Original subtitles

SMIKE: Try... Trynotto worry.

Your friend didn't say your sister was in danger.

He said you're not to be alarmed.

Yes.

He's going to write to me again in a day or two.

All the same, Smike, I wish I knew why Kate was going to need my help.

Perhaps I should go there now at once.

Wouldn't Mr Noggs have told you to come if it was necessary?

Yes, of course he would.

At any rate, it seems that my career in the theatre is nearing its end.

- Does your sister look like you? - So they say.

Only a good deal handsomer.

- Shall I ever see her? - Oh, to be sure.

We will all of us be together one of these days when we are rich.

How is it that you, who are so kind to me, have no-one to be kind to you?

Well, it's a long story, Smike. You see, I have this enemy.

But there's no reason why he should harm Kate.

- Enemy? - Yes.

He's rich, not so easily punished as your old enemy Mr Squeers.

He's my uncle. That doesn't make him any the less a villain.

- What's his name? - Ralph.

- Ralph Nickleby. - Ralph Nickleby.

Ralph Nickleby.

I'll get that name by heart.

Ralph Nickleby.

Ralph Nickleby.

(Knocking) - Come in.

- Mr Folair. - I bring a communication, sir.

- Yes? - Have the goodness to read that, sir.

Ah. "Mr Lenville presents his kind regards to Mr Johnson

and invites him to attend at the theatre tomorrow morning

for the purpose of having his nose pulled in the presence of the company."

- Do you know the contents of this note, sir? - I do, sir.

- And am I to assume that it's written in joke? - No, no. Right down earnest. Honour bright.

Why would Mr Lenville wish to pull my nose?

Because ever since you came here, he never gets a reception.

A what?

Jupiter! What an unsophisticated shepherd you are.

Applause from the house when you first come on.

Every night you get a couple of rounds at least,

and he goes on night after night, never getting a hand.

And because of this...

He means to restore his popularity by pulling your nose

and letting everybody know about it.

I shouldn't be surprised if it doesn't get into the newspapers.

(Lenville whistles "The Grand Old Duke of York")

Mr Lenville, I beg you, think of the little Lenville who is to come.

I will not be dissuaded. Take Mrs Lenville away.

(Resumes whistling)

My dear, we can't go on waiting all day.

- We have rehearsals. - Exactly.

Ah.

Good morning.

Slave.

Oh, you're there.

(Miss Snevellicci laughs)

Object of my scorn and hatred, I hold you in contempt.

- Well done. - (Laughs)

They shall not protect ye. They shall not protect ye, boy!

Come along, Lenville.

If you aren't going to do it, say so, and we needn't go on waiting.

The moment is here.

(Others murmur)

(All gasp)

(All gasp)

(All gasp)

Bravo! Bravo!

Monster! Do you see, this...?

Come, apologise for that insolent note you sent me.

- Never! - Oh, yes, yes, yes, Lenville. For my sake.

Forego all idle forms unless you would see me a blighted corpse at your feet.

- This is affecting. CRUMMLES: Capital.

The ties of nature are strong.

The weak husband and the father, the father that is yet to be, relents.

- I apologise. - Humbly and submissively?

Humbly and submissively.

But only to save her, for a time will come...

- Very good. - Bravo! Bravo!

Excellent!

I do think the duologue under the table was capital.

I believe my career with you must soon be closed.

Oh.

- Closed? - Closed, did he say?

- But surely not... - I've had some news from London.

It may be that I shall have to return there before the week is up.

Hush, my pets.

If it is a matter of the salary...

It isn't, I assure you.

- Well, you know best. - Oh, Vincent!

There, there, my dear. If Mr Johnson is leaving us, we must smile...

...and make the most of him.

Today is Wednesday. We could have posters out

announcing positively the last appearance for tomorrow.

Mr Crummles, I may still be here on Friday. On Saturday, even.

So much the better! Last appearance Thursday.

Reengagement for one night more.

On Friday and on Saturday, we shall yield to the wishes

of the numerous influential patrons who were disappointed in obtaining seats.

That should bring in three very decent houses.

I'm to make three last appearances?

- Most certainly. - Most certainly.

Novelty would be desirable.

You couldn't sing a comic song on the... pony's back, could you?

No. Pity.

What would you say to a brilliant display of fireworks?

- That would be rather expensive. - 18 pence would do it.

You...on the top of a pair of steps.

The phenomenon in an attitude.

- Oh, no, not her again. - Farewell.

- Farewell. NICKLEBY: Capital.

On a transparency behind,

nine people in the wings with a squib in each hand, all going at once.

It will be awe-inspiring!

(Crashing)

I... I will make the arrangements... Agh! ..at once.

Mr Johnson, what is this? You are leaving us?

- I must. - Oh, what a tragedy.

And I had hoped to have you to supper to meet Papa,

who has journeyed down from London.

I'm sure I should be most honoured.

- I still have a few days in hand. - Oh, Mr Johnson.

Would you?

(Laughter)

You never saw my friend Glavormelly, sir?

Then you've never seen acting yet. If he'd lived...

- Is he dead, then, sir? - He is.

But he isn't in Westminster Abbey, more's the shame.

He's gone to that bourn from which no traveller returns.

I just hope he's appreciated there.

Well, Mr Lillyvick, and how are you, sir?

Quite well, sir.

There's nothing like the married state, depend upon it.

Look at her. Isn't it a fascination?

WCKLEBY". You, sir, are a lucky man.

Do you think I am, though, eh?

Well, perhaps I am, then.

I...l wish to propose a toast.

A toast to the ladies, bless their hearts.

- The ladies. - Oh, Papa!

I love 'em! I love 'em every one!

- Not every one. - Yes, every one.

Not every one, because that would include the married ladies.

I love them too, sir.

- My word! - One good turn deserves another.

I love them and they love me!

Oh, Mr Snevellicci.

(Women shriek)

Mr Lillyvick, are you mad, sir?

Papa!

(Screams)

Henrietta, here is elegance and purity combined,

whose feelings have been outraged, violated!

Oh, Lord, what nonsense he talks!

Nonsense? Did I not see him w-w-w...?

Well? Do you suppose nobody's ever to look at me?

A pretty thing to be married indeed if that was law.

- You didn't mind it? - Mind it?

You ought to go down on your knees and beg everyone's pardon.

- Pardon? - And mine first.

Do you think I ain't the best judge of what ain't proper?

(Shrieks of laughter)

Poor Mr Snevellicci.

(Shrieking)

It's... It's from Mr Noggs.

(Mr Snevellicci sings drunkenly)

Your pardon. I must leave for London immediately.

Oh!

These Moors are changeable in their wills.

Fill thy purse with money.

She must have change, she must. Therefore put money in thy purse.

- Mr Crummles! - Agh! Who's there?

- Mr Johnson. - I've come to say goodbye, Mr Crummles.

Smike and I are off to London by the night coach.

How? But it's only Friday. The posters.

I can't help it. Set whatever I might have earned this week against the cost.

If that will not repay you, say at once what will.

We'll cry quits about that.

But can't you give us one night more?

Not an hour, not a minute.

Won't you stop to say something to Mrs Crummles?

I couldn't stop if it were to prolong my life a score of years.

Sir, my hearty thanks.

Farewell.

Smike.

Farewell.

(Sighs) Dear me, dear me.

If only he acted like that.

What a deal of money he'd draw.

Don't know what's good for him.

Young men are rash.

Very rash.

- Looks a bit expensive, Smike. - Yes, it does.

Still, a glass of wine and a biscuit are no great debauch.

It would be unfeeling of us to arrive at Mr Noggs's lodgings

in need of food and drink.

I confess, Smike, it's good to be back in London.

- Shall I see your sister? - Oh, I hope so, my friend.

But first we must learn why it is that Mr Noggs believes her to be in need of my protection.

MAN: "Kate Nickleby... - Perhaps Mr Noggs is...

ls something the matter?

But I could have sworn that I...

No, I must have been mistaken. It's nothing.

(Men chatter indistinctly)

MAN: ..Kate... (Chatter continues)

(Men laugh) - Why...?

- Sm. - The girl's mother? What of her?

HAWK: We could carry her precious daughter away

without a whisper of protest - in fact, t may even do so.

Stay here, Smike.

VERISOPHT: What would Miss Nickleby have to say about that?

HAWK: She'd pretend that her virtue had been outraged

when in truth she'd be highly pleased with the entire proceedings.

(Laughter)

- Let me have a word with you, sir. - With me, sir?

A mysterious stranger, upon my soul.

Will you step apart with me for a few moments, sir?

No. Either name your business or leave the table.

- There. My business you will guess. - Who is it?

- Your name, sir? - I shall not give it to you.

- Nickleby? - Nickleby, Pyke.

I am the brother of the young lady that's been the subject of conversation here.

I call this man a liar and a coward.

If there is a gentleman in this party,

he will acquaint me with the name and residence of this man.

I have nothing to say to boys of his station.

His pretty sister shall save him a broken head if he talks till midnight.

I will know you. I will follow you home even if you walk the streets till morning.

Walk?

Aye, sir. If you've a mind to follow me on foot, then you must run.

(Laughter)

Gentlemen, it grows late.

No doubt we'll meet on the morrow.

I will know your name!

Will one of you tell me?

- Good night. - Will you make yourself known to me?

- No. - I will ask you again.

Will you answer for your conduct?

To a proper champion, yes, but to you, no.

Stand out of the way, dog. William, let go her head.

You will not go until I know your name.

- Unclasp your hand. - I want to know your name!

Then here's your answer.

- Agh! (Horse neighs)

(Crash, horses neigh)

Hey, you! You there! Come back here!

What a demnition long time you've kept me ringing

at this confounded cracked old tea kettle of a bell,

every tinkle of which is enough to throw a strong man into blue convulsions.

I didn't hear the bell ring more than once.

Then you are most immensely and outrageously deaf, as deaf as a post.

You had best tell me your business.

My business is to melt some scraps of dirty paper

into bright, shining, chinking, tinkling, demd mint sauce.

Ah! Nickleby!

Eh? Oh, it's you, is it?

Ha! I vow I've never seen you look so well in all your life.

(Laughs)

There's quite a bloom on your demnition countenance.

Noggs.

We're alone. What do you want?

(Laughs)

Very good, yes.

What did I want?

Demnition discount.

- Money's scarce. - Demd scarce or I shouldn't want it.

Times are bad. I don't want to do business just now.

Oh, Nickleby...

But as you're a friend...

(Belches)

- How many bills have you there? - Er, two.

- What amount? - Oh, demd trifling five and seventy.

- And the dates? - Two months and four.

I'll do them for you for...five and twenty pound.

- Oh, demmit. - Why, that leaves you fifty.

- What would you have? - You are so demd hard, Nickleby.

- Can't you see your way to giving me...? - No, I can't.

Will you have the money now...

...cash down, no delay, no going into the City?

(Doorbell rings) - Well, is it a bargain, or isn't it?

- Well? - Well, I don't know, demmit.

- It's not quite what I... MADAME: Is my husband here?

Done. I agree, demmit.

- Oh, you are here. - Yes.

Here I am, my soul's delight.

Upon Tom Tiddler's ground, picking up the demnition gold and silver.

- I am ashamed of you. - Ashamed of me, my joy?

Now, it knows it's talking demd charming sweetness, but naughty fibs.

It knows it's not ashamed of its own popolorum tibby.

I am ashamed, and I call Mr Nickleby

to witness the course I intend to pursue with you.

Don't call me to witness anything. Settle it between yourselves.

I must ask you as a favour

to hear me give him notice of what is my fixed intention to do.

- My fixed intention to do, sir. - Will she call me "sir"?

- His extravagance is beyond all bounds. - I should scarcely have supposed it.

This morning he took papers of value from my desk.

I guessed that he would come here at once to convert them into money.

I see I have not been mistaken.

And so I have made up my mind to allowance him.

To do what, my essential juice of pineapple?

To put him on a fixed allowance.

From this day out, if he has 120 pounds a year for his clothes and pocket money,

he may consider himself a very fortunate man.

A hundred... Demnition!

But... (Laughs) No...

It's a demd horrid dream. It's not reality, no.

A very judicious arrangement, ma'am, if he will keep to it.

You have brought it all upon yourself, Alfred.

I am a villain. I will fill my pockets with change for a sovereign in halfpence

and drown myself in the Thames.

- Alfred. - She will be a lovely widow.

- I shall be a body. - Alfred.

Some handsome women will cry. She will laugh demnebly.

Alfred, you cruel, cruel creature.

She calls me cruel.

Me, that for her sake will be a demd, damp, moist, unpleasant body.

Ask Mr Nickleby if the sum I have mentioned is not a proper one.

I don't want any sum. I shall require no demd allowance.

- I shall be a body. - No, Alfred! No!

- Can I live to be mistrusted? - We will talk about the allowance.

We will not declare it quite settled.

Well, I will be just.

Until it is settled, I will not become a body.

You see, Nickleby, how it coils its fascinations around me?

Like a pure and angelic rattlesnake.

What an engrossing demnition captivator it is.

My little garnet.

(Nickleby clears throat)

Alfred, if you have nothing further to say to Mr Nickleby,

we will take our leaves.

At once, my heart's joy.

I'm sure that Nickleby has other business to attend to.

Yes, I have!

Especially after that demd affair with his friend Sir Mulberry.

What do you mean?

But surely you know, demmit?

I know that he was thrown from his cabriolet last night and that his life is in danger.

- It was in the paper. - But don't you know how it was?

I don't care how it was.

It was a demd furious manslaughtering attack on him by your nephew.

- What? - Demnition, Nickleby.

- You're as great a tiger as he is. - My nephew? Tell me.

They say that your nephew met Sir Mulberry at a demd hostelry.

- Alfred! - Well?

That he followed him to his cab, swore he would ride home with him

if it was the last thing he did, smashed his countenance,

- pitched out Sir Mulberry and himself... - And was killed? Is he dead?

No, not at all. He went off as quiet and as comfortable as...

- Alfred! - Demnition.

There is some spell about that boy.

I cannot believe it. To think that Sir Mulberry Hawk should turn out to be

such an abandoned wretch as you make him out to be.

You don't have to take my word for it, Mother. Kate will bear me out.

Every day I was congratulating myself that he was an admirer of your sister's.

Oh, dear me. It's enough to kill one, that it is.

- Your uncle introduced him to Kate. - So I've been told.

You should ask your uncle what he could have meant.

No, Mother, I will not speak to that man again, or see you beholden to him a moment longer.

- Not even for shelter as poor as this. - To be sure, he is a brute.

And I have had this ceiling whitewashed at the expense of 18 pence,

which is very distressing, considering it's gone into your uncle's pocket.

But where...where will we go?

- To our old lodgings at Miss La Creevy's. (Knocking)

Smike, come in. Did you manage to find a coach?

- I... - The coach, Smike?

It... It's waiting outside.

Good. Kate, this is my friend Smike.

Nicholas has told me so much about you.

I feel as though we're old friends. You're welcome here.

Mother, Smike has been my friend and companion ever since I left Yorkshire.

I know you'll be kindly disposed towards him.

I'm sure, Nicholas, that any friend of yours has a great claim upon me.

From Yorkshire?

You don't happen, Mr Smike, ever to have dined with the Grimbles of Grimble Hall'?

It's somewhere in the North Riding. A very proud man...

I don't think that Smike's acquainted with that family.

Come, we must make haste. The coach is waiting.

- Smike, ask the coach to wait. - A coach?

Yes, you and Kate are leaving with me now as soon as your belongings are packed.

Today? But Kate must go to her place of employment.

She is companion to Mrs Wititterly, a charming lady...

A friend of Sir Mulberry Hawk and his associates.

- No, Mother, Kate will not return to that house. - But how are we to live?

- Well, on my earnings. - Dear Nicholas! You have a position?

No, Mother, not yet. But I shall find one.

Perhaps this very day.

- Oh, beg your pardon, sir. - No of fence. No of fence.

Great many opportunities here, sir.

A great many people willing and anxious to be employed

have seriously thought so very often, I dare say.

Poor fellows. Poor fellows.

I...

You were about to speak, young gentleman?

No, it's nothing. Good day, sir.

Hello, sir.

Young gentleman, my name is Charles Cheeryble.

Forgive my curiosity, but outside the register office a few moments ago,

what was it you were going to say?

Merely that I wondered if you had some object in consulting the advertisements.

- Did you think I wanted a situation? - Of course not, sir.

It would be the natural conjecture. For that is what I thought about you.

- You were not far from the truth, sir. - What? Dear me, no, no.

A well-behaved young gentleman reduced to such a necessity. No, no, no.

Employment is not so easily found. This London can be a wilderness.

Yes, it is. It is. Good. It is a wilderness.

It was a wilderness to me once. I came here barefoot.

I have never forgotten it...thank God.

- You wear black. Who's it for, eh? - My father.

Ah. Bad thing for a young man to lose his father.

- Widowed mother, perhaps? - Yes.

- And brothers and sisters? - One sister.

Poor thing. Poor thing.

Tell me more of your history. Let me hear it all.

No impertinent curiosity. No, no, no.

Well...

Waiter, more coffee.

(Door opens) - What do you want, Noggs?

- I didn't call for you. - It ain't Noggs.

It's me, Squeers.

At your service.

- Well? - This is my son, sir. Little Wackford.

What do you think of him, sir, for a specimen of Dotheboys Hall feeding, eh?

Oh, he is flesh, he is firmness, he is solidness.

You can hardly get enough of him between your finger and thumb to pinch him.

- Ow! - I had him there.

But that's only because he breakfasted early and he hasn't had his lunch yet.

Oh, look at them tears, sir, eh? There's oiliness.

He looks well indeed. And how is Mrs Squeers?

Mrs Squeers, sir, is, as she always is, a mother to them lads,

and a blessing and a comfort and a joy to all as knows her.

One of our lads, gorging hisself with vittles, and taking ill, got an abscess on him last week.

To see how she operated on him with a penknife.

Oh! Oh, Lor, what a member of society that woman is.

- Dicky! Dicky! (Bird twitters)

Dicky...

- ls my brother in his room, Tim? - He is, sir, but Mr Trimmers is with him.

And what has he come about?

He's getting up a subscription for the widow and family

of a man who was killed in the East India Docks this morning,

smashed, sir, by a cask of sugar.

He is a kind soul.

He makes a thousand cases known to us we should never discover of ourselves.

Trimmers is one of the best friends we have.

But it is my brother we will speak to.

Brother Ned! Are you busy, my dear brother,

or can you spare time for a word or two with me?

Brother Charles, my dear fellow.

Don't ask me such a question but come in directly.

- Come, come. - Thank you, and good day to you, sir.

- And good day to you, sir. - Good day, Mr Trimmers.

Good heavens.

Aye, and have you quite recovered from that scoundrel's attack?

Well, I have only just done it, sir, if I have done it now.

I was one blessed bruise, sir, from here to there.

Vinegar and brown paper, vinegar and brown paper, from morning till night.

As I lay all of a heap in our kitchen, plastered all over,

you might have thought that I was a large brown-paper parcel

chock full of nothing but groans.

Did I groan loud, Wackford, or did I groan soft?

- Loud. - Never mind that.

- I want a word with you alone. - Eh?

Oh. You haven't such a thing as tuppence about you, Mr Nickleby?

- Hm? - No, no. Wackford, here.

Go and get yourself a tan.

Pastry makes the flesh shine.

Parents thinks that a healthy sign.

- Now, attend to me. - Eh?

Oh.

I am not to suppose that you are dolt enough to forgive and forget

- the violence that was committed upon you? - Devil a bit.

Or to lose an opportunity of repaying it with interest.

Just give me the chance.

The boy my nephew took with him...

- Smike? - Yeah. Is he young or old?

Well, not young.

That is, not young for a boy, you know, but, well, he might have been twenty.

He wouldn't seem so old, not to them as didn't know him,

for he was a little wanting here, you know.

Nobody at home, not if you knocked ever so often.

And you did knock pretty often, I dare say.

- Pretty well, aye. - What is known about this boy?

Precious little. His money were paid for some six or eight year, then it stopped.

I only kept him on out of, you know, out of...

Charity.

Charity, to be sure. Then just when he starts to be useful to me,

this scoundrel Nickleby comes and carries him off.

Before long, we will both cry quits on my nephew.

Quits? Aye, and leave a balance in his favour.

I only wish Mrs Squeers could catch hold of him.

She'd murder him, Mr Nickleby, she would, soon as eat her dinner.

We will talk of this again.

I must have time to think about it.

To wound him through his own affections and fancies.

If I could strike him through this boy...

Strike him where you like, sir, through Smike if you prefer it,

only hit him hard enough, sir, hit him hard!

You are in the right of it, my dear brother. We must assist this young man.

- But how? - By employment.

But we already employ Tim Linkinwater.

I've a plan, my dear brother. I've a plan.

Tim is getting old, and Tim has been a faithful servant, brother Ned.

If we could lighten his duties...

Capital! Where is he? Where is Tim Linkinwater?

Yes, by all means, we must have Tim Linkinwater.

Oh...

Ah, come in, Tim.

We have the intention of taking this young gentleman into the county house.

- Mr Cheeryble... - At a salary of 120 pounds a year.

- For the present. - Exactly.

And so, Tim, you shall go into the country two or three times a week,

sleep in the fresh air and begin business an hour later in the morning?

Well, Tim?

Sleep in the fresh air at my time of life?

- Certainly not. The idea! Ho! - But...

And I'm not coming in an hour late in the morning, either.

Damn your obstinacy, Tim Linkinwater.

It's 44 years next May since I first kept the books of Cheeryble Brothers,

and I've never slept out of the back attic one single night.

There's the same mignonette box in the middle of the window,

and there's not such a spring in England as the pump in the middle of the archway.

And there's not such a view in England as the view out of my window.

I've slept in that room for four and forty years,

and if it didn't interfere with business, I should request leave to die there.

Damn you, Tim Linkinwater! How dare you talk about dying?

That's what I've got to say, Mr Edwin and Mr Charles.

This isn't the first time you've talked about my pension,

but if you please we'll make it the last and drop the subject for evermore.

He must be done something with, brother Ned. He must be made a partner.

If he won't submit to it peaceably, we shall have to recourse to violence.

Quite right. We must quarrel with him, brother Charles.

We must quarrel with him.

But we are detaining our young friend.

- Will you return to us tomorrow, sir? - Gladly.

I think you mentioned that you and your mother and sister are in lodgings?

- Yes, sir. - The cottage, brother Ned.

But of course! What else but the cottage?

We have a small cottage at Bow which is empty.

If you and your mother and sister would care to have it, at an agreeable rent...

- If... - A small rent, brother Charles.

Of course a small rent, brother Ned. It is a small cottage.

If we would care to have it? Mr Cheeryble...

(Hammering)

What an agreeable creature he is, to be sure.

Indeed, Miss La Creevy. Smike has become quite one of the family.

We could have found no more faithful friends.

Smike? Is that his first or his last name?

I'm afraid it's the only name he knows.

He won't even allow us to put a Mr before it.

It's scarcely a week since Nicholas brought him here,

and yet he's changed in some way.

Changed? Do you mean for the better?

No. It's as if he's become even more conscious of his weak intellect.

It gives him pain that he cannot understand simple things.

I'm sure it will pass.

I hope so, Miss La Creevy.

I know. When it is time for me to leave,

I will make him squire me all the way to the Strand.

I will talk on and on and on

and never leave off until I have roused him into a laugh at something.

Oh, Mrs Nickleby, I was saying what a beautiful house this is,

how fortunate you all are,

and Mr Nicholas especially to have found two such employers.

Oh, the idea! I never heard of such a thing.

- Mama, what is it? - Oh, the idea!

Well, I suppose they are rather fine.

Perhaps we could have one for dinner and I might pickle the rest.

Mama, what has happened?

The gentleman in the house next door...

Yes?

He started to throw his cucumbers over our wall.

- His cucumbers? - Yes, Miss La Creevy.

- And vegetable marrows likewise. - How impertinent of him.

I don't think he means it impertinently.

Then how does he mean it?

He has...called out to me between one cucumber and the next.

- He has proposed marriage. - Marriage?

- And an elopement. - An elopement?

But not to me, I should hope. The very idea!

As if I should think of marrying again,

particularly to a gentleman who wears small clothes and worsted stockings

and throws cucumbers over garden walls.

I dare say he's more to be pitied, really.

After all, he's not to be supposed to know that his position is hopeless.

MISS LA CREEVYI Oh, no, indeed.

Well, I must be off.

Now, where is my squire, Kate?

Your...? Oh, Smike! Yes!

Smike. Smike?

Oh, Smike. Would you like to show Miss La Creevy

safely back to her house near the Strand?

Will you be able to find your way back here, do you think?

Yes.

MRS WCKLEBY". He's done it again! Look!

A large vegetable marrow on top of our wall.

Oh!

(Market traders shouting)

Chimneys swept!

Mind your back, sir. Mind your backs!

Excuse me, lady!

A farthing.

Anyone like one of these mugs?

Penny farthing, all I want.

This one here, penny, penny ha'penny.

I've got him, Pa. I've got him.

Here's a go. Here's a delicious go.

No, it ain't a dream. It's me right enough, Smike.

And I've got ya!

Mr Snawley, sir! Here, sir!

- What's this, Mr Squeers? - This, sir, this is the vagrant.

The felon, the rebel, the monster of ungratefulness.

I have never thrashed a boy in a hackney carriage before.

There was inconvenience in it, but the novelty give it a son of relish.

What, the boy that ran away? I'd fetch him such a...

- Well, never mind. I'll owe it him. - The very boy, sir.

Me and Wackford were turning out of a street and come upon him at the very nick.

- Didn't I catch hold of his leg, Pa? - Oh, you did, like a good son, my boy.

You keep on in the same path as your father,

and when you die, you'll go right slap to heaven and no questions asked.

So, you come upon him, eh? It's clear there's been a Providence in it, sir.

Providence is agin him, sir. Mark you, that were only to be expected.

Hard-heanedness and evil-doing will never prosper, sir.

. I must go home now.

Oh, to be sure you must.

You'll go home very soon, you will.

You will find yourself in the delightful village of Dotheboys in under a week.

Here, where's he been until now? Who's he been living with?

Aye, have you been living with that there devilish Nickleby?

- I... - Answer me!

- I won't tell you. - He won't tell me!

I have been, Mr Snawley,

I have been this chap's benefactor, teacher, feeder and clother.

I have been this chap's classical, commercial, mathematical,

philosophical and trigonomical friend.

My son Wackford has been his brother.

Mrs Squeers has been his mother, aunt, grandmother

and, I may say, uncle all in one.

And what is our return, eh?

What has come of my milk of human kindness?

It turns to curds and whey when I look at him.

I asked you a question, sir. Now you answer me!

When I think about it, I'm sure I had at least a dozen.

- A dozen, Mama? - A dozen suitors, my dear.

I declare you never listen to me.

A dozen suitors before I was married.

There was young Lukin, Mogley, Tipslark, Cabbery, Smifser...

- So many, Mama? - I had indeed.

Not counting your poor Papa... Oh, and a young gentleman

who would send gold watches to our house in gilt-edged paper

and who afterwards went out to Botany Bay in a convict ship

and escaped into the bush and killed sheep and was going to be hung,

only he accidentally choked himself and the government pardoned him.

- Mama! MAN: Ahem!

What was that?

Now, don't be flurried, Kate, my dear. As you see, I'm not.

Ahem!

- Oh, Mama! - Queen of my soul, this goblet sip.

- Nonsense, sir. - Let's go into the house this instant.

Won't you sip the goblet? Oh, do sip the goblet.

I shall not consent to do anything of the kind, sir.

- Kate, my dear, pray be quiet. - Why is it that beauty's so obdurate?

Is it in consequence of the statue at Charing Cross

having been lately seen on the Stock Exchange at midnight,

walking arm-in-arm with the Pump from Aldgate in riding-habit?

- Mama, do you hear him? - Kate, my dear, he is very polite.

And I think that was a quotation from the poets.

Will you permit me, fairest creature, to ask you one question,

in the absence of the planet Venus,

who has gone on business to the Horse Guards, and would otherwise interpose between us?

Dear Mama, let us run away and shut ourselves up until Nicholas comes home.

Kate, my dear, one must be civil, you know.

If you will conduct yourself, sir, and put your question to me in plain words,

I will answer it.

The question is...

- ...are you a princess? - You know I'm not, sir.

Then are you any relation to the Archbishop of Canterbury or the Pope in Rome?

Forgive me if I'm wrong, but I was told that you were niece

to the Commissioners of Paving

and daughter-in-law to the Lord Mayor and Court of Common Council.

Whoever has spread such reports has taken great liberties with my name.

Mama, I implore you to come away.

The idea! Niece to the Commissioners of Paving!

Beautiful madam, if I have made any mistake with regard to your family or its connections,

I must humbly beseech you to pardon me.

I'm not a youth man, as you can see,

and although beings like you could never grow old,

I venture to presume that you and I...

are fitted for each other.

- Really, Kate, my dear. - I have estates, ma'am, jewels.

Lighthouses, fish-ponds,

a whalery of my own in the North Sea,

and oyster-beds of great profit in the Pacific Ocean.

My walking stick can be seen

on application to the chaplain of the House of Commons,

who is strictly forbidden to take money for showing it.

Bless me with your hand and heart, ma'am.

Love, bliss and rapture!

Love, bliss and rapture! Love, bliss and rapture!

Be mine. Be mine.

- Sir... - Mama, do not speak to him.

Be mine, be mine.

Gog and Magog, Gog and Magog.

Be mine.

It can scarcely be expected that I shall tell a stranger

whether I feel flattered by such proposals or not.

As for my being young enough to marry again, that perhaps may be so,

but I couldn't think of it for an instant, not on any account whatever.

It's a very painful thing to have to reject proposals,

but I have made up my mind to remain a widow.

Be mine.

We shall be very glad to have you as a neighbour, sir, delighted, but...

- Oh! - Oh, it's you, is it?

How's the Emperor of Tartary'?

MAN: No better and no worse than usual.

And the young Prince of China?

Is he reconciled to his father-in-law, the great potato salesman?

No, and he says he never will be.

Oh.

Oh, well, in that case, I suppose I'd better come down.

MAN: t think perhaps you had. - I've got to get down this way.

I beg your pardon, ladies, but has he been a-making love to either of you?

- Yes. - Ah, and he always will, you know.

Nothing will prevent his making love.

I need not ask if he is out of his mind, poor creature.

Why, no, that's pretty plain, that is.

- And there's no hope for him? - Not a bit, and don't deserve to be.

He's a deal pleasanter without his senses than with 'em.

He was the cruellest, wickedest, out-and-outest old flint that ever drew breath.

- Indeed? - Hope for him?

(Laughs)

An old rip! Good day to you, ladies.

- Now, come along, old man. - Out of his mind, indeed? What an idea!

- But, Mama, can you doubt it? - Kate, my dear, I'm surprised at you.

He may be a little odd and flighty - many of us are that -

but he makes offers with such thought and care and prudence,

not as if he went down upon his knees to the first chit of a girl that he met,

as a madman would.

Oh, no, no, Kate. I see nothing mad about him.

Mama, surely...

Oh, Nicholas, thank heavens!

Kate. ls Smike here?

Why, no. He took Miss La Creevy back to the Strand. But that was hours ago.

He was to wait for me outside the office as he always does.

What could have happened to him?

- If he's not here... - Perhaps...

Well, perhaps he's lost.

- There's ne'er a sign of him. - Perhaps we should ask.

Well, you ask, Fanny. He's your papa.

- Is my pa in, do you know? - In where, miss?

- In here, in the house. - Well, I don't know, miss.

My pa, Mr Wackford Squeers, is stopping here. Is he at home?

Oh, no, he ain't stopping here, miss. I know Mr Squeers.

He come in every evening about this time. Do you want to wait for him?

Aye, we will. And we'll have some pigeon pie to pass the time.

None of your London pies, with three baby pigeons or less,

and a crust so light you don't know when it's in your mouth. Do you take my meaning?

Yes...sir.

- John! - Aye, well, let's get sat down, then.

Pigeon pie, eh?

Tilda, dear, really. What we shall be taken for I don't know.

Let 'em take us as they find us. Here be a wedding party.

A bride and a bridesmaid and a groom.

And if a man can't enjoy himself when he's been but four days married, then when can he?

Oh, John, you mustn't!

There's Pa. Pa!

Well, who'd have thought of this, then, eh?

- Indeed. Here's Tilda married at last. - Married, eh?

Aye, and I stand treat for a sight 0' London, schoolmaster.

One thing young men do when they get married

is run through with their money like nothing at all.

Your turn to get married next. You'd best make haste.

- I'm in no hurry. - No, Fanny?

No, Tilda. I can wait.

So can the young men, it seems, Fanny.

Eh, what do you think?

Who do you suppose we have laid hands on, Wackford and me?

- Not Mr... - Mr Nickleby?

Nickleby? No. Not him, no. Next door to him, though.

- You can't mean Smike. - Oh, yes, I can. I've got him hard and fast.

What, got that poor... that damned scoundrel? Where?

Top back room at my lodgings, with him on one side and the key on fother.

Got him at thy lodgings. The schoolmaster of good old England.

I'm damned but I must shake thee by the hand for that.

Gotten him at thy lodgings, eh?

Aye, and for fear he should give me the slip, by any chance,

I've taken three outsides on the coach for tomorrow morning for Wackford, him and me.

Lucky you come today or you'd have missed us.

As it is, we shan't see much of you before you go away again.

Unless you could sup with me tonight.

Sup with you? Aye, we'd come if it were twenty mile.

Aye, we'll sup with you.

MAN". You're not leaving us, are you?

- Where are you going? - Just going for a breath of air, lass.

- Are you ill? - Me?

Nay, lass. What's! make me ill? It's just this London air.

It's too thin for the lungs of a man what is a man.

- (Belches) - Oh, John!

Shh!

Just going out, that's all.

- You go inside. - And in front of Fanny Squeers!

(Belches)

MAN". Oh, come back, then, have you?

Where's he, then?

TILDA: It's this London atmosphere, you see. He cant quite take it.

SQUEERS". London atmosphere, yeah.

(Chatter continues)

(Footsteps on stairs)

(Key turns in lock)