Nicholas Nickleby Page #2

You'd have been a deuced deal | more wakeful out in the cold.

Is that my Squeery?

The crime of my dead eye, my love...

is that I can't see you twice.

- How's the pig? | - Just as you left her.

And the boys?

Young Braithwaite's had a fever.

Third time this year.

I say it's obstinacy, | and we beat it out of him.

No one can cure an illness | quicker than you, my love.

This is the new man, Mr. Nickleby.

- I hope you're not hungry. | - I am.

Of course you are.

I've got a nice hot stew | for you here, Squeery.

And there's bread on the table.

I brought the letters to the boys, | I'll read them in the morning.

- I'm doing the brimstone first. | - Of course you are.

Grand piece of meat in that, Squeery. | Put the heat back in you.

Aye, it will.

- How was your journey, my pet? | - Dreadful.

- Was it perishing? | - Torture.

What?

Have you...

Did anybody...

Has nothing been heard...

about me?

Not a word, and never will we.

But count your blessings. | You've been here all these years...

and not a penny paid after the first six.

No clue as to who you belong to, | and still I feed you.

That's cause for joy.

And here's more cause for joy.

Little Wackford.

Father!

Look what your pa brought you.

"Dear Kate...

"My first morning here began with the news | that the pump had frozen...

"but events soon distracted me. "

- Smike! | - Who are you after?

It's brimstone morning, | and I can't find the school spoon.

We purify the boys' blood | now and then, Nickleby.

Purify, fiddlesticks!

We give the boys brimstone and treacle, | Mr. Knuckleboy...

because if we didn't, | they'd always be ailing.

It spoils their appetites and comes cheaper | than breakfast and dinner.

You might say it does them good | and us good at the same time.

Smike!

- Where's the school spoon? | - Please, ma'am.

Please.

Don't contradict your mistress.

Take it.

Take it. Be thankful.

A most invaluable woman that. | I don't know her equal.

Nor I.

- No, please! | - Take it.

And thank me for it.

She does things for them boys...

that I don't believe half the mothers going | would do for their own sons.

- I should think they would not, sir. | - No.

"Mr. Squeers' return from London | is a great event...

"as he brings the boys news from home. "

Bolder, come here.

No letters.

But I saw your father in London.

He was 2.10 short in his payments.

One...

two, three...

- Four... | - Five, six.

But the good news is, we'll keep you on. | Smike, take him out.

Letter for Cobbey. Stand up.

Your grandmother's dead.

Your uncle's took to drink.

That's all the news your sister sends, | except for eight pence...

which will just cover the square of glass | you broke last week.

"After this, classes began. "

Where's Graymarsh?

Please, sir, he's cleaning | the back parlor window.

Perfect. C-L-E-A-N, "clean."

Verb, active, "to make bright."

"Winder," a casement.

"Win":
W-l-N, "der": D-E-R.

When the boy knows this, | he goes and does it.

Where's Dorn?

- Please, sir, he's weeding the garden. | - To be sure.

"Bot":
B-O-T, "tin": T-l-N, "ney": N-E-Y.

"Bottiney." Noun, substantive.

Knowledge of plants, | which he's applying right now.

That's our system, Nickleby. | What do you think of it?

It's useful.

"And so went the day.

"I very much hope I can be of service here. "

Are you cold?

You're shivering, poor fellow.

There.

Oh, dear, my heart.

I feel lost here, too.

But we must always hope.

Hope?

Do you remember the boy who died here?

I was not here.

What of him?

I was with him that night.

He began to see faces around his bed | that came from home.

He said they smiled and talked to him.

At last, he died...

lifting his head to kiss them.

Yes?

What faces will smile on me when I die?

Who will comfort me that long night?

They cannot come from home.

They would frighten me if they did, | for I shouldn't know them.

There is no hope.

- No hope for me at all! | - What's the matter, love?

Tilda's getting married to John Browdie.

I'll be the only girl in the county | who hasn't posted my banns.

John Browdie's no catch. I hate him.

Eat your breakfast.

I'll never eat again.

How do you like Mr. Knuckleboy?

I hate him, that's how I like him.

He's a nasty, stuck-up monkey.

He needs his pride brought down.

I'll leave that to you, my love. | There's not a woman in all England...

can bring a person's pride down | quicker than you can.

Thank you, Squeery.

Who's Mr. Knuckleboy?

The new teacher.

A smile like a sugar-drop, | and the straightest legs I've ever seen.

The word for "window"...

- Is "fentre", F-E-N-E... | - Oh, father.

I beg your pardon. | I thought my father was here.

- I'm so foolish, I'm sure. | - Not at all.

Again, the word for "window" is "fentre."

I'm sure I am foolish.

It's just my pen is in need of...

mending.

May I be of service?

No, I just couldn't.

All right.

Tilda!

- What is it, Fanny? | - I am engaged!

To whom?

- To the new schoolteacher. | - The speed of it!

What's he said?

We don't need language. | If you could have only seen his looks.

Did he look at you like this?

If he did, you're engaged. | That's how John looked at me.

Hope it was better than that. | Thee'd have run to the hills.

Hush, John! So, when is the day?

We just need a final declaration to settle it...

but he's shy in the way of words.

Fanny, I'm so happy for you.

Have you read The Pilgrim's Progress?

"The Pilgrim's Progress, by John Bunyan.

"As I walked through the wilderness | of this world, I lighted on a certain"...

What do you think you're doing?

Get on with your work!

Don't give me that high-and-mighty look.

He don't pay.

Therefore, he works.

Ladies.

Quick, I must do something | to engage his sympathy...

and bring him to the declaration. | Should I choke?

I think fainting might be more romantic | than choking.

Mr. Nickleby, help!

- What's happened? | - I think she was undone by your coldness.

Was I abrupt? | My mind, I'm afraid, was on other matters.

I'm sure it wasn't deliberate.

It's just that with all the feelings | so nearly expressed between you of late...

If I caused any distress, | I reproach myself most bitterly, but...

This is most awkward, but...

- Does your friend think I'm in love with her? | - Does she think so? Of course.

But I've made no such declaration.

Your eyes said what your mouth could not.

Perhaps my mouth should say | what my eyes have not.

I have scarcely seen the young lady | three times...

but should I have seen her 30 or 30,000, | it would be the same.

I have not one thought, | hope or wish connected with her...

unless it be part of the picture | I keep in my mind...

of one day being able to turn my back | upon this accursed place...

and never to think of it again | with any feeling but loathing and disgust.

Refused by a teacher...

picked up by an advertisement.

He's insulted not just you, | but the whole house of Squeers.

He's proud. I said so from the start.

He must be wounded.

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes