Nicholas Nickleby Page #4

and get in bed wearing a nightcap.

But...

there is tragedy in the family.

- In the pony's family? | - Yes.

The father drank.

Ended up in the circus...

drinking port wine with the clowns.

Got greedy, couldn't quit...

and choked on the bottle.

At any rate, I'd love | to bring you and your friend out.

He has a capital countenance!

Why, as he is now...

he would make such an apothecary | in Romeo and Juliet...

that he would be certain | of three rounds of applause...

the minute he put his face | out of the practicable door!

- And you! | - Me?

- You were born for the lamps! | - No, sir, I think...

You could be useful in a hundred ways. | You could write plays!

I dare say, I could scribble something, | now and then.

Whatever you write, please include a pump | and two washing tubs.

I just bought them at a sale.

Could I live by such a trade?

Like a prince! | With your own salary, and your friend's...

and your writing, you could make 1 a week!

With a good run of houses, double that.

Then I accept, and happily!

Arise, young man.

You've been transformed!

You went to sleep a wretch...

you awake an actor!

- Mrs. C, could I have a word? | - What is it now, Mr. Folair?

About my roar.

There are two options available to you. | A rugged...

My dear.

I've made another discovery.

Messieurs Nickleby and Smike, | may I present Mrs. Crummles.

Welcome to our family of players!

We were just about to rehearse | the climax of our drama.

Will you watch with us...

and feel with us?

Ladies and gentlemen, places, please.

I must warn you, | Folair has been hopeless today!

Play the terror, but don't lose the joy!

Your trap!

Mr. Folair, shut your trap!

Somebody forgot his spear.

The flames! And remember, they're hot!

Oh, dear, it's almost too real!

Remember, Mr. Folair, you are a savage...

not a demented fairy!

Don't lose your theatricality!

Ninetta, dear, would you move | that flower to your other hand?

Mr. Folair, there's a problem with your head!

Perfect!

Bravo!

Thrilling in the extreme!

Gentlemen...

this is Miss Ninetta Crummles...

the Infant Phenomenon.

How old is she?

She is 10 years of age, sir.

Not more?

Not a day.

- My dear? | - Yes?

It is of the utmost that I speak to you | about a great struggle...

which is taking place outside | this mortal temple we call the theater.

The contestants are | those aged combatants...

art...

and commerce.

And art, it would appear from the receipts...

is in its usual position of jeopardy.

Might you and I have a word, deux?

Excusez-moi.

"Infant Phenomenon!" | "Infant humbug" is more to the point!

She has been 10 for the past 8 years!

They keep her on a diet of gin and water | to hold back her growth.

- You don't say! | - I do say, sir. I do!

That hammy sprawler keeps the rest of us | from doing our specialties.

Mine is the Highland Fling.

Would you like to see it?

Please.

Ladies and gentlemen...

based on the receipts | Mrs. Crummles has shown me...

Liverpool has little relish...

for high-minded theatrical entertainments | properly conducted.

We must give them our pity.

Now, we must give them something | they will pay to see.

Romeo and Juliet.

But we have no Romeo. | Mr. Leadville's leg is broke.

I don't mind! I can manage!

Old friend...

it may be time | for you to move on from Romeo.

Move on?

To what?

Lear?

Mr. Nickleby will take that part.

And do you not think his friend | would make a smashing apothecary?

His face practically erupts with drama!

What an acquisition!

These speeches! Listen to this.

"Oh, that I were a glove upon that hand...

"that I might touch that cheek."

Are you worried | about how to memorize so much?

I am, and I have barely a word to say!

It is not only that...

but a desire to know someone | to whom I could say such things.

My father told me that the great journey | of my life would be to find such a person...

but I'm nearly 20 years of age, | and I fear he may be wrong.

- I hope not. | - I hope not, too.

May I ask you why you were so upset seeing | that savage come through the trapdoor?

You asked me yesterday if I had a memory | about my life before Yorkshire.

There is but one thing I remember.

It was the room in which I was kept.

It was a lonesome room | at the top of a house.

There was a large black hook | that hung down from the ceiling.

Underneath it was a trapdoor.

I was so afraid of what might be | on the other side...

that there was not a single night | I did not cover my head in the bedclothes.

So today, when a door so very like it | opened in the dark before me...

I could not watch what came out of it.

Carry on.

We have fallen on strange times.

Yes...

but wondrous strange.

- What's come then? | - I have.

- What else? | - A letter, marked:

"Urgent, as well as extremely important."

It's from the Squeers.

Wackford?

Doubtful. It's perfumed.

"Dear Mr. Knuckleboy, sir.

"My pa requests me to write to you.

"The doctor's considering it doubtful...

"whether he will ever recover | the use of his legs...

"which prevents his holding a pen.

"He was brought to this state | by your nephew...

"who jumped upon my pa's body | with his feet...

"and dashed him to the earth."

"Dashed him to the earth." | Very nice, my dear!

"He also attacked him with language...

"which I will not pollute my pen | with describing.

"He assaulted my ma...

"by driving her back-comb several inches | into her head.

"We have a medical certificate that says, | if the comb had entered her skull...

"the tortoiseshell | might have affected her brain.

"The monster then ran away...

"taking with him a boy | of desperate character...

"as well as a garnet ring | belonging to my nearly dead ma.

"Would you please send us money | compensating for its loss...

"in the amount of 22..."

- 4. | - 8.

"28.10.

"Remain yours, etc., Fanny Squeers."

The boy has crossed me.

- I did not expect otherwise. | - He's written as well.

Pride, obstinacy.

A reputation for fine feelings | are all against it.

He's gone to Liverpool.

Taken some employment.

Otherwise it's all excuses.

I predict he soon will be on some ship.

Gone.

Forever.

Child...

forgive me. I have been remiss | in my attentions to you and your mother.

I came to enquire whether you and she | would accompany me to the theater...

on Friday evening?

That is most kind of you, Uncle.

Very well.

I shall call for you.

She has accepted.

I have a genuine interest in Shakespeare...

especially after having been | to that dear little dull house he was born in.

How fascinating. May I?

Nickleby? Is that you?

Nickleby, are you all alone?

What luck!

The drama begins.

Her eyes in heaven...

would through the airy region | stream so bright...

that birds would sing, | and think it were not night.

See how she leans her cheek | upon her hand.

Oh, that I were a glove upon that hand...

that I might touch that cheek!

Ay, me!

I should like to be your glove...

as much to touch your cheek...

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