Chapter 47 - Page 2

two half doors, and shut himself up; intending to slip out directly
Ralph was safe inside his own room.

'Noggs!' cried Ralph, 'where is that fellow, Noggs?'

But not a word said Newman.

'The dog has gone to his dinner, though I told him not,' muttered
Ralph, looking into the office, and pulling out his watch. 'Humph!'
You had better come in here, Gride. My man's out, and the sun is
hot upon my room. This is cool and in the shade, if you don't mind
roughing it.'

'Not at all, Mr Nickleby, oh not at all! All places are alike to
me, sir. Ah! very nice indeed. Oh! very nice!'

The parson who made this reply was a little old man, of about
seventy or seventy-five years of age, of a very lean figure, much
bent and slightly twisted. He wore a grey coat with a very narrow
collar, an old-fashioned waistcoat of ribbed black silk, and such
scanty trousers as displayed his shrunken spindle-shanks in their
full ugliness. The only articles of display or ornament in his
dress were a steel watch-chain to which were attached some large
gold seals; and a black ribbon into which, in compliance with an old
fashion scarcely ever observed in these days, his grey hair was
gathered behind. His nose and chin were sharp and prominent, his
jaws had fallen inwards from loss of teeth, his face was shrivelled
and yellow, save where the cheeks were streaked with the colour of a
dry winter apple; and where his beard had been, there lingered yet a
few grey tufts which seemed, like the ragged eyebrows, to denote the
badness of the soil from which they sprung. The whole air and
attitude of the form was one of stealthy cat-like obsequiousness;
the whole expression of the face was concentrated in a wrinkled
leer, compounded of cunning, lecherousness, slyness, and avarice.

Such was old Arthur Gride, in whose face there was not a wrinkle, in
whose dress there was not one spare fold or plait, but expressed the
most covetous and griping penury, and sufficiently indicated his
belonging to that class of which Ralph Nickleby was a member. Such
was old Arthur Gride, as he sat in a low chair looking up into the
face of Ralph Nickleby, who, lounging upon the tall office stool,
with his arms upon his knees, looked down into his; a match for him
on whatever errand he had come.

'And how have you been?' said Gride, feigning great interest in
Ralph's state of health. 'I haven't seen you for--oh! not for--'

'Not for a long time,' said Ralph, with a peculiar smile, importing
that he very well knew it was not on a mere visit of compliment that
his friend had come. 'It was a narrow chance that you saw me now,
for I had only just come up to the door as you turned the corner.'

'I am very lucky,' observed