Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

Of the Internal Economy of Dotheboys Hall

A ride of two hundred and odd miles in severe weather, is one of the
best softeners of a hard bed that ingenuity can devise. Perhaps it
is even a sweetener of dreams, for those which hovered over the
rough couch of Nicholas, and whispered their airy nothings in his
ear, were of an agreeable and happy kind. He was making his fortune
very fast indeed, when the faint glimmer of an expiring candle shone
before his eyes, and a voice he had no difficulty in recognising as
part and parcel of Mr Squeers, admonished him that it was time to
rise.

'Past seven, Nickleby,' said Mr Squeers.

'Has morning come already?' asked Nicholas, sitting up in bed.

'Ah! that has it,' replied Squeers, 'and ready iced too. Now,
Nickleby, come; tumble up, will you?'

Nicholas needed no further admonition, but 'tumbled up' at once, and
proceeded to dress himself by the light of the taper, which Mr
Squeers carried in his hand.

'Here's a pretty go,' said that gentleman; 'the pump's froze.'

'Indeed!' said Nicholas, not much interested in the intelligence.

'Yes,' replied Squeers. 'You can't wash yourself this morning.'

'Not wash myself!' exclaimed Nicholas.

'No, not a bit of it,' rejoined Squeers tartly. 'So you must be
content with giving yourself a dry polish till we break the ice in
the well, and can get a bucketful out for the boys. Don't stand
staring at me, but do look sharp, will you?'

Offering no further observation, Nicholas huddled on his clothes.
Squeers, meanwhile, opened the shutters and blew the candle out;
when the voice of his amiable consort was heard in the passage,
demanding admittance.

'Come in, my love,' said Squeers.

Mrs Squeers came in, still habited in the primitive night-jacket
which had displayed the symmetry of her figure on the previous
night, and further ornamented with a beaver bonnet of some
antiquity, which she wore, with much ease and lightness, on the top
of the nightcap before mentioned.

'Drat the things,' said the lady, opening the cupboard; 'I can't
find the school spoon anywhere.'

'Never mind it, my dear,' observed Squeers in a soothing manner;
'it's of no consequence.'

'No consequence, why how you talk!' retorted Mrs Squeers sharply;
'isn't it brimstone morning?'

'I forgot, my dear,' rejoined Squeers; 'yes, it certainly is. We
purify the boys' bloods now and then, Nickleby.'

'Purify fiddlesticks' ends,' said his lady. 'Don't think, young
man, that we go to the expense of flower of brimstone and molasses,
just to purify them; because if you think we carry on the business
in that way, you'll find yourself mistaken, and so I