Capitulo 18 y 19

CHAPTER XVIII

HOW OLIVER PASSED HIS TIME IN THE IMPROVING SOCIETY OF HIS

REPUTABLE FRIENDS

About noon next day, when the Dodger and Master Bates had gone out to pursue their

customary avocations, Mr. Fagin took the opportunity of reading Oliver a long lecture

on the crying sin of ingratitude; of which he clearly demonstrated he had been guilty, to

no ordinary extent, in wilfully absenting himself from the society of his anxious friends;

and, still more, in endeavouring to escape from them after so much trouble and expense

had been incurred in his recovery. Mr. Fagin laid great stress on the fact of his having

taken Oliver in, and cherished him, when, without his timely aid, he might have

perished with hunger; and he related the dismal and affecting history of a young lad

whom, in his philanthropy, he had succoured under parallel circumstances, but who,

proving unworthy of his confidence and evincing a desire to communicate with the

police, had unfortunately come to be hanged at the Old Bailey one morning. Mr. Fagin

did not seek to conceal his share in the catastrophe, but lamented with tears in his eyes

that the wrong-headed and treacherous behaviour of the young person in question, had

rendered it necessary that he should become the victim of certain evidence for the

crown: which, if it were not precisely true, was indispensably necessary for the safety of

him (Mr. Fagin) and a few select friends. Mr. Fagin concluded by drawing a rather

disagreeable picture of the discomforts of hanging; and, with great friendliness and

politeness of manner, expressed his anxious hopes that he might never be obliged to

submit Oliver Twist to that unpleasant operation.

Little Oliver's blood ran cold, as he listened to the Jew's words, and imperfectly

comprehended the dark threats conveyed in them. That it was possible even for justice

itself to confound the innocent with the guilty when they were in accidental

companionship, he knew already; and that deeply-laid plans for the destruction of

inconveniently knowing or over-communicative persons, had been really devised and

carried out by the Jew on more occasions than one, he thought by no means unlikely,

when he recollected the general nature of the altercations between that gentleman and

Mr. Sikes: which seemed to bear reference to some foregone conspiracy of the kind. As

he glanced timidly up, and met the Jew's searching look, he felt that his pale face and

trembling limbs were neither unnoticed nor unrelished by that wary old gentleman.

The Jew, smiling hideously, patted Oliver on the head, and said, that if he kept himself

quiet, and applied himself to business, he saw they would be very good friends yet.

Then, taking his hat, and covering himself with an old patched great-coat, he went out,

and locked the room-door behind him.

And so Oliver remained all that day, and for the greater part of many subsequent days,

seeing nobody, between early morning and midnight, and left during the long hours to

commune with his own thoughts. Which, never failing to revert to his kind friends, and

the opinion they must long ago have formed of him, were sad indeed.

After the lapse of a week or so, the Jew left the room-door unlocked; and he was at

liberty to wander about the house.

It was a very dirty place. The rooms upstairs had great high wooden chimney-pieces

and large doors, with panelled walls and cornices to the ceiling; which, although they

were black with neglect and dust, were ornamented in various ways. From all of these

tokens Oliver concluded that a long time ago, before the old Jew was born, it had

belonged to better people, and had perhaps been quite gay and handsome: dismal and

dreary as it looked now.

Spiders had built their webs in the angles of the walls and ceilings; and sometimes,

when Oliver walked softly into a room, the mice would scamper across the floor, and

run back terrified to their holes. With these exceptions, there was neither sight nor

sound of any living thing; and often, when it grew dark, and he was tired of wandering

from room to room, he would crouch in the corner of the passage by the street-door, to

be as near living people as he could; and would remain there, listening and counting the

hours, until the Jew or the boys returned.

In all the rooms, the mouldering shutters were fast closed: the bars which held them

were screwed tight into the wood; the only light which was admitted, stealing its way

through round holes at the top: which made the rooms more gloomy, and filled them

with strange shadows. There was a back-garret window with rusty bars outside, which

had no shutter; and out of this, Oliver often gazed with a melancholy face for hours

together; but nothing was to be descried from it but a confused and crowded mass of

housetops, blackened chimneys, and gable-ends. Sometimes, indeed, a grizzly head

might be seen, peering over the parapet-wall of a distant house; but it was quickly

withdrawn again; and as the window of Oliver's observatory was nailed down, and

dimmed with the rain and smoke of years, it was as much as he could do to make out

the forms of the different objects beyond, without making any attempt to be seen or

heard,--which he had as much chance of being, as if he had lived inside the ball of St.

Paul's Cathedral.

One afternoon, the Dodger and Master Bates being engaged out that evening, the firstnamed

young gentleman took it into his head to evince some anxiety regarding the

decoration of his person (to do him justice, this was by no means an habitual weakness

with him); and, with this end and aim, he condescendingly commanded Oliver to assist

him in his toilet, straightway.

Oliver was but too glad to make himself useful; too happy to have some faces, however

bad, to look upon; too desirous to conciliate those about him when he could honestly do

so; to throw any objection in the way of this proposal. So he at once expressed his

readiness; and, kneeling on the floor, while the Dodger sat upon the table so that he

could take his foot in his laps, he applied himself to a process which Mr. Dawkins

designated as 'japanning his trotter-cases.' The phrase, rendered into plain English,

signifieth, cleaning his boots.

Whether it was the sense of freedom and independence which a rational animal may be

supposed to feel when he sits on a table in an easy attitude smoking a pipe, swinging

one leg carelessly to and fro, and having his boots cleaned all the time, without even the

past trouble of having taken them off, or the prospective misery of putting them on, to

disturb his reflections; or whether it was the goodness of the tobacco that soothed the

feelings of the Dodger, or the mildness of the beer that mollified his thoughts; he was

evidently tinctured, for the nonce, with a spice of romance and enthusiasm, foreign to

his general nature. He looked down on Oliver, with a thoughtful countenance, for a

brief space; and then, raising his head, and heaving a gentle sign, said, half in

abstraction, and half to Master Bates:

'What a pity it is he isn't a prig!'

'Ah!' said Master Charles Bates; 'he don't know what's good for him.'

The Dodger sighed again, and resumed his pipe: as did Charley Bates. They both

smoked, for some seconds, in silence.

'I suppose you don't even know what a prig is?' said the Dodger mournfully.

'I think I know that,' replied Oliver, looking up. 'It's a the--; you're one, are you not?'

inquired Oliver, checking himself.

'I am,' replied the Doger. 'I'd scorn to be anything else.' Mr. Dawkins gave his hat a

ferocious cock, after delivering this sentiment, and looked at Master Bates, as if to

denote that he would feel obliged by his saying anything to the contrary.

'I am,' repeated the Dodger. 'So's Charley. So's Fagin. So's Sikes. So's Nancy. So's

Bet. So we all are, down to the dog. And he's the downiest one of the lot!'

'And the least given to peaching,' added Charley Bates.

'He wouldn't so much as bark in a witness-box, for fear of committing himself; no, not if

you tied him up in one, and left him there without wittles for a fortnight,' said the

Dodger.

'Not a bit of it,' observed Charley.

'He's a rum dog. Don't he look fierce at any strange cove that laughs or sings when he's

in company!' pursued the Dodger. 'Won't he growl at all, when he hears a fiddle

playing! And don't he hate other dogs as ain't of his breed! Oh, no!'

'He's an out-and-out Christian,' said Charley.

This was merely intended as a tribute to the animal's abilities, but it was an appropriate

remark in another sense, if Master Bates had only known it; for there are a good many

ladies and gentlemen, claiming to be out-and-out Christians, between whom, and Mr.

Sikes' dog, there exist strong and singular points of resemblance.

'Well, well,' said the Dodger, recurring to the point from which they had strayed: with

that mindfulness of his profession which influenced all his proceedings. 'This hasn't go

anything to do with young Green here.'

'No more it has,' said Charley. 'Why don't you put yourself under Fagin, Oliver?'

'And make your fortun' out of hand?' added the Dodger, with a grin.

'And so be able to retire on your property, and do the gen-teel:

as I mean to, in the very next leap-year but four that ever comes, and the forty-second

Tuesday in Trinity-week,' said Charley Bates.

'I don't like it,' rejoined Oliver, timidly; 'I wish they would let me go. I--I--would rather

go.'

'And Fagin would RATHER not!' rejoined Charley.

Oliver knew this too well; but thinking it might be dangerous to express his feelings

more openly, he only sighed, and went on with his boot-cleaning.

'Go!' exclaimed the Dodger. 'Why, where's your spirit?' Don't you take any pride out of

yourself? Would you go and be dependent on your friends?'

'Oh, blow that!' said Master Bates: drawing two or three silk handkerchiefs from his

pocket, and tossing them into a cupboard, 'that's too mean; that is.'

'_I_ couldn't do it,' said the Dodger, with an air of haughty disgust.

'You can leave your friends, though,' said Oliver with a half smile; 'and let them be

punished for what you did.'

'That,' rejoined the Dodger, with a wave of his pipe, 'That was all out of consideration

for Fagin, 'cause the traps know that we work together, and he might have got into

trouble if we hadn't made our lucky; that was the move, wasn't it, Charley?'

Master Bates nodded assent, and would have spoken, but the recollection of Oliver's

flight came so suddenly upon him, that the smoke he was inhaling got entagled with a

laugh, and went up into his head, and down into his throat: and brought on a fit of

coughing and stamping, about five minutes long.

'Look here!' said the Dodger, drawing forth a handful of shillings and halfpence. 'Here's

a jolly life! What's the odds where it comes from? Here, catch hold; there's plenty

more where they were took from. You won't, won't you? Oh, you precious flat!'

'It's naughty, ain't it, Oliver?' inquired Charley Bates. 'He'll come to be scragged, won't

he?'

'I don't know what that means,' replied Oliver.

'Something in this way, old feller,' said Charly. As he said it, Master Bates caught up an

end of his neckerchief; and, holding it erect in the air, dropped his head on his shoulder,

and jerked a curious sound through his teeth; thereby indicating, by a lively pantomimic

representation, that scragging and hanging were one and the same thing.

'That's what it means,' said Charley. 'Look how he stares, Jack!

I never did see such prime company as that 'ere boy; he'll be the death of me, I know he

will.' Master Charley Bates, having laughed heartily again, resumed his pipe with tears

in his eyes.

'You've been brought up bad,' said the Dodger, surveying his boots with much

satisfaction when Oliver had polished them. 'Fagin will make something of you,

though, or you'll be the first he ever had that turned out unprofitable. You'd better begin

at once; for you'll come to the trade long before you think of it; and you're only losing

time, Oliver.'

Master Bates backed this advice with sundry moral admonitions of his own: which,

being exhausted, he and his friend Mr. Dawkins launched into a glowing description of

the numerous pleasures incidental to the life they led, interspersed with a variety of

hints to Oliver that the best thing he could do, would be to secure Fagin's favour without

more delay, by the means which they themselves had employed to gain it.

'And always put this in your pipe, Nolly,' said the Dodger, as

the Jew was heard unlocking the door above, 'if you don't take

fogels and tickers--'

'What's the good of talking in that way?' interposed Master Bates; 'he don't know what

you mean.'

'If you don't take pocket-handkechers and watches,' said the Dodger, reducing his

conversation to the level of Oliver's capacity, 'some other cove will; so that the coves

that lose 'em will be all the worse, and you'll be all the worse, too, and nobody half a

ha'p'orth the better, except the chaps wot gets them--and you've just as good a right to

them as they have.'

'To be sure, to be sure!' said the Jew, who had entered unseen by Oliver. 'It all lies in a

nutshell my dear; in a nutshell, take the Dodger's word for it. Ha! ha! ha! He

understands the catechism of his trade.'

The old man rubbed his hands gleefully together, as he corroborated the Dodger's

reasoning in these terms; and chuckled with delight at his pupil's proficiency.

The conversation proceeded no farther at this time, for the Jew had returned home

accompanied by Miss Betsy, and a gentleman whom Oliver had never seen before, but

who was accosted by the Dodger as Tom Chitling; and who, having lingered on the

stairs to exchange a few gallantries with the lady, now made his appearance.

Mr. Chitling was older in years than the Dodger: having perhaps numbered eighteen

winters; but there was a degree of deference in his deportment towards that young

gentleman which seemed to indicate that he felt himself conscious of a slight inferiority

in point of genius and professional aquirements. He had small twinkling eyes, and a

pock-marked face; wore a fur cap, a dark corduroy jacket, greasy fustian trousers, and

an apron. His wardrobe was, in truth, rather out of repair; but he excused himself to the

company by stating that his 'time' was only out an hour before; and that, in consequence

of having worn the regimentals for six weeks past, he had not been able to bestow any

attention on his private clothes. Mr. Chitling added, with strong marks of irritation, that

the new way of fumigating clothes up yonder was infernal unconstitutional, for it burnt

holes in them, and there was no remedy against the County. The same remark he

considered to apply to the regulation mode of cutting the hair: which he held to be

decidedly unlawful. Mr. Chitling wound up his observations by stating that he had not

touched a drop of anything for forty-two moral long hard-working days; and that he

'wished he might be busted if he warn't as dry as a lime-basket.'

'Where do you think the gentleman has come from, Oliver?' inquired the Jew, with a

grin, as the other boys put a bottle of spirits on the table.

'I--I--don't know, sir,' replied Oliver.

'Who's that?' inquired Tom Chitling, casting a contemptuous look at Oliver.

'A young friend of mine, my dear,' replied the Jew.

'He's in luck, then,' said the young man, with a meaning look at Fagin. 'Never mind

where I came from, young 'un; you'll find your way there, soon enough, I'll bet a

crown!'

At this sally, the boys laughed. After some more jokes on the same subject, they

exchanged a few short whispers with Fagin; and withdrew.

After some words apart between the last comer and Fagin, they drew their chairs

towards the fire; and the Jew, telling Oliver to come and sit by him, led the conversation

to the topics most calculated to interest his hearers. These were, the great advantages of

the trade, the proficiency of the Dodger, the amiability of Charley Bates, and the

liberality of the Jew himself. At length these subjects displayed signs of being

thoroughly exhausted; and Mr. Chitling did the same: for the house of correction

becomes fatiguing after a week or two. Miss Betsy accordingly withdrew; and left the

party to their repose.

From this day, Oliver was seldom left alone; but was placed in almost constant

communication with the two boys, who played the old game with the Jew every day:

whether for their own improvement or Oliver's, Mr. Fagin best knew. At other times

the old man would tell them stories of robberies he had committed in his younger days:

mixed up with so much that was droll and curious, that Oliver could not help laughing

heartily, and showing that he was amused in spite of all his better feelings.

In short, the wily old Jew had the boy in his toils. Having prepared his mind, by

solitude and gloom, to prefer any society to the companionship of his own sad thoughts

in such a dreary place, he was now slowly instilling into his soul the poison which he

hoped would blacken it, and change its hue for ever.

CHAPTER XIX

IN WHICH A NOTABLE PLAN IS DISCUSSED AND DETERMINED ON

It was a chill, damp, windy night, when the Jew: buttoning his great-coat tight round his

shrivelled body, and pulling the collar up over his ears so as completely to obscure the

lower part of his face: emerged from his den. He paused on the step as the door was

locked and chained behind him; and having listened while the boys made all secure, and

until their retreating footsteps were no longer audible, slunk down the street as quickly

as he could.

The house to which Oliver had been conveyed, was in the neighborhood of

Whitechapel. The Jew stopped for an instant at the corner of the street; and, glancing

suspiciously round, crossed the road, and struck off in the direction of the Spitalfields.

The mud lay thick upon the stones, and a black mist hung over the streets; the rain fell

sluggishly down, and everything felt cold and clammy to the touch. It seemed just the

night when it befitted such a being as the Jew to be abroad. As he glided stealthily

along, creeping beneath the shelter of the walls and doorways, the hideous old man

seemed like some loathsome reptile, engendered in the slime and darkness through

which he moved: crawling forth, by night, in search of some rich offal for a meal.

He kept on his course, through many winding and narrow ways, until he reached

Bethnal Green; then, turning suddenly off to the left, he soon became involved in a

maze of the mean and dirty streets which abound in that close and densely-populated

quarter.

The Jew was evidently too familiar with the ground he traversed to be at all bewildered,

either by the darkness of the night, or the intricacies of the way. He hurried through

several alleys and streets, and at length turned into one, lighted only by a single lamp at

the farther end. At the door of a house in this street, he knocked; having exchanged a

few muttered words with the person who opened it, he walked upstairs.

A dog growled as he touched the handle of a room-door; and a man's voice demanded

who was there.

'Only me, Bill; only me, my dear,' said the Jew looking in.

'Bring in your body then,' said Sikes. 'Lie down, you stupid brute! Don't you know the

devil when he's got a great-coat on?'

Apparently, the dog had been somewhat deceived by Mr. Fagin's outer garment; for as

the Jew unbuttoned it, and threw it over the back of a chair, he retired to the corner from

which he had risen: wagging his tail as he went, to show that he was as well satisfied as

it was in his nature to be.

'Well!' said Sikes.

'Well, my dear,' replied the Jew.--'Ah! Nancy.'

The latter recognition was uttered with just enough of embarrassment to imply a doubt

of its reception; for Mr. Fagin and his young friend had not met, since she had interfered

in behalf of Oliver. All doubts upon the subject, if he had any, were speedily removed

by the young lady's behaviour. She took her feet off the fender, pushed back her chair,

and bade Fagin draw up his, without saying more about it: for it was a cold night, and

no mistake.

'It is cold, Nancy dear,' said the Jew, as he warmed his skinny hands over the fire. 'It

seems to go right through one,' added the old man, touching his side.

'It must be a piercer, if it finds its way through your heart,' said Mr. Sikes. 'Give him

something to drink, Nancy. Burn my body, make haste! It's enough to turn a man ill, to

see his lean old carcase shivering in that way, like a ugly ghost just rose from the grave.'

Nancy quickly brought a bottle from a cupboard, in which there were many: which, to

judge from the diversity of their appearance, were filled with several kinds of liquids.

Sikes pouring out a glass of brandy, bade the Jew drink it off.

'Quite enough, quite, thankye, Bill,' replied the Jew, putting down the glass after just

setting his lips to it.

'What! You're afraid of our getting the better of you, are you?' inquired Sikes, fixing his

eyes on the Jew. 'Ugh!'

With a hoarse grunt of contempt, Mr. Sikes seized the glass, and threw the remainder of

its contents into the ashes: as a preparatory ceremony to filling it again for himself:

which he did at once.

The Jew glanced round the room, as his companion tossed down the second glassful;

not in curiousity, for he had seen it often before; but in a restless and suspicious manner

habitual to him. It was a meanly furnished apartment, with nothing but the contents of

the closet to induce the belief that its occupier was anything but a working man; and

with no more suspicious articles displayed to view than two or three heavy bludgeons

which stood in a corner, and a 'life-preserver' that hung over the chimney-piece.

'There,' said Sikes, smacking his lips. 'Now I'm ready.'

'For business?' inquired the Jew.

'For business,' replied Sikes; 'so say what you've got to say.'

'About the crib at Chertsey, Bill?' said the Jew, drawing his chair forward, and speaking

in a very low voice.

'Yes. Wot about it?' inquired Sikes.

'Ah! you know what I mean, my dear,' said the Jew. 'He knows what I mean, Nancy;

don't he?'

'No, he don't,' sneered Mr. Sikes. 'Or he won't, and that's the same thing. Speak out,

and call things by their right names; don't sit there, winking and blinking, and talking to

me in hints, as if you warn't the very first that thought about the robbery. Wot d'ye

mean?'

'Hush, Bill, hush!' said the Jew, who had in vain attempted to stop this burst of

indignation; 'somebody will hear us, my dear. Somebody will hear us.'

'Let 'em hear!' said Sikes; 'I don't care.' But as Mr. Sikes DID care, on reflection, he

dropped his voice as he said the words, and grew calmer.

'There, there,' said the Jew, coaxingly. 'It was only my caution, nothing more. Now,

my dear, about that crib at Chertsey; when is it to be done, Bill, eh? When is it to be

done? Such plate, my dear, such plate!' said the Jew: rubbing his hands, and elevating

his eyebrows in a rapture of anticipation.

'Not at all,' replied Sikes coldly.

'Not to be done at all!' echoed the Jew, leaning back in his chair.

'No, not at all,' rejoined Sikes. 'At least it can't be a put-up job, as we expected.'

'Then it hasn't been properly gone about,' said the Jew, turning pale with anger. 'Don't

tell me!'

'But I will tell you,' retorted Sikes. 'Who are you that's not to be told? I tell you that

Toby Crackit has been hanging about the place for a fortnight, and he can't get one of

the servants in line.'

'Do you mean to tell me, Bill,' said the Jew: softening as the other grew heated: 'that

neither of the two men in the house can be got over?'

'Yes, I do mean to tell you so,' replied Sikes. 'The old lady has had 'em these twenty

years; and if you were to give 'em five hundred pound, they wouldn't be in it.'

'But do you mean to say, my dear,' remonstrated the Jew, 'that the women can't be got

over?'

Not a bit of it,' replied Sikes.

'Not by flash Toby Crackit?' said the Jew incredulously. 'Think

what women are, Bill,'

'No; not even by flash Toby Crackit,' replied Sikes. 'He says he's worn sham whiskers,

and a canary waistcoat, the whole blessed time he's been loitering down there, and it's

all of no use.'

'He should have tried mustachios and a pair of military trousers, my dear,' said the Jew.

'So he did,' rejoined Sikes, 'and they warn't of no more use than the other plant.'

The Jew looked blank at this information. After ruminating for some minutes with his

chin sunk on his breast, he raised his head and said, with a deep sigh, that if flash Toby

Crackit reported aright, he feared the game was up.

'And yet,' said the old man, dropping his hands on his knees, 'it's a sad thing, my dear, to

lose so much when we had set our hearts upon it.'

'So it is,' said Mr. Sikes. 'Worse luck!'

A long silence ensued; during which the Jew was plunged in deep thought, with his face

wrinkled into an expression of villainy perfectly demoniacal. Sikes eyed him furtively

from time to time. Nancy, apparently fearful of irritating the housebreaker, sat with her

eyes fixed upon the fire, as if she had been deaf to all that passed.

'Fagin,' said Sikes, abruptly breaking the stillness that prevailed; 'is it worth fifty shiners

extra, if it's safely done from the outside?'

'Yes,' said the Jew, as suddenly rousing himself.

'Is it a bargain?' inquired Sikes.

'Yes, my dear, yes,' rejoined the Jew; his eyes glistening, and every muscle in his face

working, with the excitement that the inquiry had awakened.

'Then,' said Sikes, thrusting aside the Jew's hand, with some disdain, 'let it come off as

soon as you like. Toby and me were over the garden-wall the night afore last, sounding

the panels of the door and shutters. The crib's barred up at night like a jail; but there's

one part we can crack, safe and softly.'

'Which is that, Bill?' asked the Jew eagerly.

'Why,' whispered Sikes, 'as you cross the lawn--'

'Yes?' said the Jew, bending his head forward, with his eyes almost starting out of it.

'Umph!' cried Sikes, stopping short, as the girl, scarcely moving her head, looked

suddenly round, and pointed for an instant to the Jew's face. 'Never mind which part it

is. You can't do it without me, I know; but it's best to be on the safe side when one deals

with you.'

'As you like, my dear, as you like' replied the Jew. 'Is there no help wanted, but yours

and Toby's?'

'None,' said Sikes. 'Cept a centre-bit and a boy. The first we've both got; the second

you must find us.'

'A boy!' exclaimed the Jew. 'Oh! then it's a panel, eh?'

'Never mind wot it is!' replied Sikes. 'I want a boy, and he musn't be a big 'un. Lord!'

said Mr. Sikes, reflectively, 'if I'd only got that young boy of Ned, the chimbleysweeper's!

He kept him small on purpose, and let him out by the job. But the father

gets lagged; and then the Juvenile Delinquent Society comes, and takes the boy away

from a trade where he was arning money, teaches him to read and write, and in time

makes a 'prentice of him. And so they go on,' said Mr. Sikes, his wrath rising with the

recollection of his wrongs, 'so they go on; and, if they'd got money enough (which it's a

Providence they haven't,) we shouldn't have half a dozen boys left in the whole trade, in

a year or two.'

'No more we should,' acquiesed the Jew, who had been considering during this speech,

and had only caught the last sentence. 'Bill!'

'What now?' inquired Sikes.

The Jew nodded his head towards Nancy, who was still gazing at the fire; and intimated,

by a sign, that he would have her told to leave the room. Sikes shrugged his shoulders

impatiently, as if he thought the precaution unnecessary; but complied, nevertheless, by

requesting Miss Nancy to fetch him a jug of beer.

'You don't want any beer,' said Nancy, folding her arms, and retaining her seat very

composedly.

'I tell you I do!' replied Sikes.

'Nonsense,' rejoined the girl coolly, 'Go on, Fagin. I know what he's going to say, Bill;

he needn't mind me.'

The Jew still hesitated. Sikes looked from one to the other in some surprise.

'Why, you don't mind the old girl, do you, Fagin?' he asked at length. 'You've known

her long enough to trust her, or the Devil's in it. She ain't one to blab. Are you Nancy?'

'_I_ should think not!' replied the young lady: drawing her chair up to the table, and

putting her elbows upon it.

'No, no, my dear, I know you're not,' said the Jew; 'but--' and again the old man paused.

'But wot?' inquired Sikes.

'I didn't know whether she mightn't p'r'aps be out of sorts, you know, my dear, as she

was the other night,' replied the Jew.

At this confession, Miss Nancy burst into a loud laugh; and, swallowing a glass of

brandy, shook her head with an air of defiance, and burst into sundry exclamations of

'Keep the game a-going!' 'Never say die!' and the like. These seemed to have the effect

of re-assuring both gentlemen; for the Jew nodded his head with a satisfied air, and

resumed his seat: as did Mr. Sikes likewise.

'Now, Fagin,' said Nancy with a laugh. 'Tell Bill at once, about Oliver!'

'Ha! you're a clever one, my dear: the sharpest girl I ever saw!' said the Jew, patting her

on the neck. 'It WAS about Oliver I was going to speak, sure enough. Ha! ha! ha!'

'What about him?' demanded Sikes.

'He's the boy for you, my dear,' replied the Jew in a hoarse whisper; laying his finger on

the side of his nose, and grinning frightfully.

'He!' exclaimed. Sikes.

'Have him, Bill!' said Nancy. 'I would, if I was in your place. He mayn't be so much

up, as any of the others; but that's not what you want, if he's only to open a door for you.

Depend upon it he's a safe one, Bill.'

'I know he is,' rejoined Fagin. 'He's been in good training these last few weeks, and it's

time he began to work for his bread. Besides, the others are all too big.'

'Well, he is just the size I want,' said Mr. Sikes, ruminating.

'And will do everything you want, Bill, my dear,' interposed the Jew; 'he can't help

himself. That is, if you frighten him enough.'

'Frighten him!' echoed Sikes. 'It'll be no sham frightening, mind you. If there's

anything queer about him when we once get into the work; in for a penny, in for a

pound. You won't see him alive again, Fagin. Think of that, before you send him.

Mark my words!' said the robber, poising a crowbar, which he had drawn from under

the bedstead.

'I've thought of it all,' said the Jew with energy. 'I've--I've had my eye upon him, my

dears, close--close. Once let him feel that he is one of us; once fill his mind with the

idea that he has been a thief; and he's ours! Ours for his life. Oho! It couldn't have

come about better! The old man crossed his arms upon his breast; and, drawing his

head and shoulders into a heap, literally hugged himself for joy.

'Ours!' said Sikes. 'Yours, you mean.'

'Perhaps I do, my dear,' said the Jew, with a shrill chuckle.

'Mine, if you like, Bill.'

'And wot,' said Sikes, scowling fiercely on his agreeable friend, 'wot makes you take so

much pains about one chalk-faced kid, when you know there are fifty boys snoozing

about Common Garden every night, as you might pick and choose from?'

'Because they're of no use to me, my dear,' replied the Jew, with some confusion, 'not

worth the taking. Their looks convict 'em when they get into trouble, and I lose 'em all.

With this boy, properly managed, my dears, I could do what I couldn't with twenty of

them. Besides,' said the Jew, recovering his self-possession, 'he has us now if he could

only give us leg-bail again; and he must be in the same boat with us. Never mind how

he came there; it's quite enough for my power over him that he was in a robbery; that's

all I want. Now, how much better this is, than being obliged to put the poor leetle boy

out of the way--which would be dangerous, and we should lose by it besides.'

'When is it to be done?' asked Nancy, stopping some turbulent exclamation on the part

of Mr. Sikes, expressive of the disgust with which he received Fagin's affectation of

humanity.

'Ah, to be sure,' said the Jew; 'when is it to be done, Bill?'

'I planned with Toby, the night arter to-morrow,' rejoined Sikes in a surly voice, 'if he

heerd nothing from me to the contrairy.'

'Good,' said the Jew; 'there's no moon.'

'No,' rejoined Sikes.

'It's all arranged about bringing off the swag, is it?' asked the Jew.

Sikes nodded.

'And about--'

'Oh, ah, it's all planned,' rejoined Sikes, interrupting him. 'Never mind particulars.

You'd better bring the boy here to-morrow night. I shall get off the stone an hour arter

daybreak. Then you hold your tongue, and keep the melting-pot ready, and that's all

you'll have to do.'

After some discussion, in which all three took an active part, it was decided that Nancy

should repair to the Jew's next evening when the night had set in, and bring Oliver away

with her; Fagin craftily observing, that, if he evinced any disinclination to the task, he

would be more willing to accompany the girl who had so recently interfered in his

behalf, than anybody else. It was also solemnly arranged that poor Oliver should, for

the purposes of the contemplated expedition, be unreservedly consigned to the care and

custody of Mr. William Sikes; and further, that the said Sikes should deal with him as

he thought fit; and should not be held responsible by the Jew for any mischance or evil

that might be necessary to visit him: it being understood that, to render the compact in

this respect binding, any representations made by Mr. Sikes on his return should be

required to be confirmed and corroborated, in all important particulars, by the testimony

of flash Toby Crackit.

These preliminaries adjusted, Mr. Sikes proceeded to drink brandy at a furious rate, and

to flourish the crowbar in an alarming manner; yelling forth, at the same time, most

unmusical snatches of song, mingled with wild execrations. At length, in a fit of

professional enthusiasm, he insisted upon producing his box of housebreaking tools:

which he had no sooner stumbled in with, and opened for the purpose of explaining the

nature and properties of the various implements it contained, and the peculiar beauties

of their construction, than he fell over the box upon the floor, and went to sleep where

he fell.

'Good-night, Nancy,' said the Jew, muffling himself up as before.

'Good-night.'

Their eyes met, and the Jew scrutinised her, narrowly. There was no flinching about the

girl. She was as true and earnest in the matter as Toby Crackit himself could be.

The Jew again bade her good-night, and, bestowing a sly kick upon the prostrate form

of Mr. Sikes while her back was turned, groped downstairs.

'Always the way!' muttered the Jew to himself as he turned homeward. 'The worst of

these women is, that a very little thing serves to call up some long-forgotten feeling;

and, the best of them is, that it never lasts. Ha! ha! The man against the child, for a bag

of gold!'

Beguiling the time with these pleasant reflections, Mr. Fagin wended his way, through

mud and mire, to his gloomy abode: where the Dodger was sitting up, impatiently

awaiting his return.

'Is Oliver a-bed? I want to speak to him,' was his first remark as they descended the

stairs.

'Hours ago,' replied the Dodger, throwing open a door. 'Here he is!'

The boy was lying, fast asleep, on a rude bed upon the floor; so pale with anxiety, and

sadness, and the closeness of his prison, that he looked like death; not death as it shows

in shroud and coffin, but in the guise it wears when life has just departed; when a young

and gentle spirit has, but an instant, fled to Heaven, and the gross air of the world has

not had time to breathe upon the changing dust it hallowed.

'Not now,' said the Jew, turning softly away. 'To-morrow.

To-morrow.'

Oliver Twist Capitulo XVI y XVII

CHAPTER XVI

RELATES WHAT BECAME OF OLIVER TWIST, AFTER HE HAD BEEN

CLAIMED BY

NANCY

The narrow streets and courts, at length, terminated in a large open space; scattered

about which, were pens for beasts, and other indications of a cattle-market. Sikes

slackened his pace when they reached this spot: the girl being quite unable to support

any longer, the rapid rate at which they had hitherto walked. Turning to Oliver, he

roughly commanded him to take hold of Nancy's hand.

'Do you hear?' growled Sikes, as Oliver hesitated, and looked round.

They were in a dark corner, quite out of the track of passengers.

Oliver saw, but too plainly, that resistance would be of no avail. He held out his hand,

which Nancy clasped tight in hers.

'Give me the other,' said Sikes, seizing Oliver's unoccupied hand. 'Here, Bull's-Eye!'

The dog looked up, and growled.

'See here, boy!' said Sikes, putting his other hand to Oliver's throat; 'if he speaks ever so

soft a word, hold him! D'ye mind!'

The dog growled again; and licking his lips, eyed Oliver as if he were anxious to attach

himself to his windpipe without delay.

'He's as willing as a Christian, strike me blind if he isn't!' said Sikes, regarding the

animal with a kind of grim and ferocious approval. 'Now, you know what you've got to

expect, master, so call away as quick as you like; the dog will soon stop that game. Get

on, young'un!'

Bull's-eye wagged his tail in acknowledgment of this unusually endearing form of

speech; and, giving vent to another admonitory growl for the benefit of Oliver, led the

way onward.

It was Smithfield that they were crossing, although it might have been Grosvenor

Square, for anything Oliver knew to the contrary. The night was dark and foggy. The

lights in the shops could scarecely struggle through the heavy mist, which thickened

every moment and shrouded the streets and houses in gloom; rendering the strange

place still stranger in Oliver's eyes; and making his uncertainty the more dismal and

depressing.

They had hurried on a few paces, when a deep church-bell struck the hour. With its first

stroke, his two conductors stopped, and turned their heads in the direction whence the

sound proceeded.

'Eight o' clock, Bill,' said Nancy, when the bell ceased.

'What's the good of telling me that; I can hear it, can't I!' replied Sikes.

'I wonder whether THEY can hear it,' said Nancy.

'Of course they can,' replied Sikes. 'It was Bartlemy time when I was shopped; and

there warn't a penny trumpet in the fair, as I couldn't hear the squeaking on. Arter I was

locked up for the night, the row and din outside made the thundering old jail so silent,

that I could almost have beat my brains out against the iron plates of the door.'

'Poor fellow!' said Nancy, who still had her face turned towards the quarter in which the

bell had sounded. 'Oh, Bill, such fine young chaps as them!'

'Yes; that's all you women think of,' answered Sikes. 'Fine young chaps! Well, they're

as good as dead, so it don't much matter.'

With this consolation, Mr. Sikes appeared to repress a rising tendency to jealousy, and,

clasping Oliver's wrist more firmly, told him to step out again.

'Wait a minute!' said the girl: 'I wouldn't hurry by, if it was you that was coming out to

be hung, the next time eight o'clock struck, Bill. I'd walk round and round the place till

I dropped, if the snow was on the ground, and I hadn't a shawl to cover me.'

'And what good would that do?' inquired the unsentimental Mr. Sikes. 'Unless you

could pitch over a file and twenty yards of good stout rope, you might as well be

walking fifty mile off, or not walking at all, for all the good it would do me. Come on,

and don't stand preaching there.'

The girl burst into a laugh; drew her shawl more closely round her; and they walked

away. But Oliver felt her hand tremble, and, looking up in her face as they passed a

gas-lamp, saw that it had turned a deadly white.

They walked on, by little-frequented and dirty ways, for a full half-hour: meeting very

few people, and those appearing from their looks to hold much the same position in

society as Mr. Sikes himself. At length they turned into a very filthy narrow street,

nearly full of old-clothes shops; the dog running forward, as if conscious that there was

no further occasion for his keeping on guard, stopped before the door of a shop that was

closed and apparently untenanted; the house was in a ruinous condition, and on the door

was nailed a board, intimating that it was to let: which looked as if it had hung there for

many years.

'All right,' cried Sikes, glancing cautiously about.

Nancy stooped below the shutters, and Oliver heard the sound of a bell. They crossed

to the opposite side of the street, and stood for a few moments under a lamp. A noise,

as if a sash window were gently raised, was heard; and soon afterwards the door softly

opened. Mr. Sikes then seized the terrified boy by the collar with very little ceremony;

and all three were quickly inside the house.

The passage was perfectly dark. They waited, while the person who had let them in,

chained and barred the door.

'Anybody here?' inquired Sikes.

'No,' replied a voice, which Oliver thought he had heard before.

'Is the old 'un here?' asked the robber.

'Yes,' replied the voice, 'and precious down in the mouth he has been. Won't he be glad

to see you? Oh, no!'

The style of this reply, as well as the voice which delivered it, seemed familiar to

Oliver's ears: but it was impossible to distinguish even the form of the speaker in the

darkness.

'Let's have a glim,' said Sikes, 'or we shall go breaking our necks, or treading on the

dog. Look after your legs if you do!'

'Stand still a moment, and I'll get you one,' replied the voice. The receding footsteps of

the speaker were heard; and, in another minute, the form of Mr. John Dawkins,

otherwise the Artful Dodger, appeared. He bore in his right hand a tallow candle stuck

in the end of a cleft stick.

The young gentleman did not stop to bestow any other mark of recognition upon Oliver

than a humourous grin; but, turning away, beckoned the visitors to follow him down a

flight of stairs. They crossed an empty kitchen; and, opening the door of a low earthysmelling

room, which seemed to have been built in a small back-yard, were received

with a shout of laughter.

'Oh, my wig, my wig!' cried Master Charles Bates, from whose lungs the laughter had

proceeded: 'here he is! oh, cry, here he is! Oh, Fagin, look at him! Fagin, do look at

him! I can't bear it; it is such a jolly game, I cant' bear it. Hold me, somebody, while I

laugh it out.'

With this irrepressible ebullition of mirth, Master Bates laid himself flat on the floor:

and kicked convulsively for five minutes, in an ectasy of facetious joy. Then jumping

to his feet, he snatched the cleft stick from the Dodger; and, advancing to Oliver,

viewed him round and round; while the Jew, taking off his nightcap, made a great

number of low bows to the bewildered boy. The Artful, meantime, who was of a rather

saturnine disposition, and seldom gave way to merriment when it interfered with

business, rifled Oliver's pockets with steady assiduity.

'Look at his togs, Fagin!' said Charley, putting the light so close to his new jacket as

nearly to set him on fire. 'Look at his togs! Superfine cloth, and the heavy swell cut!

Oh, my eye, what a game! And his books, too! Nothing but a gentleman, Fagin!'

'Delighted to see you looking so well, my dear,' said the Jew, bowing with mock

humility. 'The Artful shall give you another suit, my dear, for fear you should spoil that

Sunday one. Why didn't you write, my dear, and say you were coming? We'd have got

something warm for supper.'

At his, Master Bates roared again: so loud, that Fagin himself relaxed, and even the

Dodger smiled; but as the Artful drew forth the five-pound note at that instant, it is

doubtful whether the sally of the discovery awakened his merriment.

'Hallo, what's that?' inquired Sikes, stepping forward as the Jew seized the note. 'That's

mine, Fagin.'

'No, no, my dear,' said the Jew. 'Mine, Bill, mine. You shall have the books.'

'If that ain't mine!' said Bill Sikes, putting on his hat with a determined air; 'mine and

Nancy's that is; I'll take the boy back again.'

The Jew started. Oliver started too, though from a very different cause; for he hoped

that the dispute might really end in his being taken back.

'Come! Hand over, will you?' said Sikes.

'This is hardly fair, Bill; hardly fair, is it, Nancy?' inquired the Jew.

'Fair, or not fair,' retorted Sikes, 'hand over, I tell you! Do you think Nancy and me has

got nothing else to do with our precious time but to spend it in scouting arter, and

kidnapping, every young boy as gets grabbed through you? Give it here, you avaricious

old skeleton, give it here!'

With this gentle remonstrance, Mr. Sikes plucked the note from between the Jew's

finger and thumb; and looking the old man coolly in the face, folded it up small, and

tied it in his neckerchief.

'That's for our share of the trouble,' said Sikes; 'and not half enough, neither. You may

keep the books, if you're fond of reading. If you ain't, sell 'em.'

'They're very pretty,' said Charley Bates: who, with sundry grimaces, had been affecting

to read one of the volumes in question; 'beautiful writing, isn't is, Oliver?' At sight of

the dismayed look with which Oliver regarded his tormentors, Master Bates, who was

blessed with a lively sense of the ludicrous, fell into another ectasy, more boisterous

than the first.

'They belong to the old gentleman,' said Oliver, wringing his hands; 'to the good, kind,

old gentleman who took me into his house, and had me nursed, when I was near dying

of the fever. Oh, pray send them back; send him back the books and money. Keep me

here all my life long; but pray, pray send them back. He'll think I stole them; the old

lady: all of them who were so kind to me: will think I stole them. Oh, do have mercy

upon me, and send them back!'

With these words, which were uttered with all the energy of passionate grief, Oliver fell

upon his knees at the Jew's feet; and beat his hands together, in perfect desperation.

'The boy's right,' remarked Fagin, looking covertly round, and knitting his shaggy

eyebrows into a hard knot. 'You're right, Oliver, you're right; they WILL think you

have stolen 'em. Ha! ha!' chuckled the Jew, rubbing his hands, 'it couldn't have

happened better, if we had chosen our time!'

'Of course it couldn't,' replied Sikes; 'I know'd that, directly I see him coming through

Clerkenwell, with the books under his arm. It's all right enough. They're soft-hearted

psalm-singers, or they wouldn't have taken him in at all; and they'll ask no questions

after him, fear they should be obliged to prosecute, and so get him lagged. He's safe

enough.'

Oliver had looked from one to the other, while these words were being spoken, as if he

were bewildered, and could scarecely understand what passed; but when Bill Sikes

concluded, he jumped suddenly to his feet, and tore wildly from the room: uttering

shrieks for help, which made the bare old house echo to the roof.

'Keep back the dog, Bill!' cried Nancy, springing before the door, and closing it, as the

Jew and his two pupils darted out in pursuit. 'Keep back the dog; he'll tear the boy to

pieces.'

'Serve him right!' cried Sikes, struggling to disengage himself from the girl's grasp.

'Stand off from me, or I'll split your head against the wall.'

'I don't care for that, Bill, I don't care for that,' screamed the girl, struggling violently

with the man, 'the child shan't be torn down by the dog, unless you kill me first.'

'Shan't he!' said Sikes, setting his teeth. 'I'll soon do that, if you don't keep off.'

The housebreaker flung the girl from him to the further end of the room, just as the Jew

and the two boys returned, dragging Oliver among them.

'What's the matter here!' said Fagin, looking round.

'The girl's gone mad, I think,' replied Sikes, savagely.

'No, she hasn't,' said Nancy, pale and breathless from the scuffle; 'no, she hasn't, Fagin;

don't think it.'

'Then keep quiet, will you?' said the Jew, with a threatening look.

'No, I won't do that, neither,' replied Nancy, speaking very loud. 'Come! What do you

think of that?'

Mr. Fagin was sufficiently well acquainted with the manners and customs of that

particular species of humanity to which Nancy belonged, to feel tolerably certain that it

would be rather unsafe to prolong any conversation with her, at present. With the view

of diverting the attention of the company, he turned to Oliver.

'So you wanted to get away, my dear, did you?' said the Jew, taking up a jagged and

knotted club which law in a corner of the fireplace; 'eh?'

Oliver made no reply. But he watched the Jew's motions, and breathed quickly.

'Wanted to get assistance; called for the police; did you?' sneered the Jew, catching the

boy by the arm. 'We'll cure you of that, my young master.'

The Jew inflicted a smart blow on Oliver's shoulders with the club; and was raising it

for a second, when the girl, rushing forward, wrested it from his hand. She flung it into

the fire, with a force that brought some of the glowing coals whirling out into the room.

'I won't stand by and see it done, Fagin,' cried the girl. 'You've got the boy, and what

more would you have?--Let him be--let him be--or I shall put that mark on some of you,

that will bring me to the gallows before my time.'

The girl stamped her foot violently on the floor as she vented this threat; and with her

lips compressed, and her hands clenched, looked alternately at the Jew and the other

robber: her face quite colourless from the passion of rage into which she had gradually

worked herself.

'Why, Nancy!' said the Jew, in a soothing tone; after a pause, during which he and Mr.

Sikes had stared at one another in a disconcerted manner; 'you,--you're more clever than

ever to-night. Ha! ha! my dear, you are acting beautifully.'

'Am I!' said the girl. 'Take care I don't overdo it. You will be the worse for it, Fagin, if

I do; and so I tell you in good time to keep clear of me.'

There is something about a roused woman: especially if she add to all her other strong

passions, the fierce impulses of recklessness and despair; which few men like to

provoke. The Jew saw that it would be hopeless to affect any further mistake regarding

the reality of Miss Nancy's rage; and, shrinking involuntarily back a few paces, cast a

glance, half imploring and half cowardly, at Sikes: as if to hint that he was the fittest

person to pursue the dialogue.

Mr. Sikes, thus mutely appealed to; and possibly feeling his personal pride and

influence interested in the immediate reduction of Miss Nancy to reason; gave utterance

to about a couple of score of curses and threats, the rapid production of which reflected

great credit on the fertility of his invention. As they produced no visible effect on the

object against whom they were discharged, however, he resorted to more tangible

arguments.

'What do you mean by this?' said Sikes; backing the inquiry with a very common

imprecation concerning the most beautiful of human features: which, if it were heard

above, only once out of every fifty thousand times that it is uttered below, would render

blindness as common a disorder as measles: 'what do you mean by it? Burn my body!

Do you know who you are, and what you are?'

'Oh, yes, I know all about it,' replied the girl, laughing hysterically; and shaking her

head from side to side, with a poor assumption of indifference.

'Well, then, keep quiet,' rejoined Sikes, with a growl like that he was accustomed to use

when addressing his dog, 'or I'll quiet you for a good long time to come.'

The girl laughed again: even less composedly than before; and, darting a hasty look at

Sikes, turned her face aside, and bit her lip till the blood came.

'You're a nice one,' added Sikes, as he surveyed her with a contemptuous air, 'to take up

the humane and gen--teel side! A pretty subject for the child, as you call him, to make a

friend of!'

'God Almighty help me, I am!' cried the girl passionately; 'and I wish I had been struck

dead in the street, or had changed places with them we passed so near to-night, before I

had lent a hand in bringing him here. He's a thief, a liar, a devil, all that's bad, from this

night forth. Isn't that enough for the old wretch, without blows?'

'Come, come, Sikes,' said the Jew appealing to him in a remonstratory tone, and

motioning towards the boys, who were eagerly attentive to all that passed; 'we must

have civil words; civil words, Bill.'

'Civil words!' cried the girl, whose passion was frightful to see. 'Civil words, you

villain! Yes, you deserve 'em from me. I thieved for you when I was a child not half as

old as this!' pointing to Oliver. 'I have been in the same trade, and in the same service,

for twelve years since. Don't you know it? Speak out! Don't you know it?'

'Well, well,' replied the Jew, with an attempt at pacification;

'and, if you have, it's your living!'

'Aye, it is!' returned the girl; not speaking, but pouring out the words in one continuous

and vehement scream. 'It is my living; and the cold, wet, dirty streets are my home; and

you're the wretch that drove me to them long ago, and that'll keep me there, day and

night, day and night, till I die!'

'I shall do you a mischief!' interposed the Jew, goaded by these reproaches; 'a mischief

worse than that, if you say much more!'

The girl said nothing more; but, tearing her hair and dress in a transport of passion,

made such a rush at the Jew as would probably have left signal marks of her revenge

upon him, had not her wrists been seized by Sikes at the right moment; upon which, she

made a few ineffectual struggles, and fainted.

'She's all right now,' said Sikes, laying her down in a corner.

'She's uncommon strong in the arms, when she's up in this way.'

The Jew wiped his forehead: and smiled, as if it were a relief to have the disturbance

over; but neither he, nor Sikes, nor the dog, nor the boys, seemed to consider it in any

other light than a common occurance incidental to business.

'It's the worst of having to do with women,' said the Jew, replacing his club; 'but they're

clever, and we can't get on, in our line, without 'em. Charley, show Oliver to bed.'

'I suppose he'd better not wear his best clothes tomorrow, Fagin, had he?' inquired

Charley Bates.

'Certainly not,' replied the Jew, reciprocating the grin with which Charley put the

question.

Master Bates, apparently much delighted with his commission, took the cleft stick: and

led Oliver into an adjacent kitchen, where there were two or three of the beds on which

he had slept before; and here, with many uncontrollable bursts of laughter, he produced

the identical old suit of clothes which Oliver had so much congratulated himself upon

leaving off at Mr. Brownlow's; and the accidental display of which, to Fagin, by the Jew

who purchased them, had been the very first clue received, of his whereabout.

'Put off the smart ones,' said Charley, 'and I'll give 'em to Fagin to take care of. What

fun it is!'

Poor Oliver unwillingly complied. Master Bates rolling up the new clothes under his

arm, departed from the room, leaving Oliver in the dark, and locking the door behind

him.

The noise of Charley's laughter, and the voice of Miss Betsy, who opportunely arrived

to throw water over her friend, and perform other feminine offices for the promotion of

her recovery, might have kept many people awake under more happy circumstances

than those in which Oliver was placed. But he was sick and weary; and he soon fell

sound asleep.

CHAPTER XVII

OLIVER'S DESTINY CONTINUING UNPROPITIOUS, BRINGS A GREAT MAN

TO

LONDON TO INJURE HIS REPUTATION

It is the custom on the stage, in all good murderous melodramas, to present the tragic

and the comic scenes, in as regular alternation, as the layers of red and white in a side of

streaky bacon. The hero sinks upon his straw bed, weighed down by fetters and

misfortunes; in the next scene, his faithful but unconscious squire regales the audience

with a comic song. We behold, with throbbing bosoms, the heroine in the grasp of a

proud and ruthless baron: her virtue and her life alike in danger, drawing forth her

dagger to preserve the one at the cost of the other; and just as our expectations are

wrought up to the highest pitch, a whistle is heard, and we are straightway transported

to the great hall of the castle; where a grey-headed seneschal sings a funny chorus with

a funnier body of vassals, who are free of all sorts of places, from church vaults to

palaces, and roam about in company, carolling perpetually.

Such changes appear absurd; but they are not so unnatural as they would seem at first

sight. The transitions in real life from well-spread boards to death-beds, and from

mourning-weeds to holiday garments, are not a whit less startling; only, there, we are

busy actors, instead of passive lookers-on, which makes a vast difference. The actors in

the mimic life of the theatre, are blind to violent transitions and abrupt impulses of

passion or feeling, which, presented before the eyes of mere spectators, are at once

condemned as outrageous and preposterous.

As sudden shiftings of the scene, and rapid changes of time and place, are not only

sanctioned in books by long usage, but are by many considered as the great art of

authorship: an author's skill in his craft being, by such critics, chiefly estimated with

relation to the dilemmas in which he leaves his characters at the end of every chapter:

this brief introduction to the present one may perhaps be deemed unnecessary. If so, let

it be considered a delicate intimation on the part of the historian that he is going back to

the town in which Oliver Twist was born; the reader taking it for granted that there are

good and substantial reasons for making the journey, or he would not be invited to

proceed upon such an expedition.

Mr. Bumble emerged at early morning from the workhouse-gate, and walked with

portly carriage and commanding steps, up the High Street. He was in the full bloom

and pride of beadlehood; his cocked hat and coat were dazzling in the morning sun; he

clutched his cane with the vigorous tenacity of health and power. Mr. Bumble always

carried his head high; but this morning it was higher than usual. There was an

abstraction in his eye, an elevation in his air, which might have warned an observant

stranger that thoughts were passing in the beadle's mind, too great for utterance.

Mr. Bumble stopped not to converse with the small shopkeepers and others who spoke

to him, deferentially, as he passed along. He merely returned their salutations with a

wave of his hand, and relaxed not in his dignified pace, until he reached the farm where

Mrs. Mann tended the infant paupers with parochial care.

'Drat that beadle!' said Mrs. Mann, hearing the well-known shaking at the garden-gate.

'If it isn't him at this time in the morning! Lauk, Mr. Bumble, only think of its being

you! Well, dear me, it IS a pleasure, this is! Come into the parlour, sir, please.'

The first sentence was addressed to Susan; and the exclamations of delight were uttered

to Mr. Bumble: as the good lady unlocked the garden-gate: and showed him, with great

attention and respect, into the house.

'Mrs. Mann,' said Mr. Bumble; not sitting upon, or dropping himself into a seat, as any

common jackanapes would: but letting himself gradually and slowly down into a chair;

'Mrs. Mann, ma'am, good morning.'

'Well, and good morning to YOU, sir,' replied Mrs. Mann, with many smiles; 'and

hoping you find yourself well, sir!'

'So-so, Mrs. Mann,' replied the beadle. 'A porochial life is not a bed of roses, Mrs.

Mann.'

'Ah, that it isn't indeed, Mr. Bumble,' rejoined the lady. And all the infant paupers might

have chorussed the rejoinder with great propriety, if they had heard it.

'A porochial life, ma'am,' continued Mr. Bumble, striking the table with his cane, 'is a

life of worrit, and vexation, and hardihood; but all public characters, as I may say, must

suffer prosecution.'

Mrs. Mann, not very well knowing what the beadle meant, raised her hands with a look

of sympathy, and sighed.

'Ah! You may well sigh, Mrs. Mann!' said the beadle.

Finding she had done right, Mrs. Mann sighed again: evidently to

the satisfaction of the public character: who, repressing a

complacent smile by looking sternly at his cocked hat, said,

'Mrs. Mann, I am going to London.'

'Lauk, Mr. Bumble!' cried Mrs. Mann, starting back.

'To London, ma'am,' resumed the inflexible beadle, 'by coach. I and two paupers, Mrs.

Mann! A legal action is a coming on, about a settlement; and the board has appointed

me--me, Mrs. Mann--to dispose to the matter before the quarter-sessions at Clerkinwell.

And I very much question,' added Mr. Bumble, drawing himself up, 'whether the

Clerkinwell Sessions will not find themselves in the wrong box before they have done

with me.'

'Oh! you mustn't be too hard upon them, sir,' said Mrs. Mann, coaxingly.

'The Clerkinwell Sessions have brought it upon themselves, ma'am,' replied Mr.

Bumble; 'and if the Clerkinwell Sessions find that they come off rather worse than they

expected, the Clerkinwell Sessions have only themselves to thank.'

There was so much determination and depth of purpose about the

menacing manner in which Mr. Bumble delivered himself of these

words, that Mrs. Mann appeared quite awed by them. At length she

said,

'You're going by coach, sir? I thought it was always usual to send them paupers in

carts.'

'That's when they're ill, Mrs. Mann,' said the beadle. 'We put the sick paupers into open

carts in the rainy weather, to prevent their taking cold.'

'Oh!' said Mrs. Mann.

'The opposition coach contracts for these two; and takes them cheap,' said Mr. Bumble.

'They are both in a very low state, and we find it would come two pound cheaper to

move 'em than to bury 'em--that is, if we can throw 'em upon another parish, which I

think we shall be able to do, if they don't die upon the road to spite us. Ha! ha! ha!'

When Mr. Bumble had laughed a little while, his eyes again encountered the cocked hat;

and he became grave.

'We are forgetting business, ma'am,' said the beadle; 'here is your porochial stipend for

the month."

Mr. Bumble produced some silver money rolled up in paper, from his pocket-book; and

requested a receipt: which Mrs. Mann wrote.

'It's very much blotted, sir,' said the farmer of infants; 'but it's formal enough, I dare say.

Thank you, Mr. Bumble, sir, I am very much obliged to you, I'm sure.'

Mr. Bumble nodded, blandly, in acknowledgment of Mrs. Mann's curtsey; and inquired

how the children were.

'Bless their dear little hearts!' said Mrs. Mann with emotion, 'they're as well as can be,

the dears! Of course, except the two that died last week. And little Dick.'

'Isn't that boy no better?' inquired Mr. Bumble.

Mrs. Mann shook her head.

'He's a ill-conditioned, wicious, bad-disposed porochial child that,' said Mr. Bumble

angrily. 'Where is he?'

'I'll bring him to you in one minute, sir,' replied Mrs. Mann.

'Here, you Dick!'

After some calling, Dick was discovered. Having had his face put under the pump, and

dried upon Mrs. Mann's gown, he was led into the awful presence of Mr. Bumble, the

beadle.

The child was pale and thin; his cheeks were sunken; and his eyes large and bright. The

scanty parish dress, the livery of his misery, hung loosely on his feeble body; and his

young limbs had wasted away, like those of an old man.

Such was the little being who stood trembling beneath Mr. Bumble's glance; not daring

to lift his eyes from the floor; and dreading even to hear the beadle's voice.

'Can't you look at the gentleman, you obstinate boy?' said Mrs.

Mann.

The child meekly raised his eyes, and encountered those of Mr.

Bumble.

'What's the matter with you, porochial Dick?' inquired Mr.

Bumble, with well-timed jocularity.

'Nothing, sir,' replied the child faintly.

'I should think not,' said Mrs. Mann, who had of course laughed very much at Mr.

Bumble's humour.

'You want for nothing, I'm sure.'

'I should like--' faltered the child.

'Hey-day!' interposed Mr. Mann, 'I suppose you're going to say

that you DO want for something, now? Why, you little wretch--'

'Stop, Mrs. Mann, stop!' said the beadle, raising his hand with a show of authority.

'Like what, sir, eh?'

'I should like,' said the child, 'to leave my dear love to poor Oliver Twist; and to let him

know how often I have sat by myself and cried to think of his wandering about in the

dark nights with nobody to help him. And I should like to tell him,' said the child

pressing his small hands together, and speaking with great fervour, 'that I was glad to

die when I was very young; for, perhaps, if I had lived to be a man, and had grown old,

my little sister who is in Heaven, might forget me, or be unlike me; and it would be so

much happier if we were both children there together.'

Mr. Bumble surveyed the little speaker, from head to foot, with indescribable

astonishment; and, turning to his companion, said, 'They're all in one story, Mrs. Mann.

That out-dacious Oliver had demogalized them all!'

'I couldn't have believed it, sir' said Mrs Mann, holding up her hands, and looking

malignantly at Dick. 'I never see such a hardened little wretch!'

'Take him away, ma'am!' said Mr. Bumble imperiously. 'This must be stated to the

board, Mrs. Mann.

'I hope the gentleman will understand that it isn't my fault, sir?' said Mrs. Mann,

whimpering pathetically.

'They shall understand that, ma'am; they shall be acquainted with the true state of the

case,' said Mr. Bumble. 'There; take him away, I can't bear the sight on him.'

Dick was immediately taken away, and locked up in the coal-cellar. Mr. Bumble

shortly afterwards took himself off, to prepare for his journey.

At six o'clock next morning, Mr. Bumble: having exchanged his cocked hat for a round

one, and encased his person in a blue great-coat with a cape to it: took his place on the

outside of the coach, accompanied by the criminals whose settlement was disputed; with

whom, in due course of time, he arrived in London.

He experienced no other crosses on the way, than those which originated in the perverse

behaviour of the two paupers, who persisted in shivering, and complaining of the cold,

in a manner which, Mr. Bumble declared, caused his teeth to chatter in his head, and

made him feel quite uncomfortable; although he had a great-coat on.

Having disposed of these evil-minded persons for the night, Mr. Bumble sat himself

down in the house at which the coach stopped; and took a temperate dinner of steaks,

oyster sauce, and porter. Putting a glass of hot gin-and-water on the chimney-piece, he

drew his chair to the fire; and, with sundry moral reflections on the too-prevalent sin of

discontent and complaining, composed himself to read the paper.

The very first paragraph upon which Mr. Bumble's eye rested, was the following

advertisement.

'FIVE GUINEAS REWARD

'Whereas a young boy, named Oliver Twist, absconded, or was enticed, on Thursday

evening last, from his home, at Pentonville; and has not since been heard of. The above

reward will be paid to any person who will give such information as will lead to the

discovery of the said Oliver Twist, or tend to throw any light upon his previous history,

in which the advertiser is, for many reasons, warmly interested.'

And then followed a full description of Oliver's dress, person, appearance, and

disappearance: with the name and address of Mr. Brownlow at full length.

Mr. Bumble opened his eyes; read the advertisement, slowly and carefully, three several

times; and in something more than five minutes was on his way to Pentonville: having

actually, in his excitement, left the glass of hot gin-and-water, untasted.

'Is Mr. Brownlow at home?' inquired Mr. Bumble of the girl who opened the door.

To this inquiry the girl returned the not uncommon, but rather evasive reply of 'I don't

know; where do you come from?'

Mr. Bumble no sooner uttered Oliver's name, in explanation of his errand, than Mrs.

Bedwin, who had been listening at the parlour door, hastened into the passage in a

breathless state.

'Come in, come in,' said the old lady: 'I knew we should hear of him. Poor dear! I knew

we should! I was certain of it. Bless his heart! I said so all along.'

Having heard this, the worthy old lady hurried back into the parlour again; and seating

herself on a sofa, burst into tears. The girl, who was not quite so susceptible, had run

upstairs meanwhile; and now returned with a request that Mr. Bumble would follow her

immediately: which he did.

He was shown into the little back study, where sat Mr. Brownlow and his friend Mr.

Grimwig, with decanters and glasses before them. The latter gentleman at once burst

into the exclamation:

'A beadle. A parish beadle, or I'll eat my head.'

'Pray don't interrupt just now,' said Mr. Brownlow. 'Take a seat, will you?'

Mr. Bumble sat himself down; quite confounded by the oddity of

Mr. Grimwig's manner. Mr. Brownlow moved the lamp, so as to

obtain an uninterrupted view of the beadle's countenance; and

said, with a little impatience,

'Now, sir, you come in consequence of having seen the advertisement?'

'Yes, sir,' said Mr. Bumble.

'And you ARE a beadle, are you not?' inquired Mr. Grimwig.

'I am a porochial beadle, gentlemen,' rejoined Mr. Bumble proudly.

'Of course,' observed Mr. Grimwig aside to his friend, 'I knew he was. A beadle all

over!'

Mr. Brownlow gently shook his head to impose silence on his friend, and resumed:

'Do you know where this poor boy is now?'

'No more than nobody,' replied Mr. Bumble.

'Well, what DO you know of him?' inquired the old gentleman. 'Speak out, my friend, if

you have anything to say. What DO you know of him?'

'You don't happen to know any good of him, do you?' said Mr. Grimwig, caustically;

after an attentive perusal of Mr. Bumble's features.

Mr. Bumble, catching at the inquiry very quickly, shook his head with portentous

solemnity.

'You see?' said Mr. Grimwig, looking triumphantly at Mr.

Brownlow.

Mr. Brownlow looked apprehensively at Mr. Bumble's pursed-up countenance; and

requested him to communicate what he knew regarding Oliver, in as few words as

possible.

Mr. Bumble put down his hat; unbuttoned his coat; folded his arms; inclined his head in

a retrospective manner; and, after a few moments' reflection, commenced his story.

It would be tedious if given in the beadle's words: occupying, as it did, some twenty

minutes in the telling; but the sum and substance of it was, that Oliver was a foundling,

born of low and vicious parents. That he had, from his birth, displayed no better

qualities than treachery, ingratitude, and malice. That he had terminated his brief career

in the place of his birth, by making a sanguinary and cowardly attack on an unoffending

lad, and running away in the night-time from his master's house. In proof of his really

being the person he represented himself, Mr. Bumble laid upon the table the papers he

had brought to town. Folding his arms again, he then awaited Mr. Brownlow's

observations.

'I fear it is all too true,' said the old gentleman sorrowfully, after looking over the

papers. 'This is not much for your intelligence; but I would gladly have given you treble

the money, if it had been favourable to the boy.'

It is not improbable that if Mr. Bumble had been possessed of this information at an

earlier period of the interview, he might have imparted a very different colouring to his

little history. It was too late to do it now, however; so he shook his head gravely, and,

pocketing the five guineas, withdrew.

Mr. Brownlow paced the room to and fro for some minutes; evidently so much

disturbed by the beadle's tale, that even Mr. Grimwig forbore to vex him further.

At length he stopped, and rang the bell violently.

'Mrs. Bedwin,' said Mr. Brownlow, when the housekeeper appeared;

'that boy, Oliver, is an imposter.'

'It can't be, sir. It cannot be,' said the old lady

energetically.

'I tell you he is,' retorted the old gentleman. 'What do you mean by can't be? We have

just heard a full account of him from his birth; and he has been a thorough-paced little

villain, all his life.'

'I never will believe it, sir,' replied the old lady, firmly.

'Never!'

'You old women never believe anything but quack-doctors, and lying story-books,'

growled Mr. Grimwig. 'I knew it all along. Why didn't you take my advise in the

beginning; you would if he hadn't had a fever, I suppose, eh? He was interesting, wasn't

he? Interesting! Bah!' And Mr. Grimwig poked the fire with a flourish.

'He was a dear, grateful, gentle child, sir,' retorted Mrs. Bedwin, indignantly. 'I know

what children are, sir; and have done these forty years; and people who can't say the

same, shouldn't say anything about them. That's my opinion!'

This was a hard hit at Mr. Grimwig, who was a bachelor. As it extorted nothing from

that gentleman but a smile, the old lady tossed her head, and smoothed down her apron

preparatory to another speech, when she was stopped by Mr. Brownlow.

'Silence!' said the old gentleman, feigning an anger he was far from feeling. 'Never let

me hear the boy's name again. I rang to tell you that. Never. Never, on any pretence,

mind! You may leave the room, Mrs. Bedwin. Remember! I am in earnest.'

There were sad hearts at Mr. Brownlow's that night.

Oliver's heart sank within him, when he thought of his good friends; it was well for him

that he could not know what they had heard, or it might have broken outright.