Oliver Twist
“Oh no, aunt!” entreated Rose.
“Oh yes, aunt!” said the doctor. “Is it a bargain?”
“He cannot be hardened in vice,” said Rose; “It is impossible.”
“Very good,” retorted the doctor; “then so much the more reason for
acceding to my proposition.”
Finally the treaty was entered into; and the parties thereunto sat down
to wait, with some impatience, until Oliver should awake.
The patience of the two ladies was destined to undergo a longer trial
than Mr. Losberne had led them to expect; for hour after hour passed
on, and still Oliver slumbered heavily. It was evening, indeed, before
the kind-hearted doctor brought them the intelligence, that he was at
length sufficiently restored to be spoken to. The boy was very ill, he
said, and weak from the loss of blood; but his mind was so troubled
with anxiety to disclose something, that he deemed it better to give
him the opportunity, than to insist upon his remaining quiet until next
morning: which he should otherwise have done.
The conference was a long one. Oliver told them all his simple history,
and was often compelled to stop, by pain and want of strength. It was a
solemn thing, to hear, in the darkened room, the feeble voice of the
sick child recounting a weary catalogue of evils and calamities which
hard men had brought upon him. Oh! if when we oppress and grind our
fellow-creatures, we bestowed but one thought on the dark evidences of
human error, which, like dense and heavy clouds, are rising, slowly it
is true, but not less surely, to Heaven, to pour their after-vengeance
on our heads; if we heard but one instant, in imagination, the deep
testimony of dead men’s voices, which no power can stifle, and no pride
shut out; where would be the injury and injustice, the suffering,
misery, cruelty, and wrong, that each day’s life brings with it!
Oliver’s pillow was smoothed by gentle hands that night; and loveliness
and virtue watched him as he slept. He felt calm and happy, and could
have died without a murmur.
The momentous interview was no sooner concluded, and Oliver composed to
rest again, than the doctor, after wiping his eyes, and condemning them
for being weak all at once, betook himself downstairs to open upon Mr.
Giles. And finding nobody about the parlours, it occurred to him, that
he could perhaps originate the proceedings with better effect in the
kitchen; so into the kitchen he went.
There were assembled, in that lower house of the domestic parliament,
the women-servants, Mr. Brittles, Mr. Giles, the tinker (who had
received a special invitation to regale himself for the remainder of
the day, in consideration of his services), and the constable. The
latter gentleman had a large staff, a large head, large features, and
large half-boots; and he looked as if he had been taking a
proportionate allowance of ale—as indeed he had.
The adventures of the previous night were still under discussion; for
Mr. Giles was expatiating upon his presence of mind, when the doctor
entered; Mr. Brittles, with a mug of ale in his hand, was corroborating
everything, before his superior said it.
“Sit still!” said the doctor, waving his hand.
“Thank you, sir,” said Mr. Giles. “Misses wished some ale to be given
out, sir; and as I felt no ways inclined for my own little room, sir,
and was disposed for company, I am taking mine among ’em here.”
Brittles headed a low murmur, by which the ladies and gentlemen
generally were understood to express the gratification they derived
from Mr. Giles’s condescension. Mr. Giles looked round with a
patronising air, as much as to say that so long as they behaved
properly, he would never desert them.
“How is the patient tonight, sir?” asked Giles.
“So-so”; returned the doctor. “I am afraid you have got yourself into a
scrape there, Mr. Giles.”
“I hope you don’t mean to say, sir,” said Mr. Giles, trembling, “that
he’s going to die. If I thought it, I should never be happy again. I
wouldn’t cut a boy off: no, not even Brittles here; not for all the
plate in the county, sir.”
“That’s not the point,” said the doctor, mysteriously. “Mr. Giles, are
you a Protestant?”
“Yes, sir, I hope so,” faltered Mr. Giles, who had turned very pale.
“And what are _you_, boy?” said the doctor, turning sharply upon
Brittles.
“Lord bless me, sir!” replied Brittles, starting violently; “I’m the
same as Mr. Giles, sir.”
“Then tell me this,” said the doctor, “both of you, both of you! Are
you going to take upon yourselves to swear, that that boy upstairs is
the boy that was put through the little window last night? Out with it!
Come! We are prepared for you!”
The doctor, who was universally considered one of the best-tempered
creatures on earth, made this demand in such a dreadful tone of anger,
that Giles and Brittles, who were considerably muddled by ale and
excitement, stared at each other in a state of stupefaction.
“Pay attention to the reply, constable, will you?” said the doctor,
shaking his forefinger with great solemnity of manner, and tapping the
bridge of his nose with it, to bespeak the exercise of that worthy’s
utmost acuteness. “Something may come of this before long.”
The constable looked as wise as he could, and took up his staff of
office: which had been reclining indolently in the chimney-corner.
“It’s a simple question of identity, you will observe,” said the
doctor.
“That’s what it is, sir,” replied the constable, coughing with great
violence; for he had finished his ale in a hurry, and some of it had
gone the wrong way.
“Here’s the house broken into,” said the doctor, “and a couple of men
catch one moment’s glimpse of a boy, in the midst of gunpowder smoke,
and in all the distraction of alarm and darkness. Here’s a boy comes to
that very same house, next morning, and because he happens to have his
arm tied up, these men lay violent hands upon him—by doing which, they
place his life in great danger—and swear he is the thief. Now, the
question is, whether these men are justified by the fact; if not, in
what situation do they place themselves?”
The constable nodded profoundly. He said, if that wasn’t law, he would
be glad to know what was.
“I ask you again,” thundered the doctor, “are you, on your solemn
oaths, able to identify that boy?”
Brittles looked doubtfully at Mr. Giles; Mr. Giles looked doubtfully at
Brittles; the constable put his hand behind his ear, to catch the
reply; the two women and the tinker leaned forward to listen; the
doctor glanced keenly round; when a ring was heard at the gate, and at
the same moment, the sound of wheels.
“It’s the runners!” cried Brittles, to all appearance much relieved.
“The what?” exclaimed the doctor, aghast in his turn.
“The Bow Street officers, sir,” replied Brittles, taking up a candle;
“me and Mr. Giles sent for ’em this morning.”
“What?” cried the doctor.
“Yes,” replied Brittles; “I sent a message up by the coachman, and I
only wonder they weren’t here before, sir.”
“You did, did you? Then confound your—slow coaches down here; that’s
all,” said the doctor, walking away.
CHAPTER XXXI.
INVOLVES A CRITICAL POSITION
“Who’s that?” inquired Brittles, opening the door a little way, with
the chain up, and peeping out, shading the candle with his hand.
“Open the door,” replied a man outside; “it’s the officers from Bow
Street, as was sent to today.”
Much comforted by this assurance, Brittles opened the door to its full
width, and confronted a portly man in a great-coat; who walked in,
without saying anything more, and wiped his shoes on the mat, as coolly
as if he lived there.
“Just send somebody out to relieve my mate, will you, young man?” said
the officer; “he’s in the gig, a-minding the prad. Have you got a coach
’us here, that you could put it up in, for five or ten minutes?”
Brittles replying in the affirmative, and pointing out the building,
the portly man stepped back to the garden-gate, and helped his
companion to put up the gig: while Brittles lighted them, in a state of
great admiration. This done, they returned to the house, and, being
shown into a parlour, took off their great-coats and hats, and showed
like what they were.
The man who had knocked at the door, was a stout personage of middle
height, aged about fifty: with shiny black hair, cropped pretty close;
half-whiskers, a round face, and sharp eyes. The other was a
red-headed, bony man, in top-boots; with a rather ill-favoured
countenance, and a turned-up sinister-looking nose.
“Tell your governor that Blathers and Duff is here, will you?” said the
stouter man, smoothing down his hair, and laying a pair of handcuffs on
the table. “Oh! Good-evening, master. Can I have a word or two with you
in private, if you please?”
This was addressed to Mr. Losberne, who now made his appearance; that
gentleman, motioning Brittles to retire, brought in the two ladies, and
shut the door.
“This is the lady of the house,” said Mr. Losberne, motioning towards
Mrs. Maylie.
Mr. Blathers made a bow. Being desired to sit down, he put his hat on
the floor, and taking a chair, motioned to Duff to do the same. The
latter gentleman, who did not appear quite so much accustomed to good
society, or quite so much at his ease in it—one of the two—seated
himself, after undergoing several muscular affections of the limbs, and
the head of his stick into his mouth, with some embarrassment.
“Now, with regard to this here robbery, master,” said Blathers. “What
are the circumstances?”
Mr. Losberne, who appeared desirous of gaining time, recounted them at
great length, and with much circumlocution. Messrs. Blathers and Duff
looked very knowing meanwhile, and occasionally exchanged a nod.
“I can’t say, for certain, till I see the work, of course,” said
Blathers; “but my opinion at once is,—I don’t mind committing myself to
that extent,—that this wasn’t done by a yokel; eh, Duff?”
“Certainly not,” replied Duff.
“And, translating the word yokel for the benefit of the ladies, I
apprehend your meaning to be, that this attempt was not made by a
countryman?” said Mr. Losberne, with a smile.
“That’s it, master,” replied Blathers. “This is all about the robbery,
is it?”
“All,” replied the doctor.
“Now, what is this, about this here boy that the servants are a-talking
on?” said Blathers.
“Nothing at all,” replied the doctor. “One of the frightened servants
chose to take it into his head, that he had something to do with this
attempt to break into the house; but it’s nonsense: sheer absurdity.”
“Wery easy disposed of, if it is,” remarked Duff.
“What he says is quite correct,” observed Blathers, nodding his head in
a confirmatory way, and playing carelessly with the handcuffs, as if
they were a pair of castanets. “Who is the boy? What account does he
give of himself? Where did he come from? He didn’t drop out of the
clouds, did he, master?”
“Of course not,” replied the doctor, with a nervous glance at the two
ladies. “I know his whole history: but we can talk about that
presently. You would like, first, to see the place where the thieves
made their attempt, I suppose?”
“Certainly,” rejoined Mr. Blathers. “We had better inspect the premises
first, and examine the servants afterwards. That’s the usual way of
doing business.”
Lights were then procured; and Messrs. Blathers and Duff, attended by
the native constable, Brittles, Giles, and everybody else in short,
went into the little room at the end of the passage and looked out at
the window; and afterwards went round by way of the lawn, and looked in
at the window; and after that, had a candle handed out to inspect the
shutter with; and after that, a lantern to trace the footsteps with;
and after that, a pitchfork to poke the bushes with. This done, amidst