"Don't go away, Mortimer," said Miss Knag as they entered the shop. "It's only one of our young ladies and her mother. Mrs. and Miss Nickleby."
"Oh, indeed!" said Mr. Mortimer Knag. "All!"
Having given utterance to these ejaculations with a very profound and thoughtful air, Mr. Knag slowly snuffed two kitchen candles on the counter and two more in the window, and then snuffed himself from a box in his waistcoat pocket.
There was something very impressive in the ghostly air with which all this was done, and as Mr. Knag was a tall lank gentleman of solemn features, wearing spectacles, and garnished with much less hair than a gentleman bordering on forty or thereabouts usually boasts, Mrs. Nickleby whispered her daughter that she thought he must be literary.
"Past ten," said Mr. Knag, consulting his watch. "Thomas, close the warehouse."
Thomas was a boy nearly half as tall as a shutter, and the warehouse was a shop about the size of three hackney coaches.
"Ah!" said Mr. Knag once more, heaving a deep sigh as he restored to its parent shelf the book he had been reading. "Well—yes—I believe supper is ready, sister."
With another sigh Mr. Knag took up the kitchen candles from the counter, and preceded the ladies with mournful steps to a back parlour, where a char- woman, employed in the absence of the sick servant, and remunerated with certain eighteenpences to be deducted from her wages due, was putting the supper out.
"Mrs. Blockson," said Miss Knag, reproachfully, "how very often I have begged you not to come into the room with your bonnet on."
"I can't help it, Miss Knag," said the char-woman, bridling up on the shortest notice. "There's been a deal o' cleaning to do in this house, and if you don't like it, I must trouble you to look out for somebody else, for it don't hardly pay me, and that's the truth, if I was to be hung this minute."
"I don't want any remarks, if you please," said Miss Knag, with a strong emphasis on the personal pronoun. "Is there any fire down stairs for some hot water presently?"
"No there is not, indeed. Miss Knag," replied the substitute; "and so I won't tell you no stories about it."
"Then why isn't there?" said Miss Knag.
"Because there an't no coals left out, and if I could make coals I would, but as I can't I won't, and so I make bold to tell you Mem." replied Mrs. Blockson.
"Will you hold your tongue—female?" said Mr. Mortimer Knag, plunging violently into this dialogue.
"By your leave, Mr. Knag," retorted the char-woman, turning sharp round. "I'm only too glad not to speak in this house, excepting when and where I'm spoke to, Sir; and with regard to being a female, Sir, I should wish to know what you considered yourself?"
"A miserable wretch," exclaimed Mr. Knag, striking his forehead. "A miserable wretch."
