Of the Proceedings of Nicholas, and certain InternalDivisions in the Company of Mr Vincent Crummles.

　　The unexpected success and favour with which hisexperiment at Portsmouth had been received, induced MrCrummles to prolong his stay in that town for a fortnightbeyond the period he had originally assigned for the duration ofhis visit, during which time Nicholas personated a vast variety ofcharacters with undiminished success, and attracted so manypeople to the theatre who had never been seen there before, that abenefit was considered by the manager a very promisingspeculation. Nicholas assenting to the terms proposed, the benefitwas had, and by it he realised no less a sum than twenty pounds.

　　Possessed of this unexpected wealth, his first act was to encloseto honest John Browdie the amount of his friendly loan, which heaccompanied with many expressions of gratitude and esteem, andmany cordial wishes for his matrimonial happiness. To NewmanNoggs he forwarded one half of the sum he had realised,entreating him to take an opportunity of handing it to Kate insecret, and conveying to her the warmest assurances of his loveand affection. He made no mention of the way in which he hademployed himself; merely informing Newman that a letteraddressed to him under his assumed name at the Post Office,Portsmouth, would readily find him, and entreating that worthyfriend to write full particulars of the situation of his mother andsister, and an account of all the grand things that Ralph Nickleby had done for them since his departure from London.

　　‘You are out of spirits,’ said Smike, on the night after the letterhad been dispatched.

　　‘Not I!’ rejoined Nicholas, with assumed gaiety, for theconfession would have made the boy miserable all night; ‘I wasthinking about my sister, Smike.’

　　‘Sister!’

　　‘Ay.’

　　‘Is she like you?’ inquired Smike.

　　‘Why, so they say,’ replied Nicholas, laughing, ‘only a great dealhandsomer.’

　　‘She must be very beautiful,’ said Smike, after thinking a littlewhile with his hands folded together, and his eyes bent upon hisfriend.

　　‘Anybody who didn’t know you as well as I do, my dear fellow,would say you were an accomplished courtier,’ said Nicholas.

　　‘I don’t even know what that is,’ replied Smike, shaking hishead. ‘Shall I ever see your sister?’

　　‘To be sure,’ cried Nicholas; ‘we shall all be together one ofthese days—when we are rich, Smike.’

　　‘How is it that you, who are so kind and good to me, havenobody to be kind to you?’ asked Smike. ‘I cannot make that out.’

　　‘Why, it is a long story,’ replied Nicholas, ‘and one you wouldhave some difficulty in comprehending, I fear. I have an enemy—you understand what that is?’

　　‘Oh, yes, I understand that,’ said Smike.

　　‘Well, it is owing to him,’ returned Nicholas. ‘He is rich, and notso easily punished as your old enemy, Mr Squeers. He is my uncle,but he is a villain, and has done me wrong.’

　　 ‘Has he though?’ asked Smike, bending eagerly forward. ‘Whatis his name? Tell me his name.’

　　‘Ralph—Ralph Nickleby.’

　　‘Ralph Nickleby,’ repeated Smike. ‘Ralph. I’ll get that name byheart.’

　　He had muttered it over to himself some twenty times, when aloud knock at the door disturbed him from his occupation. Beforehe could open it, Mr Folair, the pantomimist, thrust in his head.

　　Mr Folair’s head was usually decorated with a very round hat,unusually high in the crown, and curled up quite tight in thebrims. On the present occasion he wore it very much on one side,with the back part forward in consequence of its being the leastrusty; round his neck he wore a flaming red worsted comforter,whereof the straggling ends peeped out beneath his threadbareNewmarket coat, which was very tight and buttoned all the wayup. He carried in his hand one very dirty glove, and a cheap dresscane with a glass handle; in short, his whole appearance wasunusually dashing, and demonstrated a far more scrupulousattention to his toilet than he was in the habit of bestowing uponit.

　　‘Good-evening, sir,’ said Mr Folair, taking off the tall hat, andrunning his fingers through his hair. ‘I bring a communication.

　　Hem!’

　　‘From whom and what about?’ inquired Nicholas. ‘You areunusually mysterious tonight.’

　　‘Cold, perhaps,’ returned Mr Folair; ‘cold, perhaps. That is thefault of my position—not of myself, Mr Johnson. My position as amutual friend requires it, sir.’ Mr Folair paused with a mostimpressive look, and diving into the hat before noticed, drew from thence a small piece of whity-brown paper curiously folded,whence he brought forth a note which it had served to keep clean,and handing it over to Nicholas, said—‘Have the goodness to read that, sir.’

　　Nicholas, in a state of much amazement, took the note andbroke the seal, glancing at Mr Folair as he did so, who, knitting hisbrow and pursing up his mouth with great dignity, was sitting withhis eyes steadily fixed upon the ceiling.

　　It was directed to blank Johnson, Esq., by favour of AugustusFolair, Esq.; and the astonishment of Nicholas was in no degreelessened, when he found it to be couched in the following laconicterms:—“Mr Lenville presents his kind regards to Mr Johnson, and willfeel obliged if he will inform him at what hour tomorrow morningit will be most convenient to him to meet Mr L. at the Theatre, forthe purpose of having his nose pulled in the presence of thecompany.

　　“Mr Lenville requests Mr Johnson not to neglect making anappointment, as he has invited two or three professional friends towitness the ceremony, and cannot disappoint them upon anyaccount whatever.

　　“PORTSMOUTH, TUESDAY NIGHT.”

　　Indignant as he was at this impertinence, there was somethingso exquisitely absurd in such a cartel of defiance, that Nicholaswas obliged to bite his lip and read the note over two or threetimes before he could muster sufficient gravity and sternness toaddress the hostile messenger, who had not taken his eyes from the ceiling, nor altered the expression of his face in the slightestdegree.

　　‘Do you know the contents of this note, sir?’ he asked, at length.

　　‘Yes,’ rejoined Mr Folair, looking round for an instant, andimmediately carrying his eyes back again to the ceiling.

　　‘And how dare you bring it here, sir?’ asked Nicholas, tearing itinto very little pieces, and jerking it in a shower towards themessenger. ‘Had you no fear of being kicked downstairs, sir?’

　　Mr Folair turned his head—now ornamented with severalfragments of the note—towards Nicholas, and with the sameimperturbable dignity, briefly replied ‘No.’

　　‘Then,’ said Nicholas, taking up the tall hat and tossing ittowards the door, ‘you had better follow that article of your dress,sir, or you may find yourself very disagreeably deceived, and thatwithin a dozen seconds.’

　　‘I say, Johnson,’ remonstrated Mr Folair, suddenly losing all hisdignity, ‘none of that, you know. No tricks with a gentleman’swardrobe.’

　　‘Leave the room,’ returned Nicholas. ‘How could you presumeto come here on such an errand, you scoundrel?’

　　‘Pooh! pooh!’ said Mr Folair, unwinding his comforter, andgradually getting himself out of it. ‘There—that’s enough.’

　　‘Enough!’ cried Nicholas, advancing towards him. ‘Takeyourself off, sir.’

　　‘Pooh! pooh! I tell you,’ returned Mr Folair, waving his hand indeprecation of any further wrath; ‘I wasn’t in earnest. I onlybrought it in joke.’

　　‘You had better be careful how you indulge in such jokes again,’

　　said Nicholas, ‘or you may find an allusion to pulling noses rather a dangerous reminder for the subject of your facetiousness. Was itwritten in joke, too, pray?’

　　‘No, no, that’s the best of it,’ returned the actor; ‘right downearnest—honour bright.’

　　Nicholas could not repress a smile at the odd figure before him,which, at all times more calculated to provoke mirth than anger,was especially so at that moment, when with one knee upon theground, Mr Folair twirled his old hat round upon his hand, andaffected the extremest agony lest any of the nap should have beenknocked off—an ornament which it is almost superfluous to say, ithad not boasted for many months.

　　‘Come, sir,’ said Nicholas, laughing in spite of himself. ‘Have thegoodness to explain.’

　　‘Why, I’ll tell you how it is,’ said Mr Folair, sitting himself downin a chair with great coolness. ‘Since you came here Lenville hasdone nothing but second business, and, instead of having areception every night as he used to have, they have let him comeon as if he was nobody.’

　　‘What do you mean by a reception?’ asked Nicholas.

　　‘Jupiter!’ exclaimed Mr Folair, ‘what an unsophisticatedshepherd you are, Johnson! Why, applause from the house whenyou first come on. So he has gone on night after night, nevergetting a hand, and you getting a couple of rounds at least, andsometimes three, till at length he got quite desperate, and had halfa mind last night to play Tybalt with a real sword, and pink you—not dangerously, but just enough to lay you up for a month or two.’

　　‘Very considerate,’ remarked Nicholas.

　　‘Yes, I think it was under the circumstances; his professionalreputation being at stake,’ said Mr Folair, quite seriously. ‘But his heart failed him, and he cast about for some other way of annoyingyou, and making himself popular at the same time—for that’s thepoint. Notoriety, notoriety, is the thing. Bless you, if he had pinkedyou,’ said Mr Folair, stopping to make a calculation in his mind, ‘itwould have been worth—ah, it would have been worth eight or tenshillings a week to him. All the town would have come to see theactor who nearly killed a man by mistake; I shouldn’t wonder if ithad got him an engagement in London. However, he was obligedto try some other mode of getting popular, and this one occurredto him. It’s clever idea, really. If you had shown the white feather,and let him pull your nose, he’d have got it into the paper; if youhad sworn the peace against him, it would have been in the papertoo, and he’d have been just as much talked about as you—don’tyou see?’

　　‘Oh, certainly,’ rejoined Nicholas; ‘but suppose I were to turnthe tables, and pull his nose, what then? Would that make hisfortune?’

　　‘Why, I don’t think it would,’ replied ............