`Ods-bobs, dost thee not know me, mun?' whispered the Yorkshireman to the bewildered lad. `Browdie, -- chap as met thee efther schoolmeasther was banged?'
`Yes, yes,' cried Smike. `Oh! help me.'
`Help thee!' replied John, stopping his mouth again, the instant he had said this much. `Thee didn't need help, if thee warn't as silly yoongster as ever draw'd breath. Wa'at did 'he come here for, then?'
`He brought me; oh! he brought me,' cried Smike.
`Brout thee!' replied John. `Why didn't 'ee punch his head, or lay theeself doon and kick, and squeal out for the pollis? I'd ha' licked a doozen such as him when I was yoong as thee. But thee be'est a poor broken-doon chap,'
said John, sadly, `and God forgi' me for bragging ower yan o' his weakest creeturs!'
Smike opened his mouth to speak, but John Browdie stopped him.
`Stan' still,' said the Yorkshireman, `and doant'ee speak a morsel o'
talk till I tell'ee.'
With this caution, John Browdie shook his head significantly, and drawing a screwdriver from his pocket, took off the box of the lock in a very deliberate and workmanlike manner, and laid it, together with the implement, on the floor.
`See thot?' said John `Thot be thy doin'. Noo, coot awa'!'
Smike looked vacantly at him, as if unable to comprehend his meaning.
`I say, coot awa',' repeated John, hastily. `Dost thee know where thee livest? Thee dost? Weel. Are you thy clothes, or schoolmeasther's?'
`Mine,' replied Smike, as the Yorkshireman hurried him to the adjoining room, and pointed out a pair of shoes and a coat which were lying on a chair.
`On wi' 'em,' said John, forcing the wrong arm into the wrong sleeve, and winding the tails of the coat round the fugitive's neck. `Noo, foller me, and when thee get'st ootside door, turn to the right, and they wean't see thee pass.'
`But -- but -- he'll hear me shut the door,' replied Smike, trembling from head to foot.
`Then dean't shut it at all,' retorted John Browdie. `Dang it, thee bean't afeard o' schoolmeasther's takkin cold, I hope?'
`N-no,' said Smike, his teeth chattering in his head. `But he brought me back before, and will again. He will, he will indeed.'
`He wull, he wull!' replied John impatiently. `He wean't, he wean't.
Look'ee! I wont to do this neighbourly loike, and let them think thee's gotten awa' o' theeself, but if he cooms oot o' thot parlour awhiles theer't clearing off, he mun' have mercy on his oun boans, for I wean't. If he foinds it oot, soon efther, I'll put 'un on a wrong scent, I warrant 'ee.
But if thee keep'st a good hart, thee'lt be at whoam afore they know thee'st gotten off. Coom!'
Smike, who comprehended just enough of this to know it was intended as encouragement, prepared to follow with tottering steps, when John whispered in his ear.
`Thee'lt just tell yoong Measther that I'm sploiced to 'Tilly Price, and to be heerd on at the Saracen by latther, and that I bean't jealous of 'un -- dang it, I'm loike to boost when I think o' that neight! 'Cod, I think I see 'un now, a powderin' awa' at the thin bread an' butther!'
It was rather a ticklish recollection for John just then, for he was within an ace of breaking out into a loud guffaw. Restraining himself, however, just in time, by a great effort, he glided downstairs, hauling Smike behind him; and placing himself close to the parlour door, to confront the first person that might come out, signed to him to make off.
Having got so-far, Smike needed no second bidding. Opening the house-door gently, and casting a look of mingled gratitude and terror at his deliverer, he took the direction which had been indicated to him, and sped away like the wind.
The Yorkshireman remained on his post for a few minutes, but, finding that there was no pause in the conversation inside, crept back again unheard, and stood, listening over the stair-rail, for a full hour. Everything remaining perfectly quiet, he got into Mr Squeers's bed, once more, and drawing the clothes over his head, laughed till he was nearly smothered.
If there could only have been somebody by, to see how the bedclothes shook, and to see the Yorkshireman's great red face and round head appear above the sheets, every now and then, like some jovial monster coming to the surface to breathe, and once more dive down convulsed with the laughter which came bursting forth afresh -- that somebody would have been scarcely less amused than John Browdie himself.
