before placed in a mercantile house in London, applied himself passionately to his old pursuit of money-getting, in which he speedily became so buried and absorbed, that he quite forgot his brother for many years; and if at times a recollection of his old play-fellow broke upon him through the haze in which he lived—for gold conjures up a mist about a man more destructive of all his old senses and lulling to his feelings than the fumes of charcoal—it brought along with it a companion thought, that if they were intimate he would want to borrow money of him: and Mr. Ralph Nickleby shrugged his shoulders, and said things were better as they were.
As for Nicholas, he lived a single man on the patrimonial estate until he grew tired of living alone, and then he took to wife the daughter of a neighbouring gentleman with a dower of one thousand pounds. This good lady bore him two children, a son and a daughter, and when the son was about nineteen, and the daughter fourteen, as near as we can guess—impartial records of young ladies' ages being, before the passing of the new act, nowhere preserved in the registries of this country—Mr. Nickleby looked about him for the means of repairing his capital, now sadly reduced by this increase in his family and the expenses of their education.
"Speculate with it," said Mrs. Nickleby.
"Spec—u—late, my dear?" said Mr. Nickleby, as though in doubt.
"Why not?" asked Mrs. Nickleby.
"Because, my dear, if we should lose it," rejoined Mr. Nickleby, who was a slow and time-taking speaker, "if we should lose it, we shall no longer be able to live, my dear."
"Fiddle," said Mrs. Nickleby.
"I am not altogether sure of that, my dear," said Mr. Nickleby.
"There's Nicholas," pursued the lady, "quite a young man—it's time he was in the way of doing something for himself; and Kate too, poor girl, without a penny in the world. Think of your brother; would he be what he is, if he hadn't speculated?"
"That's true," replied Mr. Nickleby. "Very good, my dear. Yes. I will speculate, my dear."
Speculation is a round game; the players see little or nothing of their cards at first starting; gains may be great—and so may losses. The run of luck went against Mr. Nickleby; a mania prevailed, a bubble burst, four stock-brokers took villa residences at Florence, four hundred nobodies were ruined, and among them Mr. Nickleby.
"The very house I live in," sighed the poor gentleman, "may be taken from me to-morrow. Not an article of my old furniture, but will be sold to strangers!"
The last reflection hurt him so much, that he took at once to his bed, apparently resolved to keep that, at all events.
"Cheer up, Sir!" said the apothecary.
"You mustn't let yourself be cast down, Sir," said the nurse.
"Such things happen every day," remarked the lawyer.
"And it is very sinful to rebel against them," whispered the clergyman.
