At last Mr Squeers began to
thrust his head out of the widow every half-minute, and to bawl a
variety of directions to the coachman; and after passing, with some
difficulty, through several mean streets which the appearance of the
houses and the bad state of the road denoted to have been recently
built, Mr Squeers suddenly tugged at the check string with all his
might, and cried, 'Stop!'
'What are you pulling a man's arm off for?' said the coachman looking
angrily down.
'That's the house,' replied Squeers. 'The second of them four little
houses, one story high, with the green shutters. There's brass plate on
the door, with the name of Snawley.'
'Couldn't you say that without wrenching a man's limbs off his body?'
inquired the coachman.
'No!' bawled Mr Squeers. 'Say another word, and I'll summons you for
having a broken winder. Stop!'
Obedient to this direction, the coach stopped at Mr Snawley's door.
Mr Snawley may be remembered as the sleek and sanctified gentleman
who confided two sons (in law) to the parental care of Mr Squeers, as
narrated in the fourth chapter of this history. Mr Snawley's house was
on the extreme borders of some new settlements adjoining Somers Town,
and Mr Squeers had taken lodgings therein for a short time, as his stay
was longer than usual, and the Saracen, having experience of Master
Wackford's appetite, had declined to receive him on any other terms than
as a full-grown customer.
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