He was going on, in his enthusiasm, when, chancing to look at his companion, he saw that he had covered his face with his hands, and that tears were stealing out between his fingers.
A moment before, the boy's eyes were sparkling with unwonted fire, and every feature had been lighted up with an excitement which made him appear, for the moment, quite a different being.
`Well, well,' muttered Newman, as if he were a little puzzled. `It has touched me , more than once, to think such a nature should have been exposed to such trials; this poor fellow -- yes, yes, -- he feels that too -- it softens him -- makes him think of his former misery. Hah! That's it? Yes, that's -- hum!'
It was by no means clear, from the tone of these broken reflections, that Newman Noggs considered them as explaining, at all satisfactorily, the emotion which had suggested them. He sat, in a musing attitude, for some time, regarding Smike occasionally with an anxious and doubtful glance, which sufficiently showed that he was not very remotely connected with his thoughts.
At length he repeated his proposition that Smike should remain where he was for that night, and that he (Noggs) should straightway repair to the cottage to relieve the suspense of the family. But, as Smike would not hear of this -- pleading his anxiety to see his friends again -- they eventually sallied forth together; and the night being, by this time, far advanced, and Smike being, besides, so footsore that he could hardly crawl along, it was within an hour of sunrise when they reached their destination.
At the first sound of their voices outside the house, Nicholas, who had passed a sleepless night, devising schemes for the recovery of his lost charge, started from his bed, and joyfully admitted them. There was so much noisy conversation, and congratulation, and indignation, that the remainder of the family were soon awakened, and Smike received a warm and cordial welcome, not only from Kate, but from Mrs Nickleby also, who assured him of her future favour and regard, and was so obliging as to relate, for his entertainment and that of the assembled circle, a most remarkable account extracted from some work the name of which she had never known, of a miraculous escape from some prison, but what one she couldn't remember, effected by an officer whose name she had forgotten, confined for some crime which she didn't clearly recollect.
At first Nicholas was disposed to give his uncle credit for some portion of this bold attempt (which had so nearly proved successful) to carry off Smike; but on more mature consideration, he was inclined to think that the full merit of it rested with Mr Squeers. Determined to ascertain, if he could, through John Browdie, how the case really stood, he betook himself to his daily occupation: meditating, as he went, on a great variety of schemes for the punishment of the Yorkshire schoolmaster, all of which had their foundation in the strictest principles of retributive justice, and had but the one drawback of being wholly impracticable.
`A fine morning, Mr Linkinwater!' said Nicholas, entering the office.
`Ah!' replied Tim, `talk of the country, indeed! What do you think of this, now, for a day -- a London day -- eh?'
`It's a little clearer out of town,' said Nicholas.
`Clearer!' echoed Tim Linkinwater. `You should see it from my bedroom window.'
`You should see it from mine ,' replied Nicholas, with a smile.
`Pooh! pooh!' said Tim Linkinwater, `don't tell me. Country!' (Bow was quite a rustic place to Tim.) `Nonsense! What can you get in the country but new-laid eggs and flowers? I can buy new-laid eggs in Leadenhall Market, any morning before breakfast; and as to flowers, it's worth a run upstairs to smell my mignonette, or to see the double wallflower in the back-attic window, at No. 6, in the court.'
`There is a double wallflower at No. 6, in the court, is there?' said Nicholas.
`Yes, is there!' replied Tim, `and planted in a cracked jug, without a spout. There were hyacinths there, this last spring, blossoming, in --But you'll laugh at that, of course.'
`At what?'
`At their blossoming in old blacking-bottles,' said Tim.
`Not I, indeed,' returned Nicholas.
Tim looked wistfully at him, for a moment, as if he were encouraged by the tone of this reply to be more communicative on the subject; and sticking behind his ear, a pen that he had been ******, and shutting up his knife with a smart click, said, `They belong to a sickly bedridden hump-backed boy, and seem to be the only pleasure, Mr Nickleby, of his sad existence. How many years is it,'
said Tim, pondering, `since I first noticed him, quite a little child, dragging himself about on a pair of tiny crutches? Well! Well! Not many;but though they would appear nothing, if I thought of other things, they seem a long, long time, when I think of him. It is a sad thing,' said Tim, breaking off, `to see a little deformed child sitting apart from other children, who are active and merry, watching the games he is denied the power to share in. He made my heart ache very often.'
`It is a good heart,' said Nicholas, `that disentangles itself from the close avocations of every day, to heed such things. You were saying --'
`That the flowers belonged to this poor boy,' said Tim; `that's all.
When it is fine weather, and he can crawl out of bed, he draws a chair close to the window, and sits there, looking at them and arranging them, all day long. He used to nod, at first, and then we came to speak. Formerly, when I called to him of a morning, and asked him how he was, he would smile, and say, "Better!" but now he shakes his head, and only bends more closely over his old plants. It must be dull to watch the dark housetops and the flying clouds, for so many months; but he is very patient.'
`Is there nobody in the house to cheer or help him?' asked Nicholas.