below, so that the
general appearance of the pile is decidedly of the Saracenic order.

When you walk up this yard, you will see the booking-office on your
left, and the tower of St Sepulchre's church, darting abruptly up into
the sky, on your right, and a gallery of bedrooms on both sides. Just
before you, you will observe a long window with the words 'coffee-room'
legibly painted above it; and looking out of that window, you would have
seen in addition, if you had gone at the right time, Mr Wackford Squeers
with his hands in his pockets.

Mr Squeers's appearance was not prepossessing. He had but one eye,
and the popular prejudice runs in favour of two. The eye he had, was
unquestionably useful, but decidedly not ornamental: being of a greenish
grey, and in shape resembling the fan-light of a street door. The blank
side of his face was much wrinkled and puckered up, which gave him a
very sinister appearance, especially when he smiled, at which times his
expression bordered closely on the villainous. His hair was very flat
and shiny, save at the ends, where it was brushed stiffly up from a low
protruding forehead, which assorted well with his harsh voice and coarse
manner. He was about two or three and fifty, and a trifle below the
middle size; he wore a white neckerchief with long ends, and a suit of
scholastic black; but his coat sleeves being a great deal too long,
and his trousers a great deal too short, he appeared ill at ease in
his clothes, and as if he were in a perpetual state of astonishment at
finding himself so respectable.

Mr Squeers was standing in a box by one of the coffee-room fire-places,
fitted with one such table as is usually seen in coffee-rooms, and two
of extraordinary shapes and dimensions made to suit the angles of the
partition. In a corner of the seat, was a very small deal trunk, tied
round with a scanty piece of cord; and on the trunk was perched--his
lace-up half-boots and corduroy trousers dangling in the air--a
diminutive boy, with his shoulders drawn up to his ears, and his hands
planted on his knees, who glanced timidly at the schoolmaster, from time
to time, with evident dread and apprehension.

'Half-past three,' muttered Mr Squeers, turning from the window, and
looking sulkily at the coffee-room clock. 'There will be nobody here
today.'

Much vexed by this reflection, Mr Squeers looked at the little boy to
see whether he was doing anything he could beat him for. As he happened