There was one family in particular,
that used to live about a mile from us--not straight down the road, but
turning sharp off to the left by the turnpike where the Plymouth mail
ran over the donkey--that were quite extraordinary people for giving
the most extravagant parties, with artificial flowers and champagne, and
variegated lamps, and, in short, every delicacy of eating and drinking
that the most singular epicure could possibly require. I don't think
that there ever were such people as those Peltiroguses. You remember the
Peltiroguses, Kate?'

Kate saw that for the ease and comfort of the visitors it was high time
to stay this flood of recollection, so answered that she entertained of
the Peltiroguses a most vivid and distinct remembrance; and then said
that Mr Browdie had half promised, early in the evening, that he would
sing a Yorkshire song, and that she was most impatient that he should
redeem his promise, because she was sure it would afford her mama more
amusement and pleasure than it was possible to express.

Mrs Nickleby confirming her daughter with the best possible grace--for
there was patronage in that too, and a kind of implication that she had
a discerning taste in such matters, and was something of a critic--John
Browdie proceeded to consider the words of some north-country ditty, and
to take his wife's recollection respecting the same. This done, he made
divers ungainly movements in his chair, and singling out one particular
fly on the ceiling from the other flies there asleep, fixed his eyes
upon him, and began to roar a meek sentiment (supposed to be uttered
by a gentle swain fast pining away with love and despair) in a voice of
thunder.

At the end of the first verse, as though some person without had
waited until then to make himself audible, was heard a loud and violent
knocking at the street-door; so loud and so violent, indeed, that the
ladies started as by one accord, and John Browdie stopped.

'It must be some mistake,' said Nicholas, carelessly. 'We know nobody
who would come here at this hour.'

Mrs Nickleby surmised, however, that perhaps the counting-house was
burnt down, or perhaps 'the Mr Cheerybles' had sent to take Nicholas
into partnership (which certainly appeared highly probable at that time
of night), or perhaps Mr Linkinwater had run away with the property, or
perhaps Miss La Creevy was taken in, or perhaps--

But a hasty exclamation from Kate stopped her abruptly in her