Oliver Twist
The noise of footsteps on the creaking stairs, a few minutes after the
occurrence of this conversation, roused the merry old gentleman as he
sat over the fire with a saveloy and a small loaf in his hand; a
pocket-knife in his right; and a pewter pot on the trivet. There was a
rascally smile on his white face as he turned round, and looking
sharply out from under his thick red eyebrows, bent his ear towards the
door, and listened.
“Why, how’s this?” muttered the Jew: changing countenance; “only two of
’em? Where’s the third? They can’t have got into trouble. Hark!”
The footsteps approached nearer; they reached the landing. The door was
slowly opened; and the Dodger and Charley Bates entered, closing it
behind them.
CHAPTER XIII.
SOME NEW ACQUAINTANCES ARE INTRODUCED TO THE INTELLIGENT READER,
CONNECTED WITH WHOM VARIOUS PLEASANT MATTERS ARE RELATED, APPERTAINING
TO THIS HISTORY
“Where’s Oliver?” said the Jew, rising with a menacing look. “Where’s
the boy?”
The young thieves eyed their preceptor as if they were alarmed at his
violence; and looked uneasily at each other. But they made no reply.
“What’s become of the boy?” said the Jew, seizing the Dodger tightly by
the collar, and threatening him with horrid imprecations. “Speak out,
or I’ll throttle you!”
Mr. Fagin looked so very much in earnest, that Charley Bates, who
deemed it prudent in all cases to be on the safe side, and who
conceived it by no means improbable that it might be his turn to be
throttled second, dropped upon his knees, and raised a loud,
well-sustained, and continuous roar—something between a mad bull and a
speaking trumpet.
“Will you speak?” thundered the Jew: shaking the Dodger so much that
his keeping in the big coat at all, seemed perfectly miraculous.
“Why, the traps have got him, and that’s all about it,” said the
Dodger, sullenly. “Come, let go o’ me, will you!” And, swinging
himself, at one jerk, clean out of the big coat, which he left in the
Jew’s hands, the Dodger snatched up the toasting fork, and made a pass
at the merry old gentleman’s waistcoat; which, if it had taken effect,
would have let a little more merriment out than could have been easily
replaced.
The Jew stepped back in this emergency, with more agility than could
have been anticipated in a man of his apparent decrepitude; and,
seizing up the pot, prepared to hurl it at his assailant’s head. But
Charley Bates, at this moment, calling his attention by a perfectly
terrific howl, he suddenly altered its destination, and flung it full
at that young gentleman.
“Why, what the blazes is in the wind now!” growled a deep voice. “Who
pitched that ’ere at me? It’s well it’s the beer, and not the pot, as
hit me, or I’d have settled somebody. I might have know’d, as nobody
but an infernal, rich, plundering, thundering old Jew could afford to
throw away any drink but water—and not that, unless he done the River
Company every quarter. Wot’s it all about, Fagin? D—me, if my
neck-handkercher an’t lined with beer! Come in, you sneaking warmint;
wot are you stopping outside for, as if you was ashamed of your master!
Come in!”
The man who growled out these words, was a stoutly-built fellow of
about five-and-thirty, in a black velveteen coat, very soiled drab
breeches, lace-up half boots, and grey cotton stockings which inclosed
a bulky pair of legs, with large swelling calves;—the kind of legs,
which in such costume, always look in an unfinished and incomplete
state without a set of fetters to garnish them. He had a brown hat on
his head, and a dirty belcher handkerchief round his neck: with the
long frayed ends of which he smeared the beer from his face as he
spoke. He disclosed, when he had done so, a broad heavy countenance
with a beard of three days’ growth, and two scowling eyes; one of which
displayed various parti-coloured symptoms of having been recently
damaged by a blow.
“Come in, d’ye hear?” growled this engaging ruffian.
A white shaggy dog, with his face scratched and torn in twenty
different places, skulked into the room.
“Why didn’t you come in afore?” said the man. “You’re getting too proud
to own me afore company, are you? Lie down!”
This command was accompanied with a kick, which sent the animal to the
other end of the room. He appeared well used to it, however; for he
coiled himself up in a corner very quietly, without uttering a sound,
and winking his very ill-looking eyes twenty times in a minute,
appeared to occupy himself in taking a survey of the apartment.
“What are you up to? Ill-treating the boys, you covetous, avaricious,
in-sa-ti-a-ble old fence?” said the man, seating himself deliberately.
“I wonder they don’t murder you! I would if I was them. If I’d been
your ’prentice, I’d have done it long ago, and—no, I couldn’t have sold
you afterwards, for you’re fit for nothing but keeping as a curiousity
of ugliness in a glass bottle, and I suppose they don’t blow glass
bottles large enough.”
“Hush! hush! Mr. Sikes,” said the Jew, trembling; “don’t speak so
loud!”
“None of your mistering,” replied the ruffian; “you always mean
mischief when you come that. You know my name: out with it! I shan’t
disgrace it when the time comes.”
“Well, well, then—Bill Sikes,” said the Jew, with abject humility. “You
seem out of humour, Bill.”
“Perhaps I am,” replied Sikes; “I should think you was rather out of
sorts too, unless you mean as little harm when you throw pewter pots
about, as you do when you blab and—”
“Are you mad?” said the Jew, catching the man by the sleeve, and
pointing towards the boys.
Mr. Sikes contented himself with tying an imaginary knot under his left
ear, and jerking his head over on the right shoulder; a piece of dumb
show which the Jew appeared to understand perfectly. He then, in cant
terms, with which his whole conversation was plentifully besprinkled,
but which would be quite unintelligible if they were recorded here,
demanded a glass of liquor.
“And mind you don’t poison it,” said Mr. Sikes, laying his hat upon the
table.
This was said in jest; but if the speaker could have seen the evil leer
with which the Jew bit his pale lip as he turned round to the cupboard,
he might have thought the caution not wholly unnecessary, or the wish
(at all events) to improve upon the distiller’s ingenuity not very far
from the old gentleman’s merry heart.
After swallowing two of three glasses of spirits, Mr. Sikes
condescended to take some notice of the young gentlemen; which gracious
act led to a conversation, in which the cause and manner of Oliver’s
capture were circumstantially detailed, with such alterations and
improvements on the truth, as to the Dodger appeared most advisable
under the circumstances.
“I’m afraid,” said the Jew, “that he may say something which will get
us into trouble.”
“That’s very likely,” returned Sikes with a malicious grin. “You’re
blowed upon, Fagin.”
“And I’m afraid, you see,” added the Jew, speaking as if he had not
noticed the interruption; and regarding the other closely as he did
so,—“I’m afraid that, if the game was up with us, it might be up with a
good many more, and that it would come out rather worse for you than it
would for me, my dear.”
The man started, and turned round upon the Jew. But the old gentleman’s
shoulders were shrugged up to his ears; and his eyes were vacantly
staring on the opposite wall.
There was a long pause. Every member of the respectable coterie
appeared plunged in his own reflections; not excepting the dog, who by
a certain malicious licking of his lips seemed to be meditating an
attack upon the legs of the first gentleman or lady he might encounter
in the streets when he went out.
“Somebody must find out wot’s been done at the office,” said Mr. Sikes
in a much lower tone than he had taken since he came in.
The Jew nodded assent.
“If he hasn’t peached, and is committed, there’s no fear till he comes
out again,” said Mr. Sikes, “and then he must be taken care on. You
must get hold of him somehow.”
Again the Jew nodded.
The prudence of this line of action, indeed, was obvious; but,
unfortunately, there was one very strong objection to its being
adopted. This was, that the Dodger, and Charley Bates, and Fagin, and
Mr. William Sikes, happened, one and all, to entertain a violent and
deeply-rooted antipathy to going near a police-office on any ground or
pretext whatever.
How long they might have sat and looked at each other, in a state of
uncertainty not the most pleasant of its kind, it is difficult to
guess. It is not necessary to make any guesses on the subject, however;
for the sudden entrance of the two young ladies whom Oliver had seen on
a former occasion, caused the conversation to flow afresh.
“The very thing!” said the Jew. “Bet will go; won’t you, my dear?”
“Wheres?” inquired the young lady.
“Only just up to the office, my dear,” said the Jew coaxingly.
It is due to the young lady to say that she did not positively affirm
that she would not, but that she merely expressed an emphatic and
earnest desire to be “blessed” if she would; a polite and delicate
evasion of the request, which shows the young lady to have been
possessed of that natural good breeding which cannot bear to inflict
upon a fellow-creature, the pain of a direct and pointed refusal.
The Jew’s countenance fell. He turned from this young lady, who was
gaily, not to say gorgeously attired, in a red gown, green boots, and
yellow curl-papers, to the other female.
“Nancy, my dear,” said the Jew in a soothing manner, “what do _you_
say?”
“That it won’t do; so it’s no use a-trying it on, Fagin,” replied
Nancy.
“What do you mean by that?” said Mr. Sikes, looking up in a surly
manner.
“What I say, Bill,” replied the lady collectedly.
“Why, you’re just the very person for it,” reasoned Mr. Sikes: “nobody
about here knows anything of you.”
“And as I don’t want ’em to, neither,” replied Nancy in the same
composed manner, “it’s rather more no than yes with me, Bill.”
“She’ll go, Fagin,” said Sikes.
“No, she won’t, Fagin,” said Nancy.
“Yes, she will, Fagin,” said Sikes.
And Mr. Sikes was right. By dint of alternate threats, promises, and
bribes, the lady in question was ultimately prevailed upon to undertake
the commission. She was not, indeed, withheld by the same
considerations as her agreeable friend; for, having recently removed
into the neighborhood of Field Lane from the remote but genteel suburb
of Ratcliffe, she was not under the same apprehension of being
recognised by any of her numerous acquaintances.
Accordingly, with a clean white apron tied over her gown, and her
curl-papers tucked up under a straw bonnet,—both articles of dress
being provided from the Jew’s inexhaustible stock,—Miss Nancy prepared
to issue forth on her errand.
“Stop a minute, my dear,” said the Jew, producing, a little covered
basket. “Carry that in one hand. It looks more respectable, my dear.”
“Give her a door-key to carry in her t’other one, Fagin,” said Sikes;
“it looks real and genivine like.”
“Yes, yes, my dear, so it does,” said the Jew, hanging a large
street-door key on the forefinger of the young lady’s right hand.
“There; very good! Very good indeed, my dear!” said the Jew, rubbing
his hands.
“Oh, my brother! My poor, dear, sweet, innocent little brother!”
exclaimed Nancy, bursting into tears, and wringing the little basket
and the street-door key in an agony of distress. “What has become of
him! Where have they taken him to! Oh, do have pity, and tell me what’s
been done with the dear boy, gentlemen; do, gentlemen, if you please,
gentlemen!”
Having uttered those words in a most lamentable and heart-broken tone:
to the immeasurable delight of her hearers: Miss Nancy paused, winked