‘Yes, I paid it, every farthing,’ replied Squeers, who seemed to know the man he had to deal with, too well to suppose that any blinking of the question would induce him to subscribe towards the expenses; ‘I wasn’t out of pocket by it after all, either.’
‘No!’ said Ralph.
‘Not a halfpenny,’ replied Squeers. ‘The fact is, we have only one extra with our boys, and that is for doctors when required—and not then, unless we’re sure of our customers. Do you see?’
‘I understand,’ said Ralph.
‘Very good,’ rejoined Squeers. ‘Then, after my bill was run up, we picked out five little boys (sons of small tradesmen, as was sure pay) that had never had the scarlet fever, and we sent one to a cottage where they’d got it, and he took it, and then we put the four others to sleep with him, and they took it, and then the doctor came and attended ‘em once all round, and we divided my total among ‘em, and added it on to their little bills, and the parents paid it. Ha! ha! ha!’
‘And a good plan too,’ said Ralph, eyeing the schoolmaster stealthily.
‘I believe you,’ rejoined Squeers. ‘We always do it. Why, when Mrs. Squeers was brought to bed with little Wackford here, we ran the hooping-cough through half-a-dozen boys, and charged her expenses among ‘em, monthly nurse included. Ha! ha! ha!’
Ralph never laughed, but on this occasion he produced the nearest approach to it that he could, and waiting until Mr. Squeers had enjoyed the professional joke to his heart’s content, inquired what had brought him to town.
‘Some bothering law business,’ replied Squeers, scratching his head, ‘connected with an action, for what they call neglect of a boy. I don’t know what they would have. He had as good grazing, that boy had, as there is about us.’
Ralph looked as if he did not quite understand the observation.