upon the fair
and unblotted entries.

'Four-and-forty year, next May!' said Tim. 'Many new ledgers since then.
Four-and-forty year!'

Tim closed the book again.

'Come, come,' said Nicholas, 'I am all impatience to begin.'

Tim Linkinwater shook his head with an air of mild reproof. Mr Nickleby
was not sufficiently impressed with the deep and awful nature of his
undertaking. Suppose there should be any mistake--any scratching out!

Young men are adventurous. It is extraordinary what they will rush upon,
sometimes. Without even taking the precaution of sitting himself down
upon his stool, but standing leisurely at the desk, and with a smile
upon his face--actually a smile--there was no mistake about it; Mr
Linkinwater often mentioned it afterwards--Nicholas dipped his pen
into the inkstand before him, and plunged into the books of Cheeryble
Brothers!

Tim Linkinwater turned pale, and tilting up his stool on the two legs
nearest Nicholas, looked over his shoulder in breathless anxiety.
Brother Charles and brother Ned entered the counting-house together; but
Tim Linkinwater, without looking round, impatiently waved his hand as a
caution that profound silence must be observed, and followed the nib of
the inexperienced pen with strained and eager eyes.

The brothers looked on with smiling faces, but Tim Linkinwater smiled
not, nor moved for some minutes. At length, he drew a long slow breath,
and still maintaining his position on the tilted stool, glanced at
brother Charles, secretly pointed with the feather of his pen towards
Nicholas, and nodded his head in a grave and resolute manner, plainly
signifying 'He'll do.'

Brother Charles nodded again, and exchanged a laughing look with brother
Ned; but, just then, Nicholas stopped to refer to some other page,
and Tim Linkinwater, unable to contain his satisfaction any longer,
descended from his stool, and caught him rapturously by the hand.

'He has done it!' said Tim, looking round at his employers and shaking
his head triumphantly. 'His capital B's and D's are exactly like mine;
he dots all his small i's and crosses every t as he writes it. There
an't such a young man as this in all London,' said Tim, clapping
Nicholas on the back; 'not one. Don't tell me! The city can't produce
his equal. I challenge the city to do it!'

With this casting down of his gauntlet, Tim Linkinwater struck the desk
such a blow with his clenched fist, that the old blackbird tumbled off