At length, Mr. Squeers yawned fearfully, and opined that it was high time to go to bed; upon which signal, Mrs. Squeers and the girl dragged in a small straw mattress and a couple of blankets, and arranged them into a couch for Nicholas.
‘We’ll put you into your regular bedroom tomorrow, Nickelby,’ said Squeers. ‘Let me see! Who sleeps in Brooks’s bed, my dear?’
‘In Brooks’s,’ said Mrs. Squeers, pondering. ‘There’s Jennings, little Bolder, Graymarsh, and what’s his name.’
‘So there is,’ rejoined Squeers. ‘Yes! Brooks is full.’
‘Full!’ thought Nicholas. ‘I should think he was.’
‘There’s a place somewhere, I know,’ said Squeers; ‘but I can’t at this moment call to mind where it is. However, we’ll have that all settled tomorrow. Good-night, Nickleby. Seven o’clock in the morning, mind.’
‘I shall be ready, sir,’ replied Nicholas. ‘Good-night.’
‘I’ll come in myself and show you where the well is,’ said Squeers. ‘You’ll always find a little bit of soap in the kitchen window; that belongs to you.’
Nicholas opened his eyes, but not his mouth; and Squeers was again going away, when he once more turned back.
‘I don’t know, I am sure,’ he said, ‘whose towel to put you on; but if you’ll make shift with something tomorrow morning, Mrs. Squeers will arrange that, in the course of the day. My dear, don’t forget.’