"What do you mean?"
"Since you expect me, Mr. Creakle, to justify myself," said Steerforth, "and to say what I mean,—what I have to say is, that his mother lives on charity in an almshouse."
Mr. Creakle turned to his assistant with a severe frown and labored politeness:
"Now you hear what this gentleman says, Mr. Mell. Have the goodness, if you please, to set him right before the assembled school."
"He is right, sir, without correction," returned Mr. Mell, in the midst of a dead silence; "what he has said is true."
"Be so good then as to declare publicly, will you," said Mr. Creakle, putting his head on one side and rolling his eyes round the school, "whether it ever came to my knowledge until this moment?"
"I believe not directly," he returned.
"Why, you know not," said Mr. Creakle. "Don't you, man?"
"Sir, I think you knew my circumstances when I came here, and that a bare living wage—"
"I think, if you come to that," said Mr. Creakle, with his veins swelling again bigger than ever, "that you've been in a wrong position altogether, and mistook this for a charity school. Mr. Mell, we'll part if you please. The sooner the better."