eral mean streets which the appearance of the
houses and the bad state of the road denoted to have been recently
built, Mr Squeers suddenly tugged at the check string with all his
might, and cried, 'Stop!'

'What are you pulling a man's arm off for?' said the coachman looking
angrily down.

'That's the house,' replied Squeers. 'The second of them four little
houses, one story high, with the green shutters. There's brass plate on
the door, with the name of Snawley.'

'Couldn't you say that without wrenching a man's limbs off his body?'
inquired the coachman.

'No!' bawled Mr Squeers. 'Say another word, and I'll summons you for
having a broken winder. Stop!'

Obedient to this direction, the coach stopped at Mr Snawley's door.
Mr Snawley may be remembered as the sleek and sanctified gentleman
who confided two sons (in law) to the parental care of Mr Squeers, as
narrated in the fourth chapter of this history. Mr Snawley's house was
on the extreme borders of some new settlements adjoining Somers Town,
and Mr Squeers had taken lodgings therein for a short time, as his stay
was longer than usual, and the Saracen, having experience of Master
Wackford's appetite, had declined to receive him on any other terms than
as a full-grown customer.

'Here we are!' said Squeers, hurrying Smike into the little parlour,
where Mr Snawley and his wife were taking a lobster supper. 'Here's the
vagrant--the felon--the rebel--the monster of unthankfulness.'

'What! The boy that run away!' cried Snawley, resting his knife and fork
upright on the table, and opening his eyes to their full width.

'The very boy', said Squeers, putting his fist close to Smike's nose,
and drawing it away again, and repeating the process several times, with
a vicious aspect. 'If there wasn't a lady present, I'd fetch him such
a--: never mind, I'll owe it him.'

And here Mr Squeers related how, and in what manner, and when and where,
he had picked up the runaway.

'It's clear that there has been a Providence in it, sir,' said Mr
Snawley, casting down his eyes with an air of humility, and elevating
his fork, with a bit of lobster on the top of it, towards the ceiling.

'Providence is against him, no doubt,' replied Mr Squeers, scratching
his nose. 'Of course; that was to be expected. Anybody might have known
that.'

'Hard-heartedness and evil-doing will never prosper, sir,' said Mr
Snawley.

'Never was such a thing known,' rejoined Squeers, taking a litt