“IT’S a very useful one, at any rate,” answered Nickleby.
“I believe you,” rejoined Squeers, not remarking the emphasis of his usher. “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,” replied Squeers. “A horse is a quadruped, and quadruped’s Latin for beast, as everybody that’s gone through the grammar knows, or else where’s the use of having grammars at all?”*
“Where, indeed?” said Nicholas, abstractedly.
“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, and they want the coppers filled.”
So saying, he dismissed the first class to their experiments in practical philosophy, and stood eyeing Nicholas with a look half doubtful, half cunning.
* ‘Quadruped’ is of course an English word, though derived from Latin quadrupes, -pedis. Strictly speaking it means ‘four-footed animal’, though in fairness to Squeers most animals called ‘beasts’ are indeed four-footed, such as cattle, deer and horses.