'
Improving the occasion in these words, Mr Squeers patted his son's head
again, and then patted Smike's--but harder; and inquired in a bantering
tone how he found himself by this time.
'I must go home,' replied Smike, looking wildly round.
'To be sure you must. You're about right there,' replied Mr Squeers.
'You'll go home very soon, you will. You'll find yourself at the
peaceful village of Dotheboys, in Yorkshire, in something under a week's
time, my young friend; and the next time you get away from there, I
give you leave to keep away. Where's the clothes you run off in, you
ungrateful robber?' said Mr Squeers, in a severe voice.
Smike glanced at the neat attire which the care of Nicholas had provided
for him; and wrung his hands.
'Do you know that I could hang you up, outside of the Old Bailey, for
making away with them articles of property?' said Squeers. 'Do you know
that it's a hanging matter--and I an't quite certain whether it an't
an anatomy one besides--to walk off with up'ards of the valley of five
pound from a dwelling-house? Eh? Do you know that? What do you suppose
was the worth of them clothes you had? Do you know that that Wellington
boot you wore, cost eight-and-twenty shillings when it was a pair, and
the shoe seven-and-six? But you came to the right shop for mercy when
you came to me, and thank your stars that it IS me as has got to serve
you with the article.
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