The pavement of Snow Hill had been baking and frying all day in theheat, and the twain Saracens' heads guarding the entrance to thehostelry of whose name and sign they are the duplicate presentments,looked--or seemed, in the eyes of jaded and footsore passers-by, tolook--more vicious than usual, after blistering and scorching in thesun, when, in one of the inn's smallest sitting-rooms, through whoseopen window there rose, in a palpable steam, wholesome exhalations fromreeking coach-horses, the usual furniture of a tea-table was displayedin neat and inviting order, flanked by large joints of roast and boiled,a tongue, a pigeon pie, a cold fowl, a tankard of ale, and other littlematters of the like kind, which, in degenerate towns and cities, aregenerally understood to belong more particularly to solid lunches,stage-coach dinners, or unusually substantial breakfasts.

Mr John Browdie, with his hands in his pockets, hovered restlessly aboutthese delicacies, stopping occasionally to whisk the flies out of thesugar-basin with his wife's pocket-handkerchief, or to dip a teaspoon inthe milk-pot and carry it to his mouth, or to cut off a little knob ofcrust, and a little corner of meat, and swallow them at two gulps like acouple of pills. After every one of these flirtations with the eatables,he pulled out his watch, and declared with an earnestness quite patheticthat he couldn't undertake to hold out two minutes longer.

'Tilly!' said John to his lady, who was reclining half awake and halfasleep upon a sofa.

'Well, John!'

'Well, John!' retorted her husband, impatiently. 'Dost thou feelhoongry, lass?'

'Not very,' said Mrs Browdie.

'Not vary!' repeated John, raising his eyes to the ceiling. 'Hear hersay not vary, and us dining at three, and loonching off pasthry thotaggravates a mon 'stead of pacifying him! Not vary!'

'Here's a gen'l'man for you, sir,' said the waiter, looking in.

'A wa'at for me?' cried John, as though he thought it must be a letter,or a parcel.

'A gen'l'man, sir.'

'Stars and garthers, chap!' said John, 'wa'at dost thou coom and saythot for? In wi' 'un.'

'Are you at home, sir?'

'At whoam!' cried John, 'I wish I wur; I'd ha tea'd two hour ago. Why, Itold t'oother chap to look sharp ootside door, and tell 'un d'rectly hecoom, thot we war faint wi' hoonger. In wi' 'un. Aha! Thee hond, MistherNickleby. This is nigh to be the proodest day o' my life, sir. Hoo beall wi' ye? Ding! But, I'm glod o' this!'

Quite forgetting even his hunger in the heartiness of his salutation,John Browdie shook Nicholas by the hand again and again, slappinghis palm with great violence between each shake, to add warmth to thereception.

'Ah! there she be,' said John, observing the look which Nicholasdirected towards his wife. 'There she be--we shan't quarrel about hernoo--eh? Ecod, when I think o' thot--but thou want'st soom'at to eat.Fall to, mun, fall to, and for wa'at we're aboot to receive--'

No doubt the grace was properly finished, but nothing more was heard,for John had already begun to play such a knife and fork, that hisspeech was, for the time, gone.

'I shall take the usual licence, Mr Browdie,' said Nicholas, as heplaced a chair for the bride.

'Tak' whatever thou like'st,' said John, 'and when a's gane, ca' formore.'

Without stopping to explain, Nicholas kissed the blushing Mrs Browdie,and handed her to her seat.

'I say,' said John, rather astounded for the moment, 'mak' theeselfquite at whoam, will 'ee?'

'You may depend upon that,' replied Nicholas; 'on one condition.'

'And wa'at may thot be?' asked John.

'That you make me a godfather the very first time you have occasion forone.'

'Eh! d'ye hear thot?' cried John, laying down his knife and fork. 'Agodfeyther! Ha! ha! ha! Tilly--hear till 'un--a godfeyther! Divn't saya word more, ye'll never beat thot. Occasion for 'un--a godfeyther! Ha!ha! ha!'

Never was man so tickled with a respectable old joke, as John Browdiewas with this. He chuckled, roared, half suffocated himself by laughinglarge pieces of beef into his windpipe, roared again, persisted ineating at the same time, got red in the face and black in the forehead,coughed, cried, got better, went off again laughing inwardly, got worse,choked, had his back thumped, stamped about, frightened his wife, andat last recovered in a state of the last exhaustion and with the waterstreaming from his eyes, but still faintly ejaculating, 'A godfeyther--agodfeyther, Tilly!' in a tone bespeaking an exquisite relish of thesally, which no suffering could diminish.

'You remember the night of our first tea-drinking?' said Nicholas.

'Shall I e'er forget it, mun?' replied John Browdie.

'He was a desperate fellow that night though, was he not, Mrs Browdie?'said Nicholas. 'Quite a monster!'

'If you had only heard him as we were going home, Mr Nickleby, you'dhave said so indeed,' returned the bride. 'I never was so frightened inall my life.'

'Coom, coom,' said John, with a broad grin; 'thou know'st betther thanthot, Tilly.'

'So I was,' replied Mrs Browdie. 'I almost made up my mind never tospeak to you again.'

'A'most!' said John, with a broader grin than the last. 'A'most made upher mind! And she wur coaxin', and coaxin', and wheedlin', and wheedlin'a' the blessed wa'. "Wa'at didst thou let yon chap mak' oop tiv'ee for?"says I. "I deedn't, John," says she, a squeedgin my arm. "You deedn't?"says I. "Noa," says she, a squeedgin of me agean.'

'Lor, John!' interposed his pretty wife, colouring very much. 'How canyou talk such nonsense? As if I should have dreamt of such a thing!'

'I dinnot know whether thou'd ever dreamt of it, though I think that'sloike eneaf, mind,' retorted John; 'but thou didst it. "Ye're a feeckle,changeable weathercock, lass," says I. "Not feeckle, John," says she."Yes," says I, "feeckle, dom'd feeckle. Dinnot tell me thou bean't,efther yon chap at schoolmeasther's," says I. "Him!" says she, quitescreeching. "Ah! him!" says I. "Why, John," says she--and she coom adeal closer and squeedged a deal harder than she'd deane afore--"dostthou think it's nat'ral noo, that having such a proper mun as thouto keep company wi', I'd ever tak' opp wi' such a leetle scantywhipper-snapper as yon?" she says. Ha! ha! ha! She said whipper-snapper!"Ecod!" I says, "efther thot, neame the day, and let's have it ower!"Ha! ha! ha!'

Nicholas laughed very heartily at this story, both on account of itstelling against himself, and his being desirous to spare the blushes ofMrs Browdie, whose protestations were drowned in peals of laughter fromher husband. His good-nature soon put her at her ease; and although shestill denied the charge, she laughed so heartily at it, that Nicholashad the satisfaction of feeling assured that in all essential respectsit was strictly true.

'This is the second time,' said Nicholas, 'that we have ever taken ameal together, and only third I have ever seen you; and yet it reallyseems to me as if I were among old friends.'

'Weel!' observed the Yorkshireman, 'so I say.'

'And I am sure I do,' added his young wife.

'I have the best reason to be impressed with the feeling, mind,' saidNicholas; 'for if it had not been for your kindness of heart, my goodfriend, when I had no right or reason to expect it, I know not whatmight have become of me or what plight I should have been in by thistime.'

'Talk aboot soom'at else,' replied John, gruffly, 'and dinnot bother.'

'It must be a new song to the same tune then,' said Nicholas, smiling.'I told you in my letter that I deeply felt and admired your sympathywith that poor lad, whom you released at the risk of involving yourselfin trouble and difficulty; but I can never tell you how grateful he andI, and others whom you don't know, are to you for taking pity on him.'

'Ecod!' rejoined John Browdie, drawing up his chair; 'and I can nevertell YOU hoo gratful soom folks that we do know would be loikewise, ifTHEY know'd I had takken pity on him.'

'Ah!' exclaimed Mrs Browdie, 'what a state I was in that night!'

'Were they at all disposed to give you credit for assisting in theescape?' inquired Nicholas of John Browdie.

'Not a bit,' replied the Yorkshireman, extending his mouth from earto ear. 'There I lay, snoog in schoolmeasther's bed long efther it wasdark, and nobody coom nigh the pleace. "Weel!" thinks I, "he's got apretty good start, and if he bean't whoam by noo, he never will be; soyou may coom as quick as you loike, and foind us reddy"--that is, youknow, schoolmeasther might coom.'

'I understand,' said Nicholas.

'Presently,' resumed John, 'he DID coom. I heerd door shut doonstairs,and him a warking, oop in the daark. "Slow and steddy," I says tomyself, "tak' your time, sir--no hurry." He cooms to the door, turns thekey--turns the key when there warn't nothing to hoold the lock--and ca'soot "Hallo, there!"--"Yes," thinks I, "you may do thot agean, andnot wakken anybody, sir." "Hallo, there," he says, and then he stops."Thou'd betther not aggravate me," says schoolmeasther, efther a littletime. "I'll brak' every boan in your boddy, Smike," he says, eftheranother little time. Then all of a soodden, he sings oot for a loight,and when it cooms--ecod, such a hoorly-boorly! "Wa'at's the matter?"says I. "He's gane," says he,--stark mad wi' vengeance. "Have you heerdnought?" "Ees," says I, "I heerd street-door shut, no time at a' ago.I heerd a person run doon there" (pointing t'other wa'--eh?) "Help!" hecries. "I'll help you," says I; and off we set--the wrong wa'! Ho! ho!ho!'

'Did you go far?' asked Nicholas.

'Far!' replied John; 'I run him clean off his legs in quarther of anhoor. To see old schoolmeasther wi'out his hat, skimming along oop tohis knees in mud and wather, tumbling over fences, and rowling intoditches, and bawling oot like mad, wi' his one eye looking sharp out forthe lad, and his coat-tails flying out behind, and him spattered wi' mudall ower, face and all! I tho't I should ha' dropped doon, and killedmyself wi' laughing.'

John laughed so heartily at the mere recollection, that he communicatedthe contagion to both his hearers, and all three burst into peals oflaughter, which were renewed again and again, until they could laugh nolonger.

'He's a bad 'un,' said John, wiping his eyes; 'a very bad 'un, isschoolmeasther.'

'I can't bear the sight of him, John,' said his wife.

'Coom,' retorted John, 'thot's tidy in you, thot is. If it wa'nt alongo' you, we shouldn't know nought aboot 'un. Thou know'd 'un first,Tilly, didn't thou?'

'I couldn't help knowing Fanny Squeers, John,' returned his wife; 'shewas an old playmate of mine, you know.'

'Weel,' replied John, 'dean't I say so, lass? It's best to beneighbourly, and keep up old acquaintance loike; and what I say is,dean't quarrel if 'ee can help it. Dinnot think so, Mr Nickleby?'

'Certainly,' returned Nicholas; 'and you acted upon that principle whenI meet you on horseback on the road, after our memorable evening.'

'Sure-ly,' said John. 'Wa'at I say, I stick by.'

'And that's a fine thing to do, and manly too,' said Nicholas, 'thoughit's not exactly what we understand by "coming Yorkshire over us" inLondon. Miss Squeers is stopping with you, you said in your note.'

'Yes,' replied John, 'Tilly's bridesmaid; and a queer bridesmaid she be,too. She wean't be a bride in a hurry, I reckon.'

'For shame, John,' said Mrs Browdie; with an acute perception of thejoke though, being a bride herself.

'The groom will be a blessed mun,' said John, his eyes twinkling at theidea. 'He'll be in luck, he will.'

'You see, Mr Nickleby,' said his wife, 'that it was in consequence ofher being here, that John wrote to you and fixed tonight, because wethought that it wouldn't be pleasant for you to meet, after what haspassed.'

'Unquestionably. You were quite right in that,' said Nicholas,interrupting.

'Especially,' observed Mrs Browdie, looking very sly, 'after what weknow about past and gone love matters.'

'We know, indeed!' said Nicholas, shaking his head. 'You behaved ratherwickedly there, I suspect.'

'O' course she did,' said John Browdie, passing his huge forefingerthrough one of his wife's pretty ringlets, and looking very proud ofher. 'She wur always as skittish and full o' tricks as a--'

'Well, as a what?' said his wife.

'As a woman,' returned John. 'Ding! But I dinnot know ought else thatcooms near it.'

'You were speaking about Miss Squeers,' said Nicholas, with the view ofstopping some slight connubialities which had begun to pass between Mrand Mrs Browdie, and which rendered the position of a third party insome degree embarrassing, as occasioning him to feel rather in the waythan otherwise.

'Oh yes,' rejoined Mrs Browdie. 'John ha' done. John fixed tonight,because she had settled that she would go and drink tea with her father.And to make quite sure of there being nothing amiss, and of your beingquite alone with us, he settled to go out there and fetch her home.'

'That was a very good arrangement,' said Nicholas, 'though I am sorry tobe the occasion of so much trouble.'

'Not the least in the world,' returned Mrs Browdie; 'for we havelooked forward to see you--John and I have--with the greatest possiblepleasure. Do you know, Mr Nickleby,' said Mrs Browdie, with her archestsmile, 'that I really think Fanny Squeers was very fond of you?'

'I am very much obliged to her,' said Nicholas; 'but upon my word, Inever aspired to making any impression upon her virgin heart.'

'How you talk!' tittered Mrs Browdie. 'No, but do you know thatreally--seriously now and without any joking--I was given to understandby Fanny herself, that you had made an offer to her, and that you twowere going to be engaged quite solemn and regular.'

'Was you, ma'am--was you?' cried a shrill female voice, 'was you givento understand that I--I--was going to be engaged to an assassinatingthief that shed the gore of my pa? Do you--do you think, ma'am--that Iwas very fond of such dirt beneath my feet, as I couldn't condescend totouch with kitchen tongs, without blacking and crocking myself by thecontract? Do you, ma'am--do you? Oh! base and degrading 'Tilda!'

With these reproaches Miss Squeers flung the door wide open, anddisclosed to the eyes of the astonished Browdies and Nicholas, not onlyher own symmetrical form, arrayed in the chaste white garments beforedescribed (a little dirtier), but the form of her brother and father,the pair of Wackfords.

'This is the hend, is it?' continued Miss Squeers, who, being excited,aspirated her h's strongly; 'this is the hend, is it, of all myforbearance and friendship for that double-faced thing--that viper,that--that--mermaid?' (Miss Squeers hesitated a long time for thislast epithet, and brought it out triumphantly at last, as if it quiteclinched the business.) 'This is the hend, is it, of all my bearing withher deceitfulness, her lowness, her falseness, her laying herself out tocatch the admiration of vulgar minds, in a way which made me blush formy--for my--'

'Gender,' suggested Mr Squeers, regarding the spectators with amalevolent eye--literally A malevolent eye.

'Yes,' said Miss Squeers; 'but I thank my stars that my ma is of thesame--'

'Hear, hear!' remarked Mr Squeers; 'and I wish she was here to have ascratch at this company.'

'This is the hend, is it,' said Miss Squeers, tossing her head, andlooking contemptuously at the floor, 'of my taking notice of thatrubbishing creature, and demeaning myself to patronise her?'

'Oh, come,' rejoined Mrs Browdie, disregarding all the endeavours ofher spouse to restrain her, and forcing herself into a front row, 'don'ttalk such nonsense as that.'

'Have I not patronised you, ma'am?' demanded Miss Squeers.

'No,' returned Mrs Browdie.

'I will not look for blushes in such a quarter,' said Miss Squeers,haughtily, 'for that countenance is a stranger to everything buthignominiousness and red-faced boldness.'

'I say,' interposed John Browdie, nettled by these accumulated attackson his wife, 'dra' it mild, dra' it mild.'

'You, Mr Browdie,' said Miss Squeers, taking him up very quickly, 'Ipity. I have no feeling for you, sir, but one of unliquidated pity.'

'Oh!' said John.

'No,' said Miss Squeers, looking sideways at her parent, 'although I AMa queer bridesmaid, and SHAN'T be a bride in a hurry, and although myhusband WILL be in luck, I entertain no sentiments towards you, sir, butsentiments of pity.'

Here Miss Squeers looked sideways at her father again, who lookedsideways at her, as much as to say, 'There you had him.'

'I know what you've got to go through,' said Miss Squeers, shaking hercurls violently. 'I know what life is before you, and if you was mybitterest and deadliest enemy, I could wish you nothing worse.'

'Couldn't you wish to be married to him yourself, if that was the case?'inquired Mrs Browdie, with great suavity of manner.

'Oh, ma'am, how witty you are,' retorted Miss Squeers with a low curtsy,'almost as witty, ma'am, as you are clever. How very clever it was inyou, ma'am, to choose a time when I had gone to tea with my pa, andwas sure not to come back without being fetched! What a pity you neverthought that other people might be as clever as yourself and spoil yourplans!'

'You won't vex me, child, with such airs as these,' said the late MissPrice, assuming the matron.

'Don't MISSIS me, ma'am, if you please,' returned Miss Squeers, sharply.'I'll not bear it. Is THIS the hend--'

'Dang it a',' cried John Browdie, impatiently. 'Say thee say out, Fanny,and mak' sure it's the end, and dinnot ask nobody whether it is or not.'

'Thanking you for your advice which was not required, Mr Browdie,'returned Miss Squeers, with laborious politeness, 'have the goodness notto presume to meddle with my Christian name. Even my pity shall nevermake me forget what's due to myself, Mr Browdie. 'Tilda,' said MissSqueers, with such a sudden accession of violence that John started inhis boots, 'I throw you off for ever, miss. I abandon you. I renounceyou. I wouldn't,' cried Miss Squeers in a solemn voice, 'have a childnamed 'Tilda, not to save it from its grave.'

'As for the matther o' that,' observed John, 'it'll be time eneaf tothink aboot neaming of it when it cooms.'

'John!' interposed his wife, 'don't tease her.'

'Oh! Tease, indeed!' cried Miss Squeers, bridling up. 'Tease, indeed!He, he! Tease, too! No, don't tease her. Consider her feelings, pray!'

'If it's fated that listeners are never to hear any good of themselves,'said Mrs Browdie, 'I can't help it, and I am very sorry for it. But Iwill say, Fanny, that times out of number I have spoken so kindly of youbehind your back, that even you could have found no fault with what Isaid.'

'Oh, I dare say not, ma'am!' cried Miss Squeers, with another curtsy.'Best thanks to you for your goodness, and begging and praying you notto be hard upon me another time!'

'I don't know,' resumed Mrs Browdie, 'that I have said anything very badof you, even now. At all events, what I did say was quite true; but if Ihave, I am very sorry for it, and I beg your pardon. You have said muchworse of me, scores of times, Fanny; but I have never borne any maliceto you, and I hope you'll not bear any to me.'

Miss Squeers made no more direct reply than surveying her former friendfrom top to toe, and elevating her nose in the air with ineffabledisdain. But some indistinct allusions to a 'puss,' and a 'minx,' and a'contemptible creature,' escaped her; and this, together with a severebiting of the lips, great difficulty in swallowing, and very frequentcomings and goings of breath, seemed to imply that feelings wereswelling in Miss Squeers's bosom too great for utterance.

While the foregoing conversation was proceeding, Master Wackford,finding himself unnoticed, and feeling his preponderating inclinationsstrong upon him, had by little and little sidled up to the table andattacked the food with such slight skirmishing as drawing his fingersround and round the inside of the plates, and afterwards sucking themwith infinite relish; picking the bread, and dragging the pieces overthe surface of the butter; pocketing lumps of sugar, pretending allthe time to be absorbed in thought; and so forth. Finding that nointerference was attempted with these small liberties, he graduallymounted to greater, and, after helping himself to a moderately good coldcollation, was, by this time, deep in the pie.

Nothing of this had been unobserved by Mr Squeers, who, so long as theattention of the company was fixed upon other objects, hugged himself tothink that his son and heir should be fattening at the enemy's expense.But there being now an appearance of a temporary calm, in which theproceedings of little Wackford could scarcely fail to be observed,he feigned to be aware of the circumstance for the first time, andinflicted upon the face of that young gentleman a slap that made thevery tea-cups ring.

'Eating!' cried Mr Squeers, 'of what his father's enemies has left! It'sfit to go and poison you, you unnat'ral boy.'

'It wean't hurt him,' said John, apparently very much relieved by theprospect of having a man in the quarrel; 'let' un eat. I wish the wholeschool was here. I'd give'em soom'at to stay their unfort'nate stomachswi', if I spent the last penny I had!'

Squeers scowled at him with the worst and most malicious expression ofwhich his face was capable--it was a face of remarkable capability, too,in that way--and shook his fist stealthily.

'Coom, coom, schoolmeasther,' said John, 'dinnot make a fool o' thyself;for if I was to sheake mine--only once--thou'd fa' doon wi' the wind o'it.'

'It was you, was it,' returned Squeers, 'that helped off my runaway boy?It was you, was it?'

'Me!' returned John, in a loud tone. 'Yes, it wa' me, coom; wa'at o'that? It wa' me. Noo then!'

'You hear him say he did it, my child!' said Squeers, appealing to hisdaughter. 'You hear him say he did it!'

'Did it!' cried John. 'I'll tell 'ee more; hear this, too. If thou'dgot another roonaway boy, I'd do it agean. If thou'd got twonty roonawayboys, I'd do it twonty times ower, and twonty more to thot; and Itell thee more,' said John, 'noo my blood is oop, that thou'rt an oldra'ascal; and that it's weel for thou, thou be'est an old 'un, or I'dha' poonded thee to flour when thou told an honest mun hoo thou'd lickedthat poor chap in t' coorch.'

'An honest man!' cried Squeers, with a sneer.

'Ah! an honest man,' replied John; 'honest in ought but ever puttinglegs under seame table wi' such as thou.'

'Scandal!' said Squeers, exultingly. 'Two witnesses to it; Wackfordknows the nature of an oath, he does; we shall have you there, sir.Rascal, eh?' Mr Squeers took out his pocketbook and made a note of it.'Very good. I should say that was worth full twenty pound at the nextassizes, without the honesty, sir.'

''Soizes,' cried John, 'thou'd betther not talk to me o' 'Soizes.Yorkshire schools have been shown up at 'Soizes afore noo, mun, and it'sa ticklish soobjact to revive, I can tell ye.'

Mr Squeers shook his head in a threatening manner, looking very whitewith passion; and taking his daughter's arm, and dragging littleWackford by the hand, retreated towards the door.

'As for you,' said Squeers, turning round and addressing Nicholas,who, as he had caused him to smart pretty soundly on a former occasion,purposely abstained from taking any part in the discussion, 'see if Iain't down upon you before long. You'll go a kidnapping of boys, willyou? Take care their fathers don't turn up--mark that--take care theirfathers don't turn up, and send 'em back to me to do as I like with, inspite of you.'

'I am not afraid of that,' replied Nicholas, shrugging his shoulderscontemptuously, and turning away.

'Ain't you!' retorted Squeers, with a diabolical look. 'Now then, comealong.'

'I leave such society, with my pa, for Hever,' said Miss Squeers,looking contemptuously and loftily round. 'I am defiled by breathingthe air with such creatures. Poor Mr Browdie! He! he! he! I do pity him,that I do; he's so deluded. He! he! he!--Artful and designing 'Tilda!'

With this sudden relapse into the sternest and most majestic wrath, MissSqueers swept from the room; and having sustained her dignity until thelast possible moment, was heard to sob and scream and struggle in thepassage.

John Browdie remained standing behind the table, looking from his wifeto Nicholas, and back again, with his mouth wide open, until his handaccidentally fell upon the tankard of ale, when he took it up, andhaving obscured his features therewith for some time, drew a longbreath, handed it over to Nicholas, and rang the bell.

'Here, waither,' said John, briskly. 'Look alive here. Tak' these thingsawa', and let's have soomat broiled for sooper--vary comfortable andplenty o' it--at ten o'clock. Bring soom brandy and soom wather, and apair o' slippers--the largest pair in the house--and be quick aboot it.Dash ma wig!' said John, rubbing his hands, 'there's no ganging oot toneeght, noo, to fetch anybody whoam, and ecod, we'll begin to spend theevening in airnest.'