Nicholas Nickleby Page #2

Squeers, this is the boy I told you about. | My nephew.

I am most grateful for the opportunity | to serve, sir.

- Mr. Squeers. | - Mrs. Shaygar.

Could you give those to Henry? | Tuesday is his birthday.

Delighted, my dear. | The boy's happiness is our prime concern.

Three inside, two little ones up top.

Get up behind. If a boy drops off the back, | that's 20 a year lost.

If he is the schoolmaster, | what kind of school can it be?

I hardly know.

Bless you both.

Goodbye.

Someday, we will once again | share the protection of the same roof...

and revive the happiness denied to us now.

I promise.

Young man.

Forgive me. I know the world.

Your father didn't...

or he wouldn't have done me a kindness | without hope of a return.

You don't, or you wouldn't be bound | on such a journey.

If ever you should need help | or shelter in London...

Oh, dear. I once thought I never should.

They know where I live, | at the Sign of the Crown in Golden Square.

You can come at night.

- Once, nobody was ashamed. | - Ashamed?

Where are you, Nickleby? Up.

If you should go near Barnard Castle, | there's good ale at the King's Head.

Say you know me, | and I'm sure they won't charge you for it.

And...

you may say "Mr. Noggs" there...

for I was a gentleman then.

I was.

- Walk on. | - Goodbye, Nicholas.

Whoa!

Smike!

Is this Dotheboys Hall?

No need to call it a hall up here.

We call it that in London, | because it sounds better.

Hurry, lad!

Where the devil were you?

Please, sir...

I fell asleep over the fire.

Missus said I might go in there for a warm.

You'd have been a deuced deal | more wakeful out in the cold.

Is that my Squeery?

The crime of my dead eye, my love...

is that I can't see you twice.

- How's the pig? | - Just as you left her.

And the boys?

Young Braithwaite's had a fever.

Third time this year.

I say it's obstinacy, | and we beat it out of him.

No one can cure an illness | quicker than you, my love.

This is the new man, Mr. Nickleby.

- I hope you're not hungry. | - I am.

Of course you are.

I've got a nice hot stew | for you here, Squeery.

And there's bread on the table.

I brought the letters to the boys, | I'll read them in the morning.

- I'm doing the brimstone first. | - Of course you are.

Grand piece of meat in that, Squeery. | Put the heat back in you.

Aye, it will.

- How was your journey, my pet? | - Dreadful.

- Was it perishing? | - Torture.

What?

Have you...

Did anybody...

Has nothing been heard...

about me?

Not a word, and never will we.

But count your blessings. | You've been here all these years...

and not a penny paid after the first six.

No clue as to who you belong to, | and still I feed you.

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