Chapter 9

by Charles Dickens

　　Of Miss Squeers, Mrs Squeers, Master Squeers, and Mr Squeers; and ofvarious Matters and Persons connected no less with the Squeersesthan Nicholas NicklebyWhen Mr Squeers left the schoolroom for the night, he betookhimself, as has been before remarked, to his own fireside, which wassituated--not in the room in which Nicholas had supped on the nightof his arrival, but in a smaller apartment in the rear of thepremises, where his lady wife, his amiable son, and accomplisheddaughter, were in the full enjoyment of each other's society; MrsSqueers being engaged in the matronly pursuit of stocking-darning;and the young lady and gentleman being occupied in the adjustment ofsome youthful differences, by means of a pugilistic contest acrossthe table, which, on the approach of their honoured parent, subsidedinto a noiseless exchange of kicks beneath it.And, in this place, it may be as well to apprise the reader, thatMiss Fanny Squeers was in her three-and-twentieth year. If there beany one grace or loveliness inseparable from that particular periodof life, Miss Squeers may be presumed to have been possessed of it,as there is no reason to suppose that she was a solitary exceptionto an universal rule. She was not tall like her mother, but shortlike her father; from the former she inherited a voice of harshquality; from the latter a remarkable expression of the right eye,something akin to having none at all.Miss Squeers had been spending a few days with a neighbouringfriend, and had only just returned to the parental roof. To thiscircumstance may be referred, her having heard nothing of Nicholas,until Mr Squeers himself now made him the subject of conversation.'Well, my dear,' said Squeers, drawing up his chair, 'what do youthink of him by this time?''Think of who?' inquired Mrs Squeers; who (as she often remarked)was no grammarian, thank Heaven.'Of the young man--the new teacher--who else could I mean?''Oh! that Knuckleboy,' said Mrs Squeers impatiently. 'I hate him.''What do you hate him for, my dear?' asked Squeers.'What's that to you?' retorted Mrs Squeers. 'If I hate him, that'senough, ain't it?''Quite enough for him, my dear, and a great deal too much I daresay, if he knew it,' replied Squeers in a pacific tone. 'I only askfrom curiosity, my dear.''Well, then, if you want to know,' rejoined Mrs Squeers, 'I'll tellyou. Because he's a proud, haughty, consequential, turned-up-nosedpeacock.'Mrs Squeers, when excited, was accustomed to use strong language,and, moreover, to make use of a plurality of epithets, some of whichwere of a figurative kind, as the word peacock, and furthermore theallusion to Nicholas's nose, which was not intended to be taken inits literal sense, but rather to bear a latitude of constructionaccording to the fancy of the hearers.Neither were they meant to bear reference to each other, so much asto the object on whom they were bestowed, as will be seen in thepresent case: a peacock with a turned-up nose being a novelty inornithology, and a thing not commonly seen.'Hem!' said Squeers, as if in mild deprecation of this outbreak.'He is cheap, my dear; the young man is very cheap.''Not a bit of it,' retorted Mrs Squeers.'Five pound a year,' said Squeers.'What of that; it's dear if you don't want him, isn't it?' repliedhis wife.'But we do want him,' urged Squeers.'I don't see that you want him any more than the dead,' said MrsSqueers. 'Don't tell me. You can put on the cards and in theadvertisements, "Education by Mr Wackford Squeers and ableassistants," without having any assistants, can't you? Isn't itdone every day by all the masters about? I've no patience withyou.''Haven't you!' said Squeers, sternly. 'Now I'll tell you what, MrsSqueers. In this matter of having a teacher, I'll take my own way,if you please. A slave driver in the West Indies is allowed a manunder him, to see that his blacks don't run away, or get up arebellion; and I'll have a man under me to do the same with ourblacks, till such time as little Wackford is able to take charge ofthe school.''Am I to take care of the school when I grow up a man, father?' saidWackford junior, suspending, in the excess of his delight, a viciouskick which he was administering to his sister.'You are, my son,' replied Mr Squeers, in a sentimental voice.'Oh my eye, won't I give it to the boys!' exclaimed the interestingchild, grasping his father's cane. 'Oh, father, won't I make 'emsqueak again!'It was a proud moment in Mr Squeers's life, when he witnessed thatburst of enthusiasm in his young child's mind, and saw in it aforeshadowing of his future eminence. He pressed a penny into hishand, and gave vent to his feelings (as did his exemplary wifealso), in a shout of approving laughter. The infantine appeal totheir common sympathies, at once restored cheerfulness to theconversation, and harmony to the company.'He's a nasty stuck-up monkey, that's what I consider him,' said MrsSqueers, reverting to Nicholas.'Supposing he is,' said Squeers, 'he is as well stuck up in ourschoolroom as anywhere else, isn't he?--especially as he don't likeit.''Well,' observed Mrs Squeers, 'there's something in that. I hopeit'll bring his pride down, and it shall be no fault of mine if itdon't.'Now, a proud usher in a Yorkshire school was such a veryextraordinary and unaccountable thing to hear of,--any usher at allbeing a novelty; but a proud one, a being of whose existence thewildest imagination could never have dreamed--that Miss Squeers, whoseldom troubled herself with scholastic matters, inquired with muchcuriosity who this Knuckleboy was, that gave himself such airs.'Nickleby,' said Squeers, spelling the name according to someeccentric system which prevailed in his own mind; 'your motheralways calls things and people by their wrong names.''No matter for that,' said Mrs Squeers; 'I see them with right eyes,and that's quite enough for me. I watched him when you were layingon to little Bolder this afternoon. He looked as black as thunder,all the while, and, one time, started up as if he had more than gotit in his mind to make a rush at you. I saw him, though he thoughtI didn't.''Never mind that, father,' said Miss Squeers, as the head of thefamily was about to reply. 'Who is the man?''Why, your father has got some nonsense in his head that he's theson of a poor gentleman that died the other day,' said Mrs Squeers.'The son of a gentleman!''Yes; but I don't believe a word of it. If he's a gentleman's sonat all, he's a fondling, that's my opinion.''Mrs Squeers intended to say 'foundling,' but, as she frequentlyremarked when she made any such mistake, it would be all the same ahundred years hence; with which axiom of philosophy, indeed, she wasin the constant habit of consoling the boys when they laboured undermore than ordinary ill-usage.'He's nothing of the kind,' said Squeers, in answer to the aboveremark, 'for his father was married to his mother years before hewas born, and she is alive now. If he was, it would be no businessof ours, for we make a very good friend by having him here; and ifhe likes to learn the boys anything besides minding them, I have noobjection I am sure.''I say again, I hate him worse than poison,' said Mrs Squeersvehemently.'If you dislike him, my dear,' returned Squeers, 'I don't knowanybody who can show dislike better than you, and of course there'sno occasion, with him, to take the trouble to hide it.''I don't intend to, I assure you,' interposed Mrs S.'That's right,' said Squeers; 'and if he has a touch of pride abouthim, as I think he has, I don't believe there's woman in all Englandthat can bring anybody's spirit down, as quick as you can, my love.'Mrs Squeers chuckled vastly on the receipt of these flatteringcompliments, and said, she hoped she had tamed a high spirit or twoin her day. It is but due to her character to say, that inconjunction with her estimable husband, she had broken many and manya one.Miss Fanny Squeers carefully treasured up this, and much moreconversation on the same subject, until she retired for the night,when she questioned the hungry servant, minutely, regarding theoutward appearance and demeanour of Nicholas; to which queries thegirl returned such enthusiastic replies, coupled with so manylaudatory remarks touching his beautiful dark eyes, and his sweetsmile, and his straight legs--upon which last-named articles shelaid particular stress; the general run of legs at Dotheboys Hallbeing crooked--that Miss Squeers was not long in arriving at theconclusion that the new usher must be a very remarkable person, or,as she herself significantly phrased it, 'something quite out of thecommon.' And so Miss Squeers made up her mind that she would take apersonal observation of Nicholas the very next day.In pursuance of this design, the young lady watched the opportunityof her mother being engaged, and her father absent, and wentaccidentally into the schoolroom to get a pen mended: where, seeingnobody but Nicholas presiding over the boys, she blushed verydeeply, and exhibited great confusion.'I beg your pardon,' faltered Miss Squeers; 'I thought my fatherwas--or might be--dear me, how very awkward!''Mr Squeers is out,' said Nicholas, by no means overcome by theapparition, unexpected though it was.'Do you know will he be long, sir?' asked Miss Squeers, with bashfulhesitation.'He said about an hour,' replied Nicholas--politely of course, butwithout any indication of being stricken to the heart by MissSqueers's charms.'I never knew anything happen so cross,' exclaimed the young lady.'Thank you! I am very sorry I intruded, I am sure. If I hadn'tthought my father was here, I wouldn't upon any account have--it isvery provoking--must look so very strange,' murmured Miss Squeers,blushing once more, and glancing, from the pen in her hand, toNicholas at his desk, and back again.'If that is all you want,' said Nicholas, pointing to the pen, andsmiling, in spite of himself, at the affected embarrassment of theschoolmaster's daughter, 'perhaps I can supply his place.'Miss Squeers glanced at the door, as if dubious of the propriety ofadvancing any nearer to an utter stranger; then round theschoolroom, as though in some measure reassured by the presence offorty boys; and finally sidled up to Nicholas and delivered the peninto his hand, with a most winning mixture of reserve andcondescension.'Shall it be a hard or a soft nib?' inquired Nicholas, smiling toprevent himself from laughing outright.'He has a beautiful smile,' thought Miss Squeers.'Which did you say?' asked Nicholas.'Dear me, I was thinking of something else for the moment, Ideclare,' replied Miss Squeers. 'Oh! as soft as possible, if youplease.' With which words, Miss Squeers sighed. It might be, togive Nicholas to understand that her heart was soft, and that thepen was wanted to match.Upon these instructions Nicholas made the pen; when he gave it toMiss Squeers, Miss Squeers dropped it; and when he stooped to pickit up, Miss Squeers stopped also, and they knocked their headstogether; whereat five-and-twenty little boys laughed aloud: beingpositively for the first and only time that half-year.'Very awkward of me,' said Nicholas, opening the door for the younglady's retreat.'Not at all, sir,' replied Miss Squeers; 'it was my fault. It wasall my foolish--a--a--good-morning!''Goodbye,' said Nicholas. 'The next I make for you, I hope will bemade less clumsily. Take care! You are biting the nib off now.''Really,' said Miss Squeers; 'so embarrassing that I scarcely knowwhat I--very sorry to give you so much trouble.''Not the least trouble in the world,' replied Nicholas, closing theschoolroom door.'I never saw such legs in the whole course of my life!' said MissSqueers, as she walked away.In fact, Miss Squeers was in love with Nicholas Nickleby.To account for the rapidity with which this young lady had conceiveda passion for Nicholas, it may be necessary to state, that thefriend from whom she had so recently returned, was a miller'sdaughter of only eighteen, who had contracted herself unto the sonof a small corn-factor, resident in the nearest market town. MissSqueers and the miller's daughter, being fast friends, hadcovenanted together some two years before, according to a customprevalent among young ladies, that whoever was first engaged to bemarried, should straightway confide the mighty secret to the bosomof the other, before communicating it to any living soul, andbespeak her as bridesmaid without loss of time; in fulfilment ofwhich pledge the miller's daughter, when her engagement was formed,came out express, at eleven o'clock at night as the corn-factor's sonmade an offer of his hand and heart at twenty-five minutes past tenby the Dutch clock in the kitchen, and rushed into Miss Squeers'sbedroom with the gratifying intelligence. Now, Miss Squeers beingfive years older, and out of her teens (which is also a greatmatter), had, since, been more than commonly anxious to return thecompliment, and possess her friend with a similar secret; but,either in consequence of finding it hard to please herself, orharder still to please anybody else, had never had an opportunity soto do, inasmuch as she had no such secret to disclose. The littleinterview with Nicholas had no sooner passed, as above described,however, than Miss Squeers, putting on her bonnet, made her way,with great precipitation, to her friend's house, and, upon a solemnrenewal of divers old vows of secrecy, revealed how that she was--not exactly engaged, but going to be--to a gentleman's son--(none ofyour corn-factors, but a gentleman's son of high descent)--who hadcome down as teacher to Dotheboys Hall, under most mysterious andremarkable circumstances--indeed, as Miss Squeers more than oncehinted she had good reason to believe, induced, by the fame of hermany charms, to seek her out, and woo and win her.'Isn't it an extraordinary thing?' said Miss Squeers, emphasisingthe adjective strongly.'Most extraordinary,' replied the friend. 'But what has he said toyou?''Don't ask me what he said, my dear,' rejoined Miss Squeers. 'Ifyou had only seen his looks and smiles! I never was so overcome inall my life.''Did he look in this way?' inquired the miller's daughter,counterfeiting, as nearly as she could, a favourite leer of thecorn-factor.'Very like that--only more genteel,' replied Miss Squeers.'Ah!' said the friend, 'then he means something, depend on it.'Miss Squeers, having slight misgivings on the subject, was by nomeans ill pleased to be confirmed by a competent authority; anddiscovering, on further conversation and comparison of notes, agreat many points of resemblance between the behaviour of Nicholas,and that of the corn-factor, grew so exceedingly confidential, thatshe intrusted her friend with a vast number of things Nicholas hadnot said, which were all so very complimentary as to be quiteconclusive. Then, she dilated on the fearful hardship of having afather and mother strenuously opposed to her intended husband; onwhich unhappy circumstance she dwelt at great length; for thefriend's father and mother were quite agreeable to her beingmarried, and the whole courtship was in consequence as flat andcommon-place an affair as it was possible to imagine.'How I should like to see him!' exclaimed the friend.'So you shall, 'Tilda,' replied Miss Squeers. 'I should considermyself one of the most ungrateful creatures alive, if I denied you.I think mother's going away for two days to fetch some boys; andwhen she does, I'll ask you and John up to tea, and have him to meetyou.'This was a charming idea, and having fully discussed it, the friendsparted.It so fell out, that Mrs Squeers's journey, to some distance, tofetch three new boys, and dun the relations of two old ones for thebalance of a small account, was fixed that very afternoon, for thenext day but one; and on the next day but one, Mrs Squeers got upoutside the coach, as it stopped to change at Greta Bridge, takingwith her a small bundle containing something in a bottle, and somesandwiches, and carrying besides a large white top-coat to wear inthe night-time; with which baggage she went her way.Whenever such opportunities as these occurred, it was Squeers'scustom to drive over to the market town, every evening, on pretenceof urgent business, and stop till ten or eleven o'clock at a tavernhe much affected. As the party was not in his way, therefore, butrather afforded a means of compromise with Miss Squeers, he readilyyielded his full assent thereunto, and willingly communicated toNicholas that he was expected to take his tea in the parlour thatevening, at five o'clock.To be sure Miss Squeers was in a desperate flutter as the timeapproached, and to be sure she was dressed out to the bestadvantage: with her hair--it had more than a tinge of red, and shewore it in a crop--curled in five distinct rows, up to the very topof her head, and arranged dexterously over the doubtful eye; to saynothing of the blue sash which floated down her back, or the workedapron or the long gloves, or the green gauze scarf worn over oneshoulder and under the other; or any of the numerous devices whichwere to be as so many arrows to the heart of Nicholas. She hadscarcely completed these arrangements to her entire satisfaction,when the friend arrived with a whity-brown parcel--flat and three-cornered--containing sundry small adornments which were to be put onupstairs, and which the friend put on, talking incessantly. WhenMiss Squeers had 'done' the friend's hair, the friend 'did' MissSqueers's hair, throwing in some striking improvements in the way ofringlets down the neck; and then, when they were both touched up totheir entire satisfaction, they went downstairs in full state withthe long gloves on, all ready for company.'Where's John, 'Tilda?' said Miss Squeers.'Only gone home to clean himself,' replied the friend. 'He will behere by the time the tea's drawn.''I do so palpitate,' observed Miss Squeers.'Ah! I know what it is,' replied the friend.'I have not been used to it, you know, 'Tilda,' said Miss Squeers,applying her hand to the left side of her sash.'You'll soon get the better of it, dear,' rejoined the friend.While they were talking thus, the hungry servant brought in the tea-things, and, soon afterwards, somebody tapped at the room door.'There he is!' cried Miss Squeers. 'Oh 'Tilda!''Hush!' said 'Tilda. 'Hem! Say, come in.''Come in,' cried Miss Squeers faintly. And in walked Nicholas.'Good-evening,' said that young gentleman, all unconscious of hisconquest. 'I understood from Mr Squeers that--''Oh yes; it's all right,' interposed Miss Squeers. 'Father don'ttea with us, but you won't mind that, I dare say.' (This was saidarchly.)Nicholas opened his eyes at this, but he turned the matter off verycoolly--not caring, particularly, about anything just then--and wentthrough the ceremony of introduction to the miller's daughter withso much grace, that that young lady was lost in admiration.'We are only waiting for one more gentleman,' said Miss Squeers,taking off the teapot lid, and looking in, to see how the tea wasgetting on.It was matter of equal moment to Nicholas whether they were waitingfor one gentleman or twenty, so he received the intelligence withperfect unconcern; and, being out of spirits, and not seeing anyespecial reason why he should make himself agreeable, looked out ofthe window and sighed involuntarily.As luck would have it, Miss Squeers's friend was of a playful turn,and hearing Nicholas sigh, she took it into her head to rally thelovers on their lowness of spirits.'But if it's caused by my being here,' said the young lady, 'don'tmind me a bit, for I'm quite as bad. You may go on just as you wouldif you were alone.'''Tilda,' said Miss Squeers, colouring up to the top row of curls,'I am ashamed of you;' and here the two friends burst into a varietyof giggles, and glanced from time to time, over the tops of theirpocket-handkerchiefs, at Nicholas, who from a state of unmixedastonishment, gradually fell into one of irrepressible laughter--occasioned, partly by the bare notion of his being in love with MissSqueers, and partly by the preposterous appearance and behaviour ofthe two girls. These two causes of merriment, taken together,struck him as being so keenly ridiculous, that, despite hismiserable condition, he laughed till he was thoroughly exhausted.'Well,' thought Nicholas, 'as I am here, and seem expected, for somereason or other, to be amiable, it's of no use looking like a goose.I may as well accommodate myself to the company.'We blush to tell it; but his youthful spirits and vivacity getting,for the time, the better of his sad thoughts, he no sooner formedthis resolution than he saluted Miss Squeers and the friend withgreat gallantry, and drawing a chair to the tea-table, began to makehimself more at home than in all probability an usher has ever donein his employer's house since ushers were first invented.The ladies were in the full delight of this altered behaviour on thepart of Mr Nickleby, when the expected swain arrived, with his hairvery damp from recent washing, and a clean shirt, whereof the collarmight have belonged to some giant ancestor, forming, together witha white waistcoat of similar dimensions, the chief ornament of hisperson.'Well, John,' said Miss Matilda Price (which, by-the-bye, was thename of the miller's daughter).'Weel,' said John with a grin that even the collar could notconceal.'I beg your pardon,' interposed Miss Squeers, hastening to do thehonours. 'Mr Nickleby--Mr John Browdie.''Servant, sir,' said John, who was something over six feet high,with a face and body rather above the due proportion than below it.'Yours to command, sir,' replied Nicholas, making fearful ravages onthe bread and butter.Mr Browdie was not a gentleman of great conversational powers, so hegrinned twice more, and having now bestowed his customary mark ofrecognition on every person in company, grinned at nothing inparticular, and helped himself to food.'Old wooman awa', bean't she?' said Mr Browdie, with his mouth full.Miss Squeers nodded assent.Mr Browdie gave a grin of special width, as if he thought thatreally was something to laugh at, and went to work at the bread andbutter with increased vigour. It was quite a sight to behold how heand Nicholas emptied the plate between them.'Ye wean't get bread and butther ev'ry neight, I expect, mun,' saidMr Browdie, after he had sat staring at Nicholas a long time overthe empty plate.Nicholas bit his lip, and coloured, but affected not to hear theremark.'Ecod,' said Mr Browdie, laughing boisterously, 'they dean't put toomuch intiv'em. Ye'll be nowt but skeen and boans if you stop herelong eneaf. Ho! ho! ho!''You are facetious, sir,' said Nicholas, scornfully.'Na; I dean't know,' replied Mr Browdie, 'but t'oother teacher, 'codhe wur a learn 'un, he wur.' The recollection of the last teacher'sleanness seemed to afford Mr Browdie the most exquisite delight, forhe laughed until he found it necessary to apply his coat-cuffs tohis eyes.'I don't know whether your perceptions are quite keen enough, MrBrowdie, to enable you to understand that your remarks areoffensive,' said Nicholas in a towering passion, 'but if they are,have the goodness to--''If you say another word, John,' shrieked Miss Price, stopping heradmirer's mouth as he was about to interrupt, 'only half a word,I'll never forgive you, or speak to you again.''Weel, my lass, I dean't care aboot 'un,' said the corn-factor,bestowing a hearty kiss on Miss Matilda; 'let 'un gang on, let 'ungang on.'It now became Miss Squeers's turn to intercede with Nicholas, whichshe did with many symptoms of alarm and horror; the effect of thedouble intercession was, that he and John Browdie shook hands acrossthe table with much gravity; and such was the imposing nature of theceremonial, that Miss Squeers was overcome and shed tears.'What's the matter, Fanny?' said Miss Price.'Nothing, 'Tilda,' replied Miss Squeers, sobbing.'There never was any danger,' said Miss Price, 'was there, MrNickleby?''None at all,' replied Nicholas. 'Absurd.''That's right,' whispered Miss Price, 'say something kind to her,and she'll soon come round. Here! Shall John and I go into thelittle kitchen, and come back presently?''Not on any account,' rejoined Nicholas, quite alarmed at theproposition. 'What on earth should you do that for?''Well,' said Miss Price, beckoning him aside, and speaking with somedegree of contempt--'you are a one to keep company.''What do you mean?' said Nicholas; 'I am not a one to keep companyat all--here at all events. I can't make this out.''No, nor I neither," rejoined Miss Price; 'but men are alwaysfickle, and always were, and always will be; that I can make out,very easily.''Fickle!' cried Nicholas; 'what do you suppose? You don't mean tosay that you think--''Oh no, I think nothing at all,' retorted Miss Price, pettishly.'Look at her, dressed so beautiful and looking so well--reallyalmost handsome. I am ashamed at you.''My dear girl, what have I got to do with her dressing beautifullyor looking well?' inquired Nicholas.'Come, don't call me a dear girl,' said Miss Price--smiling a littlethough, for she was pretty, and a coquette too in her small way, andNicholas was good-looking, and she supposed him the property ofsomebody else, which were all reasons why she should be gratified tothink she had made an impression on him,--'or Fanny will be sayingit's my fault. Come; we're going to have a game at cards.'Pronouncing these last words aloud, she tripped away and rejoinedthe big Yorkshireman.This was wholly unintelligible to Nicholas, who had no otherdistinct impression on his mind at the moment, than that MissSqueers was an ordinary-looking girl, and her friend Miss Price apretty one; but he had not time to enlighten himself by reflection,for the hearth being by this time swept up, and the candle snuffed,they sat down to play speculation.'There are only four of us, 'Tilda,' said Miss Squeers, lookingslyly at Nicholas; 'so we had better go partners, two against two.''What do you say, Mr Nickleby?' inquired Miss Price.'With all the pleasure in life,' replied Nicholas. And so saying,quite unconscious of his heinous offence, he amalgamated into onecommon heap those portions of a Dotheboys Hall card of terms, whichrepresented his own counters, and those allotted to Miss Price,respectively.'Mr Browdie,' said Miss Squeers hysterically, 'shall we make a bankagainst them?'The Yorkshireman assented--apparently quite overwhelmed by the newusher's impudence--and Miss Squeers darted a spiteful look at herfriend, and giggled convulsively.The deal fell to Nicholas, and the hand prospered.'We intend to win everything,' said he.''Tilda has won something she didn't expect, I think, haven't you,dear?' said Miss Squeers, maliciously.'Only a dozen and eight, love,' replied Miss Price, affecting totake the question in a literal sense.'How dull you are tonight!' sneered Miss Squeers.'No, indeed,' replied Miss Price, 'I am in excellent spirits. I wasthinking you seemed out of sorts.''Me!' cried Miss Squeers, biting her lips, and trembling with veryjealousy. 'Oh no!''That's well,' remarked Miss Price. 'Your hair's coming out ofcurl, dear.''Never mind me,' tittered Miss Squeers; 'you had better attend toyour partner.''Thank you for reminding her,' said Nicholas. 'So she had.'The Yorkshireman flattened his nose, once or twice, with hisclenched fist, as if to keep his hand in, till he had an opportunityof exercising it upon the features of some other gentleman; and MissSqueers tossed her head with such indignation, that the gust of windraised by the multitudinous curls in motion, nearly blew the candleout.'I never had such luck, really,' exclaimed coquettish Miss Price,after another hand or two. 'It's all along of you, Mr Nickleby, Ithink. I should like to have you for a partner always.''I wish you had.''You'll have a bad wife, though, if you always win at cards,' saidMiss Price.'Not if your wish is gratified,' replied Nicholas. 'I am sure Ishall have a good one in that case.'To see how Miss Squeers tossed her head, and the corn-factorflattened his nose, while this conversation was carrying on! Itwould have been worth a small annuity to have beheld that; let aloneMiss Price's evident joy at making them jealous, and NicholasNickleby's happy unconsciousness of making anybody uncomfortable.'We have all the talking to ourselves, it seems,' said Nicholas,looking good-humouredly round the table as he took up the cards fora fresh deal.'You do it so well,' tittered Miss Squeers, 'that it would be a pityto interrupt, wouldn't it, Mr Browdie? He! he! he!''Nay,' said Nicholas, 'we do it in default of having anybody else totalk to.''We'll talk to you, you know, if you'll say anything,' said MissPrice.'Thank you, 'Tilda, dear,' retorted Miss Squeers, majestically.'Or you can talk to each other, if you don't choose to talk to us,'said Miss Price, rallying her dear friend. 'John, why don't you saysomething?''Say summat?' repeated the Yorkshireman.'Ay, and not sit there so silent and glum.''Weel, then!' said the Yorkshireman, striking the table heavily withhis fist, 'what I say's this--Dang my boans and boddy, if I stan'this ony longer. Do ye gang whoam wi' me, and do yon loight an'toight young whipster look sharp out for a brokken head, next timehe cums under my hond.''Mercy on us, what's all this?' cried Miss Price, in affectedastonishment.'Cum whoam, tell 'e, cum whoam,' replied the Yorkshireman, sternly.And as he delivered the reply, Miss Squeers burst into a shower oftears; arising in part from desperate vexation, and in part from animpotent desire to lacerate somebody's countenance with her fairfinger-nails.This state of things had been brought about by divers means andworkings. Miss Squeers had brought it about, by aspiring to thehigh state and condition of being matrimonially engaged, withoutgood grounds for so doing; Miss Price had brought it about, byindulging in three motives of action: first, a desire to punish herfriend for laying claim to a rivalship in dignity, having no goodtitle: secondly, the gratification of her own vanity, in receivingthe compliments of a smart young man: and thirdly, a wish toconvince the corn-factor of the great danger he ran, in deferringthe celebration of their expected nuptials; while Nicholas hadbrought it about, by half an hour's gaiety and thoughtlessness, anda very sincere desire to avoid the imputation of inclining at all toMiss Squeers. So the means employed, and the end produced, werealike the most natural in the world; for young ladies will lookforward to being married, and will jostle each other in the race tothe altar, and will avail themselves of all opportunities ofdisplaying their own attractions to the best advantage, down to thevery end of time, as they have done from its beginning.'Why, and here's Fanny in tears now!' exclaimed Miss Price, as if infresh amazement. 'What can be the matter?''Oh! you don't know, miss, of course you don't know. Pray don'ttrouble yourself to inquire,' said Miss Squeers, producing thatchange of countenance which children call making a face.'Well, I'm sure!' exclaimed Miss Price.'And who cares whether you are sure or not, ma'am?' retorted MissSqueers, making another face.'You are monstrous polite, ma'am,' said Miss Price.'I shall not come to you to take lessons in the art, ma'am!'retorted Miss Squeers.'You needn't take the trouble to make yourself plainer than you are,ma'am, however,' rejoined Miss Price, 'because that's quiteunnecessary.'Miss Squeers, in reply, turned very red, and thanked God that shehadn't got the bold faces of some people. Miss Price, in rejoinder,congratulated herself upon not being possessed of the enviousfeeling of other people; whereupon Miss Squeers made some generalremark touching the danger of associating with low persons; in whichMiss Price entirely coincided: observing that it was very trueindeed, and she had thought so a long time.''Tilda,' exclaimed Miss Squeers with dignity, 'I hate you.''Ah! There's no love lost between us, I assure you,' said MissPrice, tying her bonnet strings with a jerk. 'You'll cry your eyesout, when I'm gone; you know you will.''I scorn your words, Minx,' said Miss Squeers.'You pay me a great compliment when you say so,' answered themiller's daughter, curtseying very low. 'Wish you a very good-night, ma'am, and pleasant dreams attend your sleep!'With this parting benediction, Miss Price swept from the room,followed by the huge Yorkshireman, who exchanged with Nicholas, atparting, that peculiarly expressive scowl with which the cut-and-thrust counts, in melodramatic performances, inform each other theywill meet again.They were no sooner gone, than Miss Squeers fulfilled the predictionof her quondam friend by giving vent to a most copious burst oftears, and uttering various dismal lamentations and incoherentwords. Nicholas stood looking on for a few seconds, rather doubtfulwhat to do, but feeling uncertain whether the fit would end in hisbeing embraced, or scratched, and considering that either inflictionwould be equally agreeable, he walked off very quietly while MissSqueers was moaning in her pocket-handkerchief.'This is one consequence,' thought Nicholas, when he had groped hisway to the dark sleeping-room, 'of my cursed readiness to adaptmyself to any society in which chance carries me. If I had sat muteand motionless, as I might have done, this would not have happened.'He listened for a few minutes, but all was quiet.'I was glad,' he murmured, 'to grasp at any relief from the sight ofthis dreadful place, or the presence of its vile master. I have setthese people by the ears, and made two new enemies, where, Heavenknows, I needed none. Well, it is a just punishment for havingforgotten, even for an hour, what is around me now!'So saying, he felt his way among the throng of weary-heartedsleepers, and crept into his poor bed.