an alarming dizziness in the head, that the whole company were thrown into the utmost consternation. His good lady, indeed, was the only person present who retained presence of mind enough to observe that if he were allowed to lie down on Mr. Squeers's bed for an hour or so, and left entirely to himself, he would be sure to recover again almost as quickly as he had been taken ill. Nobody could refuse to try the effect of so reasonable a proposal before sending for a surgeon. Accordingly, John was supported up-stairs with great difficulty, being a monstrous weight, and regularly tumbling down two steps every time they hoisted him up three; and being laid on the bed, was left in charge of his wife, who, after a short interval, re-appeared in the parlour with the gratifying intelligence that he had fallen fast asleep.
Now, the fact was, that, at that particular moment, John Browdie was sitting on the bed with the reddest face ever seen, cramming the corner of the pillow into his mouth to prevent his roaring out loud with laughter. He had no sooner succeeded in suppressing this emotion, than he slipped off his shoes, and creeping to the adjoining room where the prisoner was confined, turned the key, which was on the outside, and darting in, covered Smike's mouth with his huge hand before he could utter a sound.
"Ods-bobs, dost thee not know me, mun?" whispered the Yorkshireman to the bewildered lad. "Browdie,—chap as met thee efther schoolmeasther was banged?"
"Yes, yes," cried Smike. "Oh! help me."
"Help thee!" replied John, stopping his mouth again the instant he had said thus much. "Thee didn't need help if thee war'nt as silly yoongster as ever draw'd breath. Wa'at did 'ee come here for, then?"
"He brought me; oh! he brought me," cried Smike.
"Brout thee!" replied John. "Why didn't'ee punch his head, or lay theeself doon and kick, and squeal out for the pollis? I'd ha' licked a doozen such as him when I was yoong as thee. But thee be'est a poor broken-doon chap," said John, sadly, "and God forgi’ me for bragging ower yan o' his weakest creeturs."
Smike opened his mouth to speak, but John Browdie stopped him.
"Stan still," said the Yorkshireman, "and doant'ee speak a morsel o' talk till I tell'ee."
With this caution, John Browdie shook his head significantly, and drawing a screw-driver from his pocket, took off the box of the lock in a very deliberate and workmanlike manner, and laid it, together with the implement, on the floor.
"See thot?" said John. "Thot be thy doin. Noo, coot awa'."
Smike looked vacantly at him, as if unable to comprehend his meaning.
"I say, coot awa'," repeated John, hastily. "Dost thee know where thee livest? Thee dost? Weel. Are yon thy clothes, or school-measther’s?"
"Mine," replied Smike, as the Yorkshireman hurried him to the adjoining room, and pointed out a pair of shoes and a coat which were lying on a chair.
