Nicholas Nickleby. Чарльз ДиккенсЧитать онлайн книгу.
an opportunity of talking on the subject which occupied his thoughts; so, he sat down again, and (his sanguine imagination warming as he spoke) entered into a fervent and glowing description of all the honours and advantages to be derived from his appointment at that seat of learning, Dotheboys Hall.
‘But, what’s the matter – are you ill?’ said Nicholas, suddenly breaking off, as his companion, after throwing himself into a variety of uncouth attitudes, thrust his hands under the stool, and cracked his finger-joints as if he were snapping all the bones in his hands.
Newman Noggs made no reply, but went on shrugging his shoulders and cracking his finger-joints; smiling horribly all the time, and looking steadfastly at nothing, out of the tops of his eyes, in a most ghastly manner.
At first, Nicholas thought the mysterious man was in a fit, but, on further consideration, decided that he was in liquor, under which circumstances he deemed it prudent to make off at once. He looked back when he had got the street-door open. Newman Noggs was still indulging in the same extraordinary gestures, and the cracking of his fingers sounded louder that ever.
CHAPTER 5
Nicholas starts for Yorkshire. Of his Leave-taking and his Fellow-Travellers, and what befell them on the Road
If tears dropped into a trunk were charms to preserve its owner from sorrow and misfortune, Nicholas Nickleby would have commenced his expedition under most happy auspices. There was so much to be done, and so little time to do it in; so many kind words to be spoken, and such bitter pain in the hearts in which they rose to impede their utterance; that the little preparations for his journey were made mournfully indeed. A hundred things which the anxious care of his mother and sister deemed indispensable for his comfort, Nicholas insisted on leaving behind, as they might prove of some after use, or might be convertible into money if occasion required. A hundred affectionate contests on such points as these, took place on the sad night which preceded his departure; and, as the termination of every angerless dispute brought them nearer and nearer to the close of their slight preparations, Kate grew busier and busier, and wept more silently.
The box was packed at last, and then there came supper, with some little delicacy provided for the occasion, and as a set-off against the expense of which, Kate and her mother had feigned to dine when Nicholas was out. The poor lad nearly choked himself by attempting to partake of it, and almost suffocated himself in affecting a jest or two, and forcing a melancholy laugh. Thus, they lingered on till the hour of separating for the night was long past; and then they found that they might as well have given vent to their real feelings before, for they could not suppress them, do what they would. So, they let them have their way, and even that was a relief.
Nicholas slept well till six next morning; dreamed of home, or of what was home once – no matter which, for things that are changed or gone will come back as they used to be, thank God! in sleep – and rose quite brisk and gay. He wrote a few lines in pencil, to say the goodbye which he was afraid to pronounce himself, and laying them, with half his scanty stock of money, at his sister’s door, shouldered his box and crept softly downstairs.
‘Is that you, Hannah?’ cried a voice from Miss La Creevy’s sitting-room, whence shone the light of a feeble candle.
‘It is I, Miss La Creevy,’ said Nicholas, putting down the box and looking in.
‘Bless us!’ exclaimed Miss La Creevy, starting and putting her hand to her curl-papers. ‘You’re up very early, Mr. Nickleby.’
‘So are you,’ replied Nicholas.
‘It’s the fine arts that bring me out of bed, Mr. Nickleby,’ returned the lady. ‘I’m waiting for the light to carry out an idea.’
Miss La Creevy had got up early to put a fancy nose into a miniature of an ugly little boy, destined for his grandmother in the country, who was expected to bequeath him property if he was like the family.
‘To carry out an idea,’ repeated Miss La Creevy; ‘and that’s the great convenience of living in a thoroughfare like the Strand. When I want a nose or an eye for any particular sitter, I have only to look out of window and wait till I get one.’
‘Does it take long to get a nose, now?’ inquired Nicholas, smiling.
‘Why, that depends in a great measure on the pattern,’ replied Miss La Creevy. ‘Snubs and Romans are plentiful enough, and there are flats of all sorts and sizes when there’s a meeting at Exeter Hall; but perfect aquilines, I am sorry to say, are scarce, and we generally use them for uniforms or public characters.’
‘Indeed!’ said Nicholas. ‘If I should meet with any in my travels, I’ll endeavour to sketch them for you.’
‘You don’t mean to say that you are really going all the way down into Yorkshire this cold winter’s weather, Mr. Nickleby?’ said Miss La Creevy. ‘I heard something of it last night.’
‘I do, indeed,’ replied Nicholas. ‘Needs must, you know, when somebody drives. Necessity is my driver, and that is only another name for the same gentleman.’
‘Well, I am very sorry for it; that’s all I can say,’ said Miss La Creevy; ‘as much on your mother’s and sister’s account as on yours. Your sister is a very pretty young lady, Mr. Nickleby, and that is an additional reason why she should have somebody to protect her. I persuaded her to give me a sitting or two, for the street-door case. ‘Ah! she’ll make a sweet miniature.’ As Miss La Creevy spoke, she held up an ivory countenance intersected with very perceptible sky-blue veins, and regarded it with so much complacency, that Nicholas quite envied her.
‘If you ever have an opportunity of showing Kate some little kindness,’ said Nicholas, presenting his hand, ‘I think you will.’
‘Depend upon that,’ said the good-natured miniature painter; ‘and God bless you, Mr. Nickleby; and I wish you well.’
It was very little that Nicholas knew of the world, but he guessed enough about its ways to think, that if he gave Miss La Creevy one little kiss, perhaps she might not be the less kindly disposed towards those he was leaving behind. So, he gave her three or four with a kind of jocose gallantry, and Miss La Creevy evinced no greater symptoms of displeasure than declaring, as she adjusted her yellow turban, that she had never heard of such a thing, and couldn’t have believed it possible.
Having terminated the unexpected interview in this satisfactory manner, Nicholas hastily withdrew himself from the house. By the time he had found a man to carry his box it was only seven o’clock, so he walked slowly on, a little in advance of the porter, and very probably with not half as light a heart in his breast as the man had, although he had no waistcoat to cover it with, and had evidently, from the appearance of his other garments, been spending the night in a stable, and taking his breakfast at a pump.
Regarding, with no small curiosity and interest, all the busy preparations for the coming day which every street and almost every house displayed; and thinking, now and then, that it seemed rather hard that so many people of all ranks and stations could earn a livelihood in London, and that he should be compelled to journey so far in search of one; Nicholas speedily arrived at the Saracen’s Head, Snow Hill. Having dismissed his attendant, and seen the box safely deposited in the coach-office, he looked into the coffee-room in search of Mr. Squeers.
He found that learned gentleman sitting at breakfast, with the three little boys before noticed, and two others who had turned up by some lucky chance since the interview of the previous day, ranged in a row on the opposite seat. Mr. Squeers had before him a small measure of coffee, a plate of hot toast, and a cold round of beef; but he was at that moment intent on preparing breakfast for the little boys.
‘This is twopenn’orth of milk, is it, waiter?’ said Mr. Squeers, looking down into a large blue mug, and slanting it gently, so as to get an accurate view of the quantity of liquid contained in it.
‘That’s twopenn’orth, sir,’ replied the waiter.
‘What a rare article milk is, to be sure, in London!’ said Mr. Squeers, with a sigh. ‘Just fill that mug up with lukewarm water, William, will you?’
‘To the wery top,