-master’s own hand, he found himself, at the end of afortnight, in a condition to report his proficiency to MrLinkinwater, and to claim his promise that he, Nicholas Nickleby,should now be allowed to assist him in his graver labours.

　　It was a sight to behold Tim Linkinwater slowly bring out amassive ledger and day-book, and, after turning them over andover, and affectionately dusting their backs and sides, open theleaves here and there, and cast his eyes, half mournfully, halfproudly, upon the fair and unblotted entries.

　　‘Four-and-forty year, next May!’ said Tim. ‘Many new ledgerssince then. Four-and-forty year!’

　　Tim closed the book again.

　　‘Come, come,’ said Nicholas, ‘I am all impatience to begin.’

　　Tim Linkinwater shook his head with an air of mild reproof. MrNickleby was not sufficiently impressed with the deep and awfulnature of his undertaking. Suppose there should be any mistake—any scratching out!

　　Young men are adventurous. It is extraordinary what they willrush upon, sometimes. Without even taking the precaution ofsitting himself down upon his stool, but standing leisurely at the desk, and with a smile upon his face—actually a smile—there wasno mistake about it; Mr Linkinwater often mentioned itafterwards—Nicholas dipped his pen into the inkstand before him,and plunged into the books of Cheeryble Brothers!

　　Tim Linkinwater turned pale, and tilting up his stool on the twolegs nearest Nicholas, looked over his shoulder in breathlessanxiety. Brother Charles and brother Ned entered the countinghouse together; but Tim Linkinwater, without looking round,impatiently waved his hand as a caution that profound silencemust be observed, and followed the nib of the inexperienced penwith strained and eager eyes.

　　The brothers looked on with smiling faces, but TimLinkinwater smiled not, nor moved for some minutes. At length,he drew a long slow breath, and still maintaining his position onthe tilted stool, glanced at brother Charles, secretly pointed withthe feather of his pen towards Nicholas, and nodded his head in agrave and resolute manner, plainly signifying ‘He’ll do.’

　　Brother Charles nodded again, and exchanged a laughing lookwith brother Ned; but, just then, Nicholas stopped to refer to someother page, and Tim Linkinwater, unable to contain hissatisfaction any longer, descended from his stool, and caught himrapturously by the hand.

　　‘He has done it!’ said Tim, looking round at his employers andshaking his head triumphantly. ‘His capital B’s and D’s are exactlylike mine; he dots all his small i’s and crosses every t as he writesit. There an’t such a young man as this in all London,’ said Tim,clapping Nicholas on the back; ‘not one. Don’t tell me! The citycan’t produce his equal. I challenge the city to do it!’

　　With this casting down of his gauntlet, Tim Linkinwater struck the desk such a blow with his clenched fist, that the old blackbirdtumbled off his perch with the start it gave him, and actuallyuttered a feeble croak, in the extremity of his astonishment.

　　‘Well said, Tim—well said, Tim Linkinwater!’ cried brotherCharles, scarcely less pleased than Tim himself, and clapping hishands gently as he spoke. ‘I knew our young friend would takegreat pains, and I was quite certain he would succeed, in no time.

　　Didn’t I say so, brother Ned?’

　　‘You did, my dear brother; certainly, my dear brother, you saidso, and you were quite right,’ replied Ned. ‘Quite right. TimLinkinwater is excited, but he is justly excited, properly excited.

　　Tim is a fine fellow. Tim Linkinwater, sir—you’re a fine fellow.’

　　‘Here’s a pleasant thing to think of!’ said Tim, wholly regardlessof this address to himself, and raising his spectacles from theledger to the brothers. ‘Here’s a pleasant thing. Do you suppose Ihaven’t often thought of what would become of these books when Iwas gone? Do you suppose I haven’t often thought that thingsmight go on irregular and untidy here, after I was taken away?

　　But now,’ said Tim, extending his forefinger towards Nicholas,‘now, when I’ve shown him a little more, I’m satisfied. Thebusiness will go on, when I’m dead, as well as it did when I wasalive—just the same—and I shall have the satisfaction of knowingthat there never were such books—never were such books! No,nor never will be such books—as the books of CheerybleBrothers.’

　　Having thus expressed his sentiments, Mr Linkinwater gavevent to a short laugh, indicative of defiance to the cities of Londonand Westminster, and, turning again to his desk, quietly carriedseventy-six from the last column he had added up, and went on with his work.

　　‘Tim Linkinwater, sir,’ said brother Charles; ‘give me yourhand, sir. This is your birthday. How dare you talk about anythingelse till you have been wished many happy returns of the day, TimLinkinwater? God bless you, Tim! God bless you!’

　　‘My dear brother,’ said the other, seizing Tim’s disengaged fist,‘Tim Linkinwater looks ten years younger than he did on his lastbirthday.’

　　‘Brother Ned, my dear boy,’ returned the other old fellow, ‘Ibelieve that Tim Linkinwater was born a hundred and fifty yearsold, and is gradually coming down to five-and-twenty; for he’syounger every birthday than he was the year before.’

　　‘So he is, brother Charles, so he is,’ replied brother Ned.

　　‘There’s not a doubt about it.’

　　‘Remember, Tim,’ said brother Charles, ‘that we dine at half-past five today instead of two o’clock; we always depart from ourusual custom on this anniversary, as you very well know, TimLinkinwater. Mr Nickleby, my dear sir, you will make one. TimLinkinwater, give me your snuff-box as a remembrance to brotherCharles and myself of an attached and faithful rascal, and takethat, in exchange, as a feeble mark of our respect and esteem, anddon’t open it until you go to bed, and never say another word uponthe subject, or I’ll kill the blackbird. A dog! He should have had agolden cage half-a-dozen years ago, if it would have made him orhis master a bit the happier. Now, brother Ned, my dear fellow,I’m ready. At half-past five, remember, Mr Nickleby! TimLinkinwater, sir, take care of Mr Nickleby at half-past five. Now,brother Ned.’

　　Chattering away thus, according to custom, to prevent the possibility of any thanks or acknowledgment being expressed onthe other side, the twins trotted off, arm-in-arm; having endowedTim Linkinwater with a costly gold snuff-box, enclosing a banknote worth more than its value ten times told.

　　At a quarter past five o’clock, punctual to the minute, arrived,according to annual usage, Tim Linkinwater’s sister; and a greatto-do there was, between Tim Linkinwater’s sister and the oldhousekeeper, respecting Tim Linkinwater’s sister’s cap, which hadbeen dispatched, per boy, from the house of the family where TimLinkinwater’s sister boarded, and had not yet come to hand:

　　notwithstanding that it had been packed up in a bandbox, and thebandbox in a handkerchief, and the handkerchief tied on to theboy’s arm; and notwithstanding, too, that the place of itsconsignment had been duly set forth, at full length, on the back ofan old letter, and the boy enjoined, under pain of divers horriblepenalties, the full extent of which the eye of man could not foresee,to deliver the same with all possible speed, and not to loiter by theway. Tim Linkinwater’s sister lamented; the housekeepercondoled; and both kept thrusting their heads out of the second-floor window to see if the boy was ‘coming’—which would havebeen highly satisfactory, and, upon the whole, tantamount to hisbeing come, as the distance to the corner was not quite fiveyards—when, all of a sudden, and when he was least expected, themessenger, carrying the bandbox with elaborate caution,appeared in an exactly opposite direction, puffing and panting forbreath, and flushed with recent exercise; as well he might be; forhe had taken the air, in the first instance, behind a hackney coachthat went to Camberwell, and had followed two Punchesafterwards and had seen the Stilts home to their own door. The cap was all safe, however—that was one comfort—and it was nouse scolding him—that was another; so the boy went upon his wayrejoicing, and Tim Linkinwater’s sister presented herself to thecompany below-stairs, just five minutes after the half-hour hadstruck by Tim Linkinwater’s own infallible clock.

　　The company consisted of the brothers Cheeryble, TimLinkinwater, a ruddy-faced white-headed friend of Tim’s (who wasa superannuated bank clerk), and Nicholas, who was presented toTim Linkinwater’s sister with much gravity and solemnity. Theparty being now completed, brother Ned rang for dinner, and,dinner being shortly afterwards announced, led TimLinkinwater’s sister into the next room, where it was set forth withgreat preparation. Then, brother Ned took the head of the table,and brother Charles the foot; and Tim Linkinwater’s sister sat onthe left hand of brother Ned, and Tim Linkinwater himself on hisright: and an ancient butler of apoplectic appearance, and withvery short legs, took up his position at the back of brother Ned’sarmchair, and, waving his right arm preparatory to taking off thecovers with a flourish, stood bolt upright and motionless.

　　‘For these and all other blessings, brother Charles,’ said Ned.

　　‘Lord, make us truly thankful, brother Ned,’ said Charles.

　　Whereupon the apoplectic butler whisked off the top of thesoup tureen, and shot, all at once, into a state of violent activity.

　　There was abundance of conversation, and little fear of its everflagging, for the good-humour of the glorious old twins dreweverybody out, and Tim Linkinwater’s sister went off into a longand circumstantial account of Tim Linkinwater’s infancy,immediately after the very first glass of champagne—taking careto premise that she was very much Tim’s junior, and had only become acquainted with the facts from their being preserved andhanded down in the family. This history concluded, brother Nedrelated how that, exactly thirty-five years ago, Tim Linkinwaterwas suspected to have received a love-letter, and how that vagueinformation had been brought to the counting-house of his havingbeen seen walking down Cheapside with an uncommonlyhandsome spinster; at which there was a roar of laughter, and TimLinkinwater being charged with blushing, and called upon toexplain, denied that the accusation was true; and further, thatthere would have been any harm in it if it had been; which lastposition occasioned the superannuated bank clerk to laughtremendously, and to declare that it was the very best thing he hadever heard in his life, and that Tim Linkinwater might say a greatmany things before he said anything which would beat that.

　　There was one little ceremony peculiar to the day, both thematter and manner of which made a very strong impression uponNicholas. The cloth having been removed and the decanters sentround for the first time, a profound silence succeeded, and in thecheerful faces of the brothers there appeared an expression, not ofabsolute melancholy, but of quiet thoughtfulness very unusual at afestive table. As Nicholas, struck by this sudden alteration, waswondering what it could portend, the brothers rose together, andthe one at the top of the table leaning forward towards the other,and speaking in a low voice as if he were addressing himindividually, said:

　　‘Brother Charles, my dear fellow, there is another associationconnected with this day which must never be forgotten, and nevercan be forgotten, by you and me. This day, which brought into theworld a most faithful and excellent and exemplary fellow, took from it the kindest and very best of parents, the very best ofparents to us both. I wish that she could have seen us in ourprosperity, and shared it, and had the happiness of knowing howdearly we loved her in it, as we did when we were two poor boys;but that was not to be. My dear brother—The Memory of ourMother.’

　　‘Good Lord!’ thought Nicholas, ‘and there are scores of peopleof their own station, knowing all this, and twenty thousand timesmore, who wouldn’t ask these men to dinner because they eat withtheir knives and never went to school!’

　　But there was no time to moralise, for the joviality againbecame very brisk, and the decanter of port being nearly out,brother Ned pulled the bell, which was instantly answered by theapoplectic butler.

　　‘David,’ said brother Ned.

　　‘Sir,’ replied the butler.

　　‘A magnum of the double-diamond, David, to drink the healthof Mr Linkinwater.’

　　Instantly, by a feat of dexterity, which was the admiration of allthe company, and had been, annually, for some years past, theapoplectic butler, bringing his left hand from behind the small ofhis back, produced the bottle with the corkscrew already inserted;uncorked it at a jerk; and placed the magnum and the cork beforehis master with the dignity of conscious cleverness.

　　‘Ha!’ said brother Ned, first examining the cork and afterwardsfilling his glass, while the old butler looked complacently andamiably on, as if it were all his own property, but the companywere quite welcome to make free with it, ‘this looks well, David.’

　　‘It ought to, sir,’ replied David. ‘You’d be troubled to find such a glass of wine as is our double-diamond, and that Mr Linkinwaterknows very well. That was laid down when Mr Linkinwater firstcome: that wine was, gentlemen.’

　　‘Nay, David, nay,’ interposed brother Charles.

　　‘I wrote the entry in the cellar-book myself, sir, if you please,’

　　said David, in the tone of a man, quite confident in the strength ofhis facts. ‘Mr Linkinwater had only been here twenty year, sir,when that pipe of double-diamond was laid down.’

　　‘David is quite right, quite right, brother Charles,” said Ned:

　　‘are the people here, David?’

　　‘Outside the door, sir,’ replied the butler.

　　‘Show ’em in, David, show ’em in.’

　　At this bidding, the older butler placed before his master asmall tray of clean glasses, and opening the door admitted the jollyporters and warehousemen whom Nicholas had seen below. Theywere four in all, and as they came in, bowing, and grinning, andblushing, the housekeeper, and cook, and housemaid, brought upthe rear.

　　‘Seven,’ said brother Ned, filling a corresponding number ofglasses with the double-diamond, ‘and David, eight. There! Now,you’re all of you to drink the health of your best friend Mr TimothyLinkinwater, and wish him health and long life and many happyreturns of this day, both for his own sake and that of your oldmasters, who consider him an inestimable treasure. TimLinkinwater, sir, your health. Devil take you, Tim Linkinwater, sir,God bless you.’

　　With this singular contradiction of terms, brother Ned gave TimLinkinwater a slap on the back, which made him look, for themoment, almost as apoplectic as the butler: and tossed off the contents of his glass in a twinkling.

　　The toast was scarcely drunk with all honour to TimLinkinwater, when the sturdiest and jolliest subordinate elbowedhimself a little in advance of his fellows, and exhibiting a very hotand flushed countenance, pulled a single lock of grey hair in themiddle of his forehead as a respectful salute to the company, anddelivered himself as follows—rubbing the palms of his hands veryhard on a blue cotton handkerchief as he did so:

　　‘We’re allowed to take a liberty once a year, gen’lemen, and ifyou please we’ll take it now; there being no time like the present,and no two birds in the hand worth one in the bush, as is wellknown—leastways in a contrairy sense, which the meaning is thesame. (A pause—the butler unconvinced.) What we mean to say is,that there never was (looking at the butler)—such—(looking at thecook) noble—excellent—(looking everywhere and seeing nobody)free, generous-spirited masters as them as has treated us sohandsome this day. And here’s thanking of ’em for all theirgoodness as is so constancy a diffusing of itself over everywhere,and wishing they may live long and die happy!’

　　When the foregoing speech was over—and it might have beenmuch more elegant and much less to the purpose—the whole bodyof subordinates under command of the apoplectic butler gavethree soft cheers; which, to that gentleman’s great indignation,were not very regular, inasmuch as the women persisted in givingan immense number of little shrill hurrahs among themselves, inutter disregard of the time. This done, they withdrew; shortlyafterwards, Tim Linkinwater’s sister withdrew; in reasonable timeafter that, the sitting was broken up for tea and coffee, and around game of cards. At half-past ten—late hours for the square— there appeared a little tray of sandwiches and a bowl of bishop,which bishop coming on the top of the double-diamond, and otherexcitements, had such an effect upon Tim Linkinwater, that hedrew Nicholas aside, and gave him to understand, confidentially,that it was quite true about the uncommonly handsome spinster,and that she was to the full as good-looking as she had beendescribed—more so, indeed—but that she was in too much of ahurry to change her condition, and consequently, while Tim wascourting her and thinking of changing his, got married tosomebody else. ‘After all, I dare say it was my fault,’ said Tim. ‘I’llshow you a print I have got upstairs, one of these days. It cost mefive-and-twenty shillings. I bought it soon after we were cool toeach other. Don’t mention it, but it’s the most extraordinaryaccidental likeness you ever saw—her very portrait, sir!’

　　By this time it was past eleven o’clock; and Tim Linkinwater’ssister declaring that she ought to have been at home a full hourago, a coach was procured, into which she was handed with greatceremony by brother Ned, while brother Charles imparted thefullest directions to the coachman, and besides paying the man ashilling over and above his fare, in order that he might take theutmost care of the lady, all but choked him with a glass of spirits ofuncommon strength, and then nearly knocked all the breath out ofhis body in his energetic endeavours to knock it in again.

　　At length the coach rumbled off, and Tim Linkinwater’s sisterbeing now fairly on her way home, Nicholas and TimLinkinwater’s friend took their leaves together, and left old Timand the worthy brothers to their repose.

　　As Nicholas had some distance to walk, it was considerably pastmidnight by the time he reached home, where he found his mother and Smike sitting up to receive him. It was long after theirusual hour of retiring, and they had expected him, at the verylatest, two hours ago; but the time had not hung heavily on theirhands, for Mrs Nickleby had entertained Smike with agenealogical account of her family by the mother’s side,comprising biographical sketches of the principal members, andSmike had sat wondering what it was all about, and whether itwas learnt from a book, or said out of Mrs Nickleby’s own head; sothat they got on together very pleasantly.

　　Nicholas could not go to bed without expatiating on theexcellences and munificence of the brothers Cheeryble, andrelating the great success which had attended his efforts that day.

　　But before he had said a dozen words, Mrs Nickleby, with manysly winks and nods, observed, that she was sure Mr Smike must bequite tired out, and that she positively must insist on his not sittingup a minute longer.

　　‘A most biddable creature he is, to be sure,’ said Mrs Nickleby,when Smike had wished them good-night and left the room. ‘Iknow you’ll excuse me, Nicholas, my dear, but I don’t like to dothis before a third person; indeed, before a young man it wouldnot be quite proper, though really, after all, I don’t know whatharm there is in it, except that to be sure it’s not a very becomingthing, though some people say it is very much so, and really I don’tknow why it should not be, if it’s well got up, and the borders aresmall-plaited; of course, a good deal depends upon that.’

　　With which preface, Mrs Nickleby took her nightcap frombetween the leaves of a very large prayer-book where it had beenfolded up small, and proceeded to tie it on: talking away in herusual discursive manner, all the time.

　　 ‘People may say what they like,’ observed Mrs Nickleby, ‘butthere’s a great deal of comfort in a nightcap, as I’m sure you wouldconfess, Nicholas my dear, if you would only have strings to yours,and wear it like a Christian, instead of sticking it upon the very topof your head like a blue-coat boy. You needn’t think it an unmanlyor quizzical thing to be particular about your nightcap, for I haveoften heard your poor dear papa, and the Reverend Mr What’shis-name, who used to read prayers in that old church with thecurious little steeple that the weathercock was blown off the nightweek before you were born,—I have often heard them say, that theyoung men at college are uncommonly particular about theirnightcaps, and that the Oxford nightcaps are quite celebrated fortheir strength and goodness; so much so, indeed, that the youngmen never dream of going to bed without ’em, and I believe it’sadmitted on all hands that they know what’s good, and don’tcoddle themselves.’

　　Nicholas laughed, and entering no further into the subject ofthis lengthened harangue, reverted to the pleasant tone of thelittle birthday party. And as Mrs Nickleby instantly became verycurious respecting it, and made a great number of inquiriestouching what they had had for dinner, and how it was put ontable, and whether it was overdone or underdone, and who wasthere, and what ‘the Mr Cherrybles’ said, and what Nicholas said,and what the Mr Cherrybles said when he said that; Nicholasdescribed the festivities at full length, and also the occurrences ofthe morning.

　　‘Late as it is,’ said Nicholas, ‘I am almost selfish enough to wishthat Kate had been up to hear all this. I was all impatience, as Icame along, to tell her.’

　　 ‘Why, Kate,’ said Mrs Nickleby, putting her feet upon thefender, and drawing her chair close to it, as if settling herself for along talk. ‘Kate has been in bed—oh! a couple of hours—and I’mvery glad, Nicholas my dear, that I prevailed upon her not to situp, for I wished very much to have an opportunity of saying a fewwords to you. I am naturally anxious about it, and of course it’s avery delightful and consoling thing to have a grown-up son thatone can put confidence in, and advise with; indeed I don’t knowany use there would be in having sons at all, unless people couldput confidence in them.’

　　Nicholas stopped in the middle of a sleepy yawn, as his motherbegan to speak: and looked at her with fixed attention.

　　‘There was a lady in our neighbourhood,’ said Mrs Nickleby,‘speaking of sons puts me in mind of it—a lady in ourneighbourhood when we lived near Dawlish, I think her name wasRogers; indeed I am sure it was if it wasn’t Murphy, which is theonly doubt I have—’

　　‘Is it about her, mother, that you wished to speak to me?’ saidNicholas quietly.

　　‘About her!’ cried Mrs Nickleby. ‘Good gracious, Nicholas, mydear, how can you be so ridiculous! But that was always the waywith your poor dear papa,—just his way—always wandering,never able to fix his thoughts on any one subject for two minutestogether. I think I see him now!’ said Mrs Nickleby, wiping hereyes, ‘looking at me while I was talking to him about his affairs,just as if his ideas were in a state of perfect conglomeration!

　　Anybody who had come in upon us suddenly, would havesupposed I was confusing and distracting him instead of makingthings plainer; upon my word they would.’

　　 ‘I am very sorry, mother, that I should inherit this unfortunateslowness of apprehension,’ said Nicholas, kindly; ‘but I’ll do mybest to understand you, if you’ll only go straight on: indeed I will.’

　　‘Your poor pa!’ said Mrs Nickleby, pondering. ‘He never knew,till it was too late, what I would have had him do!’

　　This was undoubtedly the case, inasmuch as the deceased MrNickleby had not arrived at the knowledge. Then he died. Neitherhad Mrs Nickleby herself; which is, in some sort, an explanation ofthe circumstance.

　　‘However,’ said Mrs Nickleby, drying her tears, ‘this hasnothing to do—certainly nothing whatever to do—with thegentleman in the next house.’

　　‘I should suppose that the gentleman in the next house has aslittle to do with us,’ returned Nicholas.

　　‘There can be no doubt,’ said Mrs Nickleby, ‘that he IS agentleman, and has the manners of a gentleman, and theappearance of a gentleman, although he does wear smalls andgrey worsted stockings. That may be eccentricity, or he may beproud of his legs. I don’t see why he shouldn’t be. The PrinceRegent was proud of his legs, and so was Daniel Lambert, whowas also a fat man; HE was proud of his legs. So was Miss Biffin:

　　she was—no,’ added Mrs Nickleby, correcting, herself, ‘I think shehad only toes, but the principle is the same.’

　　Nicholas looked on, quite amazed at the introduction of thisnew theme. Which seemed just what Mrs Nickleby had expectedhim to be.

　　‘You may well be surprised, Nicholas, my dear,’ she said, ‘I amsure I was. It came upon me like a flash of fire, and almost frozemy blood. The bottom of his garden joins the bottom of ours, and of course I had several times seen him sitting among the scarlet-beans in his little arbour, or working at his little hot-beds. I used tothink he stared rather, but I didn’t take any particular notice ofthat, as we were newcomers, and he might be curious to see whatwe were like. But when he began to throw his cucumbers over ourwall—’

　　‘To throw his cucumbers over our wall!’ repeated Nicholas, ingreat astonishment.

　　‘Yes, Nicholas, my dear,’ replied Mrs Nickleby in a very serioustone; ‘his cucumbers over our wall. And vegetable marrowslikewise.’

　　‘Confound his impudence!’ said Nicholas, firing immediately.

　　‘What does he mean by that?’

　　‘I don’t think he means it impertinently at all,’ replied MrsNickleby.

　　‘What!’ said Nicholas, ‘cucumbers and vegetable marrows flyingat the heads of the family as they walk in their own garden, andnot meant impertinently! Why, mother—’

　　Nicholas stopped short; for there was an indescribableexpression of placid triumph, mingled with a modest confusion,lingering between the borders of Mrs Nickleby’s nightcap, whicharrested his attention suddenly.

　　‘He must be a very weak, and foolish, and inconsiderate man,’

　　said Mrs Nickleby; ‘blamable indeed—at least I suppose otherpeople would consider him so; of course I can’t be expected toexpress any opinion on that point, especially after alwaysdefending your poor dear papa when other people blamed him formaking proposals to me; and to be sure there can be no doubt thathe has taken a very singular way of showing it. Still at the same time, his attentions are—that is, as far as it goes, and to a certainextent of course—a flattering sort of thing; and although I shouldnever dream of marrying again with a dear girl like Kate stillunsettled in life—’

　　‘Surely, mother, such an idea never entered your brain for aninstant?’ said Nicholas.

　　‘Bless my heart, Nicholas my dear,’ returned his mother in apeevish tone, ‘isn’t that precisely what I am saying, if you wouldonly let me speak? Of course, I never gave it a second thought, andI am surprised and astonished that you should suppose mecapable of such a thing. All I say is, what step is the best to take, soas to reject these advances civilly and delicately, and withouthurting his feelings too much, and driving him to despair, oranything of that kind? My goodness me!’ exclaimed Mrs Nickleby,with a half-simper, ‘suppose he was to go doing anything rash tohimself. Could I ever be happy again, Nicholas?’

　　Despite his vexation and concern, Nicholas could scarcely helpsmiling, as he rejoined, ‘Now, do you think, mother, that such aresult would be likely to ensue from the most cruel repulse?’

　　‘Upon my word, my dear, I don’t know,” returned MrsNickleby; ‘really, I don’t know. I am sure there was a case in theday before yesterday’s paper, extracted from one of the Frenchnewspapers, about a journeyman shoemaker who was jealous of ayoung girl in an adjoining village, because she wouldn’t shutherself up in an air-tight three-pair-of-stairs, and charcoal herselfto death with him; and who went and hid himself in a wood with asharp-pointed knife, and rushed out, as she was passing by with afew friends, and killed himself first, and then all the friends, andthen her—no, killed all the friends first, and then herself, and then himself—which it is quite frightful to think of. Somehow or other,’

　　added Mrs Nickleby, after a momentary pause, ‘they always arejourneyman shoemakers who do these things in France, accordingto the papers. I don’t know how it is—something in the leather, Isuppose.’

　　‘But this man, who is not a shoemaker—what has he done,mother, what has he said?’ inquired Nicholas, fretted almostbeyond endurance, but looking nearly as resigned and patient asMrs Nickleby herself. ‘You know, there is no language ofvegetables, which converts a cucumber into a formal declarationof attachment.’

　　‘My dear,’ replied Mrs Nickleby, tossing her head and looking atthe ashes in the grate, ‘he has done and said all sorts of things.’

　　‘Is there no mistake on your part?’ asked Nicholas.

　　‘Mistake!’ cried Mrs Nickleby. ‘Lord, Nicholas my dear, do yousuppose I don’t know when a man’s in earnest?’

　　‘Well, well!’ muttered Nicholas.

　　‘Every time I go to the window,’ said Mrs Nickleby, ‘he kissesone hand, and lays the other upon his heart—of course it’s veryfoolish of him to do so, and I dare say you’ll say it’s very wrong,but he does it very respectfully—very respectfully indeed—andvery tenderly, extremely tenderly. So far, he deserves the greatestcredit; there can be no doubt about that. Then, there are thepresents which come pouring over the wall every day, and veryfine they certainly are, very fine; we had one of the cucumbers atdinner yesterday, and think of pickling the rest for next winter.

　　And last evening,’ added Mrs Nickleby, with increased confusion,‘he called gently over the wall, as I was walking in the garden, andproposed marriage, and an elopement. His voice is as clear as a bell or a musical glass—very like a musical glass indeed—but ofcourse I didn’t listen to it. Then, the question is, Nicholas my dear,what am I to do?’

　　‘Does Kate know of this?’ asked Nicholas.

　　‘I have not said a word about it yet,’ answered his mother.

　　‘Then, for Heaven’s sake,’ rejoined Nicholas, rising, ‘do not, forit would make her very unhappy. And with regard to what youshould do, my dear mother, do what your good sense and feeling,and respect for my father’s memory, would prompt. There are athousand ways in which you can show your dislike of thesepreposterous and doting attentions. If you act as decidedly as youought and they are still continued, and to your annoyance, I canspeedily put a stop to them. But I should not interfere in a matterso ridiculous, and attach importance to it, until you havevindicated yourself. Most women can do that, but especially one ofyour age and condition, in circumstances like these, which areunworthy of a serious thought. I would not shame you by seemingto take them to heart, or treat them earnestly for an instant.

　　Absurd old idiot!’

　　So saying, Nicholas kissed his mother, and bade her good-night,and they retired to their respective chambers.

　　To do Mrs Nickleby justice, her attachment to her childrenwould have prevented her seriously contemplating a secondmarriage, even if she could have so far conquered herrecollections of her late husband as to have any strong inclinationsthat way. But, although there was no evil and little real selfishnessin Mrs Nickleby’s heart, she had a weak head and a vain one; andthere was something so flattering in being sought (and vainlysought) in marriage at this time of day, that she could not dismiss the passion of the unknown gentleman quite so summarily orlightly as Nicholas appeared to deem becoming.

　　‘As to its being preposterous, and doting, and ridiculous,’

　　thought Mrs Nickleby, communing with herself in her own room,‘I don’t see that, at all. It’s hopeless on his part, certainly; but whyhe should be an absurd old idiot, I confess I don’t see. He is not tobe supposed to know it’s hopeless. Poor fellow! He is to be pitied, Ithink!’

　　Having made these reflections, Mrs Nickleby looked in her littledressing-glass, and walking backward a few steps from it, tried toremember who it was who used to say that when Nicholas wasone-and-twenty he would have more the appearance of herbrother than her son. Not being able to call the authority to mind,she extinguished her candle, and drew up the window-blind toadmit the light of morning, which had, by this time, begun todawn.

　　‘It’s a bad light to distinguish objects in,’ murmured MrsNickleby, peering into the garden, ‘and my eyes are not verygood—I was short-sighted from a child—but, upon my word, Ithink there’s another large vegetable marrow sticking, at thismoment, on the broken glass bottles at the top of the wall!’