`Do parents bring children into the world for thot ?' said John Browdie bluntly, pointing, as he spoke, to Squeers.
`Never you mind,' retorted that gentleman, tapping his nose derisively.
`Never I mind!' said John, `no, nor never nobody mind, say'st thou, schoolmeasther. It's nobody's minding that keeps sike men as thou afloat.
Noo then, where be'est thou comin' to? Dang it, dinnot coom treadin' ower me, mun.'
Suiting the action to the word, John Browdie just jerked his elbow into the chest of Mr Squeers who was advancing upon Smike; with so much dexterity that the schoolmaster reeled and staggered back upon Ralph Nickleby, and being unable to recover his balance, knocked that gentleman off his chair, and stumbled heavily upon him.
This accidental circumstance was the signal for some very decisive proceedings.
In the midst of a great noise, occasioned by the prayers and entreaties of Smike, the cries and exclamations of the women, and the vehemence of the men, demonstrations were made of carrying off the lost son by violence:
and Squeers had actually begun to haul him out, when Nicholas (who, until then, had been evidently undecided how to act) took him by the collar, and shaking him so that such teeth as he had, chattered in his head, politely escorted him to the room-door, and thrusting him into the passage, shut it upon him.
`Now,' said Nicholas to the other two, `have the goodness to follow your friend.'
`I want my son,' said Snawley.
`Your son,' replied Nicholas, `chooses for himself. He chooses to remain here, and he shall.'
`You won't give him up?' said Snawley.
`I would not give him up against his will, to be the victim of such brutality as that to which you would consign him,' replied Nicholas, `if he were a dog or a rat.'
`Knock that Nickleby down with a candlestick,' cried Mr Squeers, through the keyhole, `and bring out my hat, somebody, will you, unless he wants to steal it.'
`I am very sorry, indeed,' said Mrs Nickleby, who, with Mrs Browdie, had stood crying and biting her fingers in a corner, while Kate--very pale, but perfectly quiet--had kept as near her brother as she could. `I am very sorry, indeed, for all this. I really don't know what would be best to do, and that's the truth. Nicholas ought to be the best judge, and I hope he is. Of course, it's a hard thing to have to keep other people's children, though young Mr Snawley is certainly as useful and willing as it's possible for anybody to be; but, if it could be settled in any friendly manner--if old Mr Snawley, for instance, would settle to pay something certain for his board and lodging, and some fair arrangement was come to, so that we undertook to have fish twice a week, and a pudding twice, or a dumpling, or something of that sort, I do think that it might be very satisfactory and pleasant for all parties.'
This compromise, which was proposed with abundance of tears and sighs, not exactly meeting the point at issue, nobody took any notice of it; and poor Mrs Nickleby accordingly proceeded to enlighten Mrs Browdie upon the advantages of such a scheme, and the unhappy results flowing, on all occasions, from her not being attended to when she proffered her advice.
`You, sir,' said Snawley, addressing the terrified Smike, `are an unnatural, ungrateful, unlovable boy. You won't let me love you when I want to. Won't you come home--won't you?'
`No, no, no,' cried Smike, shrinking back.
`He never loved nobody,' bawled Squeers, through the keyhole. `He never loved me; he never loved Wackford, who is next door but one to a cherubim.
How can you expect that he'll love his father? He'll never love his father, he won't. He don't know what it is to have a father. He don't understand it. It an't in him.'
Mr Snawley looked steadfastly at his son for a full minute, and then covering his eyes with his hand, and once more raising his hat in the air, appeared deeply occupied in deploring his black ingratitude. Then drawing his arm across his eyes, he picked up Mr Squeers's hat, and taking it under one arm, and his own under the other, walked slowly and sadly out.
`Your romance, sir,' said Ralph, lingering for a moment, `is destroyed, I take it. No unknown; no persecuted descendant of a man of high degree;but the weak, imbecile son of a poor, petty tradesman. We shall see how your sympathy melts before plain matter of fact.'
`You shall,' said Nicholas, motioning towards the door.
`And trust me, sir,' added Ralph, `that I never supposed you would give him up tonight. Pride, obstinacy, reputation for fine feeling, were all against it. These must be brought down, sir, lowered, crushed, as they shall be soon. The protracted and wearing anxiety and expense of the law in its most oppressive form, its torture from hour to hour, its weary days and sleepless nights--with these I'll prove you, and break your haughty spirit, strong as you deem it now. And when you make this house a hell, and visit these trials upon yonder wretched object (as you will; I know you), and those who think you now a young-fledged hero, we'll go into old accounts between us two, and see who stands the debtor, and comes out best at last--even before the world.'
Ralph Nickleby withdrew. But Mr Squeers, who had heard a portion of this closing address, and was by this time wound up to a pitch of impotent malignity almost unprecedented, could not refrain from returning to the parlour door, and actually cutting some dozen capers with various wry faces and hideous grimaces, expressive of his triumphant confidence in the downfall and defeat of Nicholas.
Having concluded this war-dance, in which his short trousers and large boots had borne a very conspicuous figure, Mr Squeers followed his friends, and the family were left to meditate upon recent occurrences.
