Ralph shrugged his shoulders again, as if it were no great feat to amaze Mr. Mantalini, and cast a wistful glance at the face of Newman Noggs, which had several times appeared behind a couple of panes of glass in the room door; it being a part of Newman's duty, when unimportant people called, to make various feints of supposing that the bell had rung for him to show them out, by way of a gentle hint to such visitors that it was time to go.
"Don't you know," said Mr. Mantalini, taking Ralph by the button, " that it wasn't an accident at all, but a demd furious manslaughtering attack made upon him by your nephew?"
"What!" snarled Ralph, clenching his fists and turning a livid white.
"Demmit, Nickleby, you're as great a tiger as he is," said Mantalini, alarmed at these demonstrations.
"Go on," cried Ralph, savagely. "Tell me what you mean. What is this story? Who told you? Speak," growled Ralph. "Do you hear me?"
"'Gad, Nickleby," said Mr. Mantalini, retreating towards his wife, "what a demneble fierce old evil genius you are. You're enough to frighten my life and soul out of her little delicious wits—flying all at once into such a blazing, ravaging, raging passion as never was, demmit."
"'Pshaw," rejoined Ralph, forcing a smile. "It is but manner."
"It is a demd uncomfortable and private-madhouse-sort of manner," said Mr. Mantalini, picking up his cane.
Ralph affected to smile, and once more inquired from whom Mr. Mantalini had derived his information.
"From Pyke; and a demd, fine, pleasant, gentlemanly dog it is," repied Mantalini. "Demnition pleasant, and a tip-top sawyer."
"And what said he? " asked Ralph, knitting his brows.
"That it happened this way—that your nephew met him at a coffee-house, fell upon him with the most demneble ferocity, followed him to his cab, swore he would ride home with him if he rode upon the horse's back or hooked himself on to the horse's tail; smashed his countenance, which is a demd fine countenance in its natural state; frightened the horse, pitched out Sir Mulberry and himself, and——"
"And was killed?" interposed Ralph with gleaming eyes. "Was he? Is he dead?"
Mantalini shook his head.
"Ugh," said Ralph, turning away, "Then he has done nothing—stay," he added, looking round again. "He broke a leg or an arm, or put his shoulder out, or fractured his collar-bone, or ground a rib or two? His neck was saved for the halter, but he got some painful and slow-healing injury for his trouble—did he? You must have heard that, at least."
"No," rejoined Mantalini, shaking his head again. "Unless he was dashed into such little pieces that they blew away, he wasn't hurt, for he went off as quiet and comfortable as—as—as demnition," said Mr. Mantalini, rather at a loss for a simile.
