th more kind remembrances to Mrs and
Miss Nickleby, Smike started off.

At the foot of Ludgate Hill, he turned a little out of the road to
satisfy his curiosity by having a look at Newgate. After staring up at
the sombre walls, from the opposite side of the way, with great care
and dread for some minutes, he turned back again into the old track, and
walked briskly through the city; stopping now and then to gaze in at the
window of some particularly attractive shop, then running for a little
way, then stopping again, and so on, as any other country lad might do.

He had been gazing for a long time through a jeweller's window, wishing
he could take some of the beautiful trinkets home as a present, and
imagining what delight they would afford if he could, when the clocks
struck three-quarters past eight; roused by the sound, he hurried on at
a very quick pace, and was crossing the corner of a by-street when he
felt himself violently brought to, with a jerk so sudden that he was
obliged to cling to a lamp-post to save himself from falling. At the
same moment, a small boy clung tight round his leg, and a shrill cry of
'Here he is, father! Hooray!' vibrated in his ears.

Smike knew that voice too well. He cast his despairing eyes downward
towards the form from which it had proceeded, and, shuddering from head
to foot, looked round. Mr Squeers had hooked him in the coat collar with
the handle of his umbrella, and was hanging on at the other end with all
his might and main. The cry of triumph proceeded from Master Wackford,
who, regardless of all his kicks and struggles, clung to him with the
tenacity of a bull-dog!

One glance showed him this; and in that one glance the terrified
creature became utterly powerless and unable to utter a sound.

'Here's a go!' cried Mr Squeers, gradually coming hand-over-hand down
the umbrella, and only unhooking it when he had got tight hold of the
victim's collar. 'Here's a delicious go! Wackford, my boy, call up one
of them coaches.'

'A coach, father!' cried little Wackford.

'Yes, a coach, sir,' replied Squeers, feasting his eyes upon the
countenance of Smike. 'Damn the expense. Let's have him in a coach.'

'What's he been a doing of?' asked a labourer with a hod of bricks,
against whom and a fellow-labourer Mr Squeers had backed, on the first
jerk of the umbrella.

'Everything!' replied Mr Squeers, looking fixedly at his old pupil in
a sort of rapturous trance. 'Everything--runnin