“To be sure,” said Squeers.  “So he is.  B-o-t, bot, t-i-n, tin, n-e-y, ney, bottinney, noun substantive, a knowledge of plants.  Third boy, what’s a horse?”

“A beast, sir,” replied the boy.

“So it is,” said Squeers.  “Ain’t it, Nickleby?”

“I believe there is no doubt of that, sir,” answered Nicholas.

“Of course there isn’t,” said Squeers.  “A horse is a quadruped, and quadruped’s Latin for beast, as every body that’s gone through the grammar knows.  As you’re perfect in that,” resumed Squeers, turning to the boy, “go and look after my horse, and rub him down well, or I’ll rub you down.  The rest of the class go and draw water up till somebody tells you to leave off, for it’s washing day to-morrow.”

So saying, he dismissed the class, and eyed Nicholas with a look, half cunning and half doubtful, as if he were not altogether certain what he might think of him by this time.

“That’s the way we do it, Nickleby,” he said, after a pause.

Nicholas shrugged his shoulders, and said he saw it was.

“And a very good way it is, too,” said Squeers.  “Now just take them fourteen little boys and hear them some reading, because, you know, you must begin to be useful.”

Mr. Squeers said this as if it had suddenly occurred to him, either that he must not say too much to his assistant, or that his assistant did not say enough to him in praise of the establishment.  The children were arranged in a semi-circle round the new master, and he was soon listening to their dull, drawling, hesitating recital of stories to be found in the old spelling books.  In this exciting occupation the morning lagged heavily on.  At one o’clock, the boys sat down in the kitchen to some hard salt beef.  After this, there was another hour of crouching in the schoolroom and shivering with cold, and then school began again.

It was Mr. Squeers’s custom to call the boys together, and make a sort of report, after every half-yearly visit to the metropolis, regarding the relations and friends he had seen, the news he had heard, the letters he had brought down, and so forth.  This solemn proceeding took place on the afternoon of the day succeeding his return.  The boys were recalled from house-window, garden and stable, and cow-yard, when Mr. Squeers with a small bundle of papers in his hand, and Mrs. Squeers following with a pair of canes, entered the room, and proclaimed silence.

“Let any boy speak without leave,” said Mr. Squeers mildly, “and I’ll take the skin off his back.”

This special proclamation had the desired effect, and a death-like silence immediately prevailed, in the midst of which Mr. Squeers went on to say: 

“Boys, I’ve been to London, and have returned as strong and well as ever.”

According to half-yearly custom, the boys gave three feeble cheers at this refreshing intelligence.  Such cheers!  Sighs of extra strength with the chill on.