hair under the congratulatory
blow on the chest which the stout Yorkshireman dealt him; 'thankee.
Don't do it again. You mean it kindly, I know, but it hurts rather. Yes,
there he is. That's not so bad, is it?'

'Ba'ad!' repeated John Browdie. 'It's eneaf to scare a mun to hear tell
on.'

'I thought it would surprise you a bit,' said Squeers, rubbing his
hands. 'It was pretty neatly done, and pretty quick too.'

'Hoo wor it?' inquired John, sitting down close to him. 'Tell us all
aboot it, mun; coom, quick!'

Although he could not keep pace with John Browdie's impatience, Mr
Squeers related the lucky chance by which Smike had fallen into his
hands, as quickly as he could, and, except when he was interrupted by
the admiring remarks of his auditors, paused not in the recital until he
had brought it to an end.

'For fear he should give me the slip, by any chance,' observed Squeers,
when he had finished, looking very cunning, 'I've taken three outsides
for tomorrow morning--for Wackford and him and me--and have arranged to
leave the accounts and the new boys to the agent, don't you see? So it's
very lucky you come today, or you'd have missed us; and as it is, unless
you could come and tea with me tonight, we shan't see anything more of
you before we go away.'

'Dean't say anoother wurd,' returned the Yorkshireman, shaking him by
the hand. 'We'd coom, if it was twonty mile.'

'No, would you though?' returned Mr Squeers, who had not expected quite
such a ready acceptance of his invitation, or he would have considered
twice before he gave it.

John Browdie's only reply was another squeeze of the hand, and an
assurance that they would not begin to see London till tomorrow, so that
they might be at Mr Snawley's at six o'clock without fail; and after
some further conversation, Mr Squeers and his son departed.

During the remainder of the day, Mr Browdie was in a very odd and
excitable state; bursting occasionally into an explosion of laughter,
and then taking up his hat and running into the coach-yard to have it
out by himself. He was very restless too, constantly walking in and out,
and snapping his fingers, and dancing scraps of uncouth country dances,
and, in short, conducting himself in such a very extraordinary manner,
that Miss Squeers opined he was going mad, and, begging her dear 'Tilda
not to distress herself, communicated her suspicions in so many words.
Mrs Browdie, however, without discovering any great ala