`I dinnot know whether thou'd ever dreamt of it, though I think that's loike 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 you chap at schoolmeasther's," says I. "Him!" says she, quite screeching. "Ah!
him!" says I. "Why, John," says she--and she coom a deal closer and squeedged a deal harder than she'd deane afore--"dost thou think it's nat'ral noo, that having such a proper mun as thou to keep company wi', I'd ever tak'
opp wi' such a leetle scanty whipper-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 its telling against himself, and his being desirous to spare the blushes of Mrs Browdie, whose protestations were drowned in peals of laughter from her husband. His good-nature soon put her at her ease; and although she still denied the charge, she laughed so heartily at it, that Nicholas had the satisfaction of feeling assured that in all essential respects it was strictly true.
`This is the second time,' said Nicholas, `that we have ever taken a meal together, and only third I have ever seen you; and yet it really seems 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,' said Nicholas; `for if it had not been for your kindness of heart, my good friend, when I had no right or reason to expect it, I know not what might have become of me or what plight I should have been in by this time.'
`Talk aboot some' 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 sympathy with that poor lad, whom you released at the risk of involving yourself in trouble and difficulty; but I can never tell you how greateful he and I, 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 never tell you hoo grateful soom folks that we do know would be loikewise, if they know'd I had takken pity on him.'
`Ah!' exclaimed Mrs Browdie, `what a state I was in that night!'
`Where they at all disposed to give you credit for assisting in the escape?' inquired Nicholas of John Browdie.
`Not a bit,' replied the Yorkshireman, extending his mouth from ear to ear. `There I lay, snoog in schoolmeasther's bed long efther it was dark, and nobody coom nigh the pleace. "Weel!" thinks I, "he's got a pretty good start, and if he bean't whoam by noo, he never will be; so you may coom as quick as you loike, and foind us reddy"--that is, you know, 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 to myself, "tak' your time, sir--no hurry." He cooms to the door, turns the key--turns the key when there warn't nothing to hoold the lock--and ca's oot `Hallo, there!"--"Yes," thinks I, "you may do thot agean, and not wakken anybody, sir." "Hallo, there," he says, and then he stops. "Thou'd betther not aggravate me," says schoolmeasther, efther a little time. "I'll brak' every boan in your boddy, Smike," he says, efther another 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 heerd nought?" "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?)"Help1" he cries. "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 an hoor. To see old schoolmeasther wi'out his hat, skimming along oop to his knees in mud and wather, tumbling over fences, and rowling into ditches, and bawling oot like mad, wi' his one eye looking sharp out for the lad, and his coat-tails flying out behind, and him spattered wi' mud all ower, face and all! I tho't I should ha' dropped doon, and killed myself wi'
laughing.'
John laughed so heartily at the mere recollection, that he communicated the contagion to both his hearers, and all three burst into peals of laughter, which were renewed again and again, until they could laugh no longer.
`He's a bad 'un,' said John, wiping his eyes; `a very bad 'un, is schoolmeasther.'
`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 along o' 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; `she was an old playmate of mine, you know.'
`Weel,' replied John, `dean't I say so, lass? It's best to be neighbourly, 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 when I 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, `though it's not exactly what we understand by "coming Yorkshire over us" in London.
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 the joke though, being a bride herself.
`The groom will be a blessed mun,' said John, his eyes twinkling at the idea. `He'll be in luck, he will.'
