At length the coach rumbled off, and Tim Linkinwater’s sister being now fairly on her way home, Nicholas and Tim Linkinwater’s friend took their leaves together, and left old Tim and the worthy brothers to their repose.
As Nicholas had some distance to walk, it was considerably past midnight by the time he reached home, where he found his mother and Smike sitting up to receive him. It was long after their usual hour of retiring, and they had expected him, at the very latest, two hours ago; but the time had not hung heavily on their hands, for Mrs. Nickleby had entertained Smike with a genealogical account of her family by the mother’s side, comprising biographical sketches of the principal members, and Smike had sat wondering what it was all about, and whether it was learnt from a book, or said out of Mrs. Nickleby’s own head; so that they got on together very pleasantly.
Nicholas could not go to bed without expatiating on the excellences and munificence of the brothers Cheeryble, and relating the great success which had attended his efforts that day. But before he had said a dozen words, Mrs. Nickleby, with many sly winks and nods, observed, that she was sure Mr. Smike must be quite tired out, and that she positively must insist on his not sitting up a minute longer.
‘A most biddable creature he is, to be sure,’ said Mrs. Nickleby, when Smike had wished them good-night and left the room. ‘I know you’ll excuse me, Nicholas, my dear, but I don’t like to do this before a third person; indeed, before a young man it would not be quite proper, though really, after all, I don’t know what harm there is in it, except that to be sure it’s not a very becoming thing, though some people say it is very much so, and really I don’t know why it should not be, if it’s well got up, and the borders are small-plaited; of course, a good deal depends upon that.’
With which preface, Mrs. Nickleby took her nightcap from between the leaves of a very large prayer-book where it had been folded up small, and proceeded to tie it on: talking away in her usual discursive manner, all the time.
‘People may say what they like,’ observed Mrs. Nickleby, ‘but there’s a great deal of comfort in a nightcap, as I’m sure you would confess, Nicholas my dear, if you would only have strings to yours, and wear it like a Christian, instead of sticking it upon the very top of your head like a blue-coat boy. You needn’t think it an unmanly or quizzical thing to be particular about your nightcap, for I have often heard your poor dear papa, and the Reverend Mr. What’s-his-name, who used to read prayers in that old church with the curious little steeple that the weathercock was blown off the night week before you were born,—I have often heard them say, that the young men at college are uncommonly particular about their nightcaps, and that the Oxford nightcaps are quite celebrated for their strength and goodness; so much so, indeed, that the young men never dream of going to bed without ‘em, and I believe it’s admitted on all hands that they know what’s good, and don’t coddle themselves.’
Nicholas laughed, and entering no further into the subject of this lengthened harangue, reverted to the pleasant tone of the little birthday party. And as Mrs. Nickleby instantly became very curious respecting it, and made a great number of inquiries touching what they had had for dinner, and how it was put on table, and whether it was overdone or underdone, and who was there, and what ‘the Mr. Cherrybles’ said, and what Nicholas said, and what the Mr. Cherrybles said when he said that; Nicholas described the festivities at full length, and also the occurrences of the morning.
‘Late as it is,’ said Nicholas, ‘I am almost selfish enough to wish that Kate had been up to hear all this. I was all impatience, as I came along, to tell her.’
‘Why, Kate,’ said Mrs. Nickleby, putting her feet upon the fender, and drawing her chair close to it, as if settling herself for a long talk. ‘Kate has been in bed—oh! a couple of hours—and I’m very glad, Nicholas my dear, that I prevailed upon her not to sit up, for I wished very much to have an opportunity of saying a few words to you. I am naturally anxious about it, and of course it’s a very delightful and consoling thing to have a grown-up son that one can put confidence in, and advise with; indeed I don’t know any use there would be in having sons at all, unless people could put confidence in them.’
Nicholas stopped in the middle of a sleepy yawn, as his mother began to speak: and looked at her with fixed attention.