Mrs.
Squeers stood at one of the desks, presiding over an immense basin of
brimstone and treacle, of which delicious compound she administered a
large instalment to each boy in succession: using for the purpose a common
wooden spoon, which widened every young gentleman's mouth considerably:
they being all obliged, under heavy corporal penalties, to take in the
whole of the bowl at a gasp.
In another corner, huddled together for companionship, were the little
boys who had arrived on the preceding night: at no great distance from
these was seated the juvenile son and heir of Mr. Squeers, Wackford by
name--a striking likeness of his father--kicking, with great vigour, under
the hands of Smike, who was fitting upon him a pair of new boots that bore
a most suspicious resemblance to those which the least of the little boys
had worn on the journey down--as the little boy himself seemed to think,
for he was regarding the appropriation with a look of rueful amazement.
"Now," said Squeers, giving the desk a great rap with his cane, which made
half the little boys nearly jump out of their boots, "is that physicking
over?"
"Just over," said Mrs. Squeers, choking the last boy in her hurry, and
tapping the crown of his head with the spoon to restore him.
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