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'Here we are! said Squeers, hurrying Smike into the little parlour, where Mr Snawley and his wife were taking a lobster supper. 'Here's the vagrant the felon the rebel the monster of unthankfulness. 'What! The boy that run away! cried Snawley, resting his knife and fork upright on the table, and opening his eyes to their full width.
The information being promptly carried to Snawley that Squeers was in custody he was not told for what that worthy, first extorting a promise that he should be kept harmless, declared the whole tale concerning Smike to be a fiction and forgery, and implicated Ralph Nickleby to the fullest extent.
'Just as long as their friends make the quarterly payments to my agent in town, or until such time as they run away, replied Squeers. 'Let us understand each other; I see we may safely do so. What are these boys; natural children? 'No, rejoined Snawley, meeting the gaze of the schoolmaster's one eye. 'They ain't. 'I thought they might be, said Squeers, coolly.
The man Snawley, last night, made a confession. 'Who may "the man Snawley" be, returned Ralph, 'and what may his "confession" have to do with my affairs?
This being purely a labour of love, Mr Squeers readily complied, and leaving the room for the purpose, almost immediately returned, supporting a sleek personage with an oily face, who, bursting from him, and giving to view the form and face of Mr Snawley, made straight up to Smike, and tucking that poor fellow's head under his arm in a most uncouth and awkward embrace, elevated his broad-brimmed hat at arm's length in the air as a token of devout thanksgiving, exclaiming, meanwhile, 'How little did I think of this here joyful meeting, when I saw him last!
Is that the case? 'That's the case, replied Snawley. 'Having written on her death-bed a letter or confession to you, about this very boy, which, as it was not directed otherwise than in your name, only reached you, and that by a circuitous course, a few days since? 'Just so, said Snawley. 'Correct in every particular, sir.
'It only shows what Natur is, sir, said Mr Squeers. 'She's rum 'un, is Natur. 'She is a holy thing, sir, remarked Snawley. 'I believe you, added Mr Squeers, with a moral sigh. 'I should like to know how we should ever get on without her. Natur, said Mr Squeers, solemnly, 'is more easier conceived than described. Oh what a blessed thing, sir, to be in a state of natur!
You'll see it in to-day's paper, if you take the trouble to look. And mind you contradict all that stuff about me in your next number do you hear? I'm going to America with a Duke next month, and I can't afford to have my reputation injured. And I won't be called a 'dama' for any penny-a-liner living." She paused, and again broke out laughing, "Poor old Snawley! You do look so sore! Ta-ta!"
'I see, returned Squeers, throwing himself back in his chair, and waving his hand. 'And this, resumed Snawley, 'has made me anxious to put them to some school a good distance off, where there are no holidays none of those ill-judged coming home twice a year that unsettle children's minds so and where they may rough it a little you comprehend?
Disturbed by a thousand fears and surmises, and bent upon ascertaining whether Squeers had any suspicion of Snawley, or was, in any way, a party to this altered behaviour, Ralph determined to hazard the extreme step of inquiring for him at the Lambeth lodging, and having an interview with him even there.
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