English
Oliverreachedthestileatwhichtheby-pathterminated;andoncemoregainedthehigh-road.Itwaseighto’clocknow.
Thoughhewasnearlyfivemilesawayfromthetown,heran,andhidbehindthehedges,byturns,tillnoon:fearingthathemightbepursuedandovertaken.
Thenhesatdowntorestbythesideofthemilestone,andbegantothink,forthefirsttime,wherehehadbettergoandtrytolive.
Thestonebywhichhewasseated,bore,inlargecharacters,anintimationthatitwasjustseventymilesfromthatspottoLondon.Thenameawakenedanewtrainofideasintheboy’smind.
London!—thatgreatplace!
—nobody—notevenMr.Bumble—couldeverfindhimthere!
Hehadoftenheardtheoldmenintheworkhouse,too,saythatnoladofspiritneedwantinLondon;andthattherewerewaysoflivinginthatvastcity,whichthosewhohadbeenbredupincountrypartshadnoideaof.
Itwastheveryplaceforahomelessboy,whomustdieinthestreetsunlesssomeonehelpedhim.
Asthesethingspassedthroughhisthoughts,hejumpeduponhisfeet,andagainwalkedforward.
HehaddiminishedthedistancebetweenhimselfandLondonbyfullfourmilesmore,beforeherecollectedhowmuchhemustundergoerehecouldhopetoreachhisplaceofdestination.
Asthisconsiderationforceditselfuponhim,heslackenedhispacealittle,andmeditateduponhismeansofgettingthere.
Hehadacrustofbread,acoarseshirt,andtwopairsofstockings,inhisbundle.
Hehadapennytoo—agiftofSowerberry’saftersomefuneralinwhichhehadacquittedhimselfmorethanordinarilywell—inhispocket.
‘Acleanshirt,’thoughtOliver,‘isaverycomfortablething;andsoaretwopairsofdarnedstockings;andsoisapenny;buttheyaresmallhelpstoasixty-fivemiles’walkinwintertime.’
ButOliver’sthoughts,likethoseofmostotherpeople,althoughtheywereextremelyreadyandactivetopointouthisdifficulties,werewhollyatalosstosuggestanyfeasiblemodeofsurmountingthem;so,afteragooddealofthinkingtonoparticularpurpose,hechangedhislittlebundleovertotheothershoulder,andtrudgedon.
Oliverwalkedtwentymilesthatday;andallthattimetastednothingbutthecrustofdrybread,andafewdraughtsofwater,whichhebeggedatthecottage-doorsbytheroad-side.
Whenthenightcame,heturnedintoameadow;and,creepingcloseunderahay-rick,determinedtoliethere,tillmorning.
Hefeltfrightenedatfirst,forthewindmoaneddismallyovertheemptyfields:andhewascoldandhungry,andmorealonethanhehadeverfeltbefore.
Beingverytiredwithhiswalk,however,hesoonfellasleepandforgothistroubles.
Hefeltcoldandstiff,whenhegotupnextmorning,andsohungrythathewasobligedtoexchangethepennyforasmallloaf,intheveryfirstvillagethroughwhichhepassed.
Hehadwalkednomorethantwelvemiles,whennightclosedinagain.
Hisfeetweresore,andhislegssoweakthattheytrembledbeneathhim.
Anothernightpassedinthebleakdampair,madehimworse;whenhesetforwardonhisjourneynextmorninghecouldhardlycrawlalong.
Hewaitedatthebottomofasteephilltillastage-coachcameup,andthenbeggedoftheoutsidepassengers;buttherewereveryfewwhotookanynoticeofhim:andeventhosetoldhimtowaittilltheygottothetopofthehill,andthenletthemseehowfarhecouldrunforahalfpenny.
PoorOlivertriedtokeepupwiththecoachalittleway,butwasunabletodoit,byreasonofhisfatigueandsorefeet.
Whentheoutsidessawthis,theyputtheirhalfpencebackintotheirpocketsagain,declaringthathewasanidleyoungdog,anddidn’tdeserveanything;andthecoachrattledawayandleftonlyacloudofdustbehind.
Insomevillages,largepaintedboardswerefixedup:warningallpersonswhobeggedwithinthedistrict,thattheywouldbesenttojail.
ThisfrightenedOliververymuch,andmadehimgladtogetoutofthosevillageswithallpossibleexpedition.
Inothers,hewouldstandabouttheinn-yards,andlookmournfullyateveryonewhopassed:aproceedingwhichgenerallyterminatedinthelandlady’sorderingoneofthepost-boyswhowereloungingabout,todrivethatstrangeboyoutoftheplace,forshewassurehehadcometostealsomething.
Ifhebeggedatafarmer’shouse,tentoonebuttheythreatenedtosetthedogonhim;andwhenheshowedhisnoseinashop,theytalkedaboutthebeadle—whichbroughtOliver’sheartintohismouth,—veryoftentheonlythinghehadthere,formanyhourstogether.
Infact,ifithadnotbeenforagood-heartedturnpike-man,andabenevolentoldlady,Oliver’stroubleswouldhavebeenshortenedbytheverysameprocesswhichhadputanendtohismother’s;inotherwords,hewouldmostassuredlyhavefallendeadupontheking’shighway.
Buttheturnpike-mangavehimamealofbreadandcheese;andtheoldlady,whohadashipwreckedgrandsonwanderingbarefootinsomedistantpartoftheearth,tookpityuponthepoororphan,andgavehimwhatlittleshecouldafford—andmore—withsuchkindandgentlewords,andsuchtearsofsympathyandcompassion,thattheysankdeeperintoOliver’ssoul,thanallthesufferingshehadeverundergone.
Earlyontheseventhmorningafterhehadlefthisnativeplace,OliverlimpedslowlyintothelittletownofBarnet.
Thewindow-shutterswereclosed;thestreetwasempty;notasoulhadawakenedtothebusinessoftheday.
Thesunwasrisinginallitssplendidbeauty;butthelightonlyservedtoshowtheboyhisownlonesomenessanddesolation,ashesat,withbleedingfeetandcoveredwithdust,uponadoor-step.
Bydegrees,theshutterswereopened;thewindow-blindsweredrawnup;andpeoplebeganpassingtoandfro.
SomefewstoppedtogazeatOliverforamomentortwo,orturnedroundtostareathimastheyhurriedby;butnonerelievedhim,ortroubledthemselvestoinquirehowhecamethere.Hehadnohearttobeg.Andtherehesat.
Hehadbeencrouchingonthestepforsometime:wonderingatthegreatnumberofpublic-houses(everyotherhouseinBarnetwasatavern,largeorsmall),gazinglistlesslyatthecoachesastheypassedthrough,andthinkinghowstrangeitseemedthattheycoulddo,withease,inafewhours,whatithadtakenhimawholeweekofcourageanddeterminationbeyondhisyearstoaccomplish:whenhewasrousedbyobservingthataboy,whohadpassedhimcarelesslysomeminutesbefore,hadreturned,andwasnowsurveyinghimmostearnestlyfromtheoppositesideoftheway.
Hetooklittleheedofthisatfirst;buttheboyremainedinthesameattitudeofcloseobservationsolong,thatOliverraisedhishead,andreturnedhissteadylook.
Uponthis,theboycrossedover;andwalkingcloseuptoOliver,said,
‘Hullo,mycovey!What’stherow?’
Theboywhoaddressedthisinquirytotheyoungwayfarer,wasabouthisownage:butoneofthequeerestlookingboysthatOliverhadevenseen.
Hewasasnub-nosed,flat-browed,common-facedboyenough;andasdirtyajuvenileasonewouldwishtosee;buthehadabouthimalltheairsandmannersofaman.
Hewasshortofhisage:withratherbow-legs,andlittle,sharp,uglyeyes.
Hishatwasstuckonthetopofhisheadsolightly,thatitthreatenedtofalloffeverymoment—andwouldhavedoneso,veryoften,ifthewearerhadnothadaknackofeverynowandthengivinghisheadasuddentwitch,whichbroughtitbacktoitsoldplaceagain.
Heworeaman’scoat,whichreachednearlytohisheels.
Hehadturnedthecuffsback,half-wayuphisarm,togethishandsoutofthesleeves:apparentlywiththeultimateviewofthrustingthemintothepocketsofhiscorduroytrousers;fortherehekeptthem.
Hewas,altogether,asroysteringandswaggeringayounggentlemanaseverstoodfourfeetsix,orsomethingless,inthebluchers.
‘Hullo,mycovey!What’stherow?’saidthisstrangeyounggentlemantoOliver.
‘Iamveryhungryandtired,’repliedOliver:thetearsstandinginhiseyesashespoke.‘Ihavewalkedalongway.Ihavebeenwalkingthesesevendays.’
‘Walkingforsivindays!’saidtheyounggentleman.‘Oh,Isee.Beak’sorder,eh?But,’headded,noticingOliver’slookofsurprise,‘Isupposeyoudon’tknowwhatabeakis,myflashcom-pan-i-on.’
Olivermildlyreplied,thathehadalwaysheardabird’smouthdescribedbytheterminquestion.
‘Myeyes,howgreen!’exclaimedtheyounggentleman.
‘Why,abeak’samadgst’rate;andwhenyouwalkbyabeak’sorder,it’snotstraightforerd,butalwaysagoingup,andniveracomingdownagin.Wasyouneveronthemill?’
‘Whatmill?’inquiredOliver.
‘Whatmill!Why,themill—themillastakesupsolittleroomthatit’llworkinsideaStoneJug;andalwaysgoesbetterwhenthewind’slowwithpeople,thanwhenit’shigh;acosthentheycan’tgetworkmen.
Butcome,’saidtheyounggentleman;‘youwantgrub,andyoushallhaveit.
I’matlow-water-markmyself—onlyonebobandamagpie;but,asfarasitgoes,I’llforkoutandstump.Upwithyouonyourpins.There!Nowthen!‘Morrice!’
AssistingOlivertorise,theyounggentlemantookhimtoanadjacentchandler’sshop,wherehepurchasedasufficiencyofready-dressedhamandahalf-quarternloaf,or,ashehimselfexpressedit,‘afourpennybran!’
thehambeingkeptcleanandpreservedfromdust,bytheingeniousexpedientofmakingaholeintheloafbypullingoutaportionofthecrumb,andstuffingittherein.
Takingthebreadunderhisarm,theyounggentlmanturnedintoasmallpublic-house,andledthewaytoatap-roomintherearofthepremises.
Here,apotofbeerwasbroughtin,bydirectionofthemysteriousyouth;andOliver,fallingto,athisnewfriend’sbidding,madealongandheartymeal,duringtheprogressofwhichthestrangeboyeyedhimfromtimetotimewithgreatattention.
‘GoingtoLondon?’saidthestrangeboy,whenOliverhadatlengthconcluded.
‘Yes.’
‘Gotanylodgings?’
‘No.’
‘Money?’
‘No.’
Thestrangeboywhistled;andputhisarmsintohispockets,asfarasthebigcoat-sleeveswouldletthemgo.
‘DoyouliveinLondon?’inquiredOliver.
‘Yes.Ido,whenI’mathome,’repliedtheboy.‘Isupposeyouwantsomeplacetosleepinto-night,don’tyou?’
‘Ido,indeed,’answeredOliver.‘IhavenotsleptunderaroofsinceIleftthecountry.’
‘Don’tfretyoureyelidsonthatscore,’saidtheyounggentleman.
‘I’vegottobeinLondonto-night;andIknowa‘spectableoldgentlemanaslivesthere,wot’llgiveyoulodgingsfornothink,andneveraskforthechange—thatis,ifanygenelmanheknowsinterducesyou.Anddon’theknowme?Oh,no!Notintheleast!Bynomeans.Certainlynot!’
Theyounggentlemansmiled,asiftointimatethatthelatterfragmentsofdiscoursewereplayfullyironical;andfinishedthebeerashedidso.
Thisunexpectedofferofshelterwastootemptingtoberesisted;especiallyasitwasimmediatelyfollowedup,bytheassurancethattheoldgentlemanreferredto,woulddoubtlessprovideOliverwithacomfortableplace,withoutlossoftime.
Thisledtoamorefriendlyandconfidentialdialogue;fromwhichOliverdiscoveredthathisfriend’snamewasJackDawkins,andthathewasapeculiarpetandprotegeoftheelderlygentlemanbeforementioned.
Mr.Dawkin’sappearancedidnotsayavastdealinfavourofthecomfortswhichhispatron’sinterestobtainedforthosewhomhetookunderhisprotection;but,ashehadaratherflightlyanddissolutemodeofconversing,andfurthermoreavowedthatamonghisintimatefriendshewasbetterknownbythesobriquetof‘TheArtfulDodger,’Oliverconcludedthat,beingofadissipatedandcarelessturn,themoralpreceptsofhisbenefactorhadhithertobeenthrownawayuponhim.
Underthisimpression,hesecretlyresolvedtocultivatethegoodopinionoftheoldgentlemanasquicklyaspossible;and,ifhefoundtheDodgerincorrigible,ashemorethanhalfsuspectedheshould,todeclinethehonourofhisfartheracquaintance.
AsJohnDawkinsobjectedtotheirenteringLondonbeforenightfall,itwasnearlyeleveno’clockwhentheyreachedtheturnpikeatIslington.
TheycrossedfromtheAngelintoSt.John’sRoad;struckdownthesmallstreetwhichterminatesatSadler’sWellsTheatre;throughExmouthStreetandCoppiceRow;downthelittlecourtbythesideoftheworkhouse;acrosstheclassicgroundwhichonceborethenameofHockley-in-the-Hole;thenceintoLittleSaffronHill;andsointoSaffronHilltheGreat:alongwhichtheDodgerscuddedatarapidpace,directingOlivertofollowcloseathisheels.
AlthoughOliverhadenoughtooccupyhisattentioninkeepingsightofhisleader,hecouldnothelpbestowingafewhastyglancesoneithersideoftheway,ashepassedalong.
Adirtierormorewretchedplacehehadneverseen.
Thestreetwasverynarrowandmuddy,andtheairwasimpregnatedwithfilthyodours.
Therewereagoodmanysmallshops;buttheonlystockintradeappearedtobeheapsofchildren,who,evenatthattimeofnight,werecrawlinginandoutatthedoors,orscreamingfromtheinside.
Thesoleplacesthatseemedtoprosperamidthegeneralblightoftheplace,werethepublic-houses;andinthem,thelowestordersofIrishwerewranglingwithmightandmain.
Coveredwaysandyards,whichhereandtheredivergedfromthemainstreet,disclosedlittleknotsofhouses,wheredrunkenmenandwomenwerepositivelywallowinginfilth;andfromseveralofthedoor-ways,greatill-lookingfellowswerecautiouslyemerging,bound,toallappearance,onnoverywell-disposedorharmlesserrands.
Oliverwasjustconsideringwhetherhehadn’tbetterrunaway,whentheyreachedthebottomofthehill.
Hisconductor,catchinghimbythearm,pushedopenthedoorofahousenearFieldLane;anddrawinghimintothepassage,closeditbehindthem.
‘Now,then!’criedavoicefrombelow,inreplytoawhistlefromtheDodger.
‘Plummyandslam!’wasthereply.
Thisseemedtobesomewatchwordorsignalthatallwasright;forthelightofafeeblecandlegleamedonthewallattheremoteendofthepassage;andaman’sfacepeepedout,fromwhereabalustradeoftheoldkitchenstaircasehadbeenbrokenaway.
‘There’stwoonyou,’saidtheman,thrustingthecandlefartherout,andshieldinghiseyeswithhishand.‘Who’sthet’otherone?’
‘Anewpal,’repliedJackDawkins,pullingOliverforward.
‘Wheredidhecomefrom?’
‘Greenland.IsFaginupstairs?’
‘Yes,he’sasortin’thewipes.Upwithyou!’Thecandlewasdrawnback,andthefacedisappeared.
Oliver,gropinghiswaywithonehand,andhavingtheotherfirmlygraspedbyhiscompanion,ascendedwithmuchdifficultythedarkandbrokenstairs:whichhisconductormountedwithaneaseandexpeditionthatshowedhewaswellacquaintedwiththem.
Hethrewopenthedoorofaback-room,anddrewOliverinafterhim.
Thewallsandceilingoftheroomwereperfectlyblackwithageanddirt.
Therewasadealtablebeforethefire:uponwhichwereacandle,stuckinaginger-beerbottle,twoorthreepewterpots,aloafandbutter,andaplate.
Inafrying-pan,whichwasonthefire,andwhichwassecuredtothemantelshelfbyastring,somesausageswerecooking;andstandingoverthem,withatoasting-forkinhishand,wasaveryoldshrivelledJew,whosevillainous-lookingandrepulsivefacewasobscuredbyaquantityofmattedredhair.
Hewasdressedinagreasyflannelgown,withhisthroatbare;andseemedtobedividinghisattentionbetweenthefrying-panandtheclothes-horse,overwhichagreatnumberofsilkhandkerchiefswerehanging.
Severalroughbedsmadeofoldsacks,werehuddledsidebysideonthefloor.
Seatedroundthetablewerefourorfiveboys,noneolderthantheDodger,smokinglongclaypipes,anddrinkingspiritswiththeairofmiddle-agedmen.
TheseallcrowdedabouttheirassociateashewhisperedafewwordstotheJew;andthenturnedroundandgrinnedatOliver.
SodidtheJewhimself,toasting-forkinhand.
‘Thisishim,Fagin,’saidJackDawkins;’myfriendOliverTwist.’
TheJewgrinned;and,makingalowobeisancetoOliver,tookhimbythehand,andhopedheshouldhavethehonourofhisintimateacquaintance.
Uponthis,theyounggentlemanwiththepipescameroundhim,andshookbothhishandsveryhard—especiallytheoneinwhichheheldhislittlebundle.
Oneyounggentlemanwasveryanxioustohanguphiscapforhim;andanotherwassoobligingastoputhishandsinhispockets,inorderthat,ashewasverytired,hemightnothavethetroubleofemptyingthem,himself,whenhewenttobed.
Thesecivilitieswouldprobablybeextendedmuchfarther,butforaliberalexerciseoftheJew’stoasting-forkontheheadsandshouldersoftheaffectionateyouthswhoofferedthem.
‘Weareverygladtoseeyou,Oliver,very,’saidtheJew.
‘Dodger,takeoffthesausages;anddrawatubnearthefireforOliver.
Ah,you’rea-staringatthepocket-handkerchiefs!eh,mydear.
Thereareagoodmanyof‘em,ain’tthere?
We’vejustlooked‘emout,readyforthewash;that’sall,Oliver;that’sall.Ha!ha!ha!’
Thelatterpartofthisspeech,washailedbyaboisterousshoutfromallthehopefulpupilsofthemerryoldgentleman.Inthemidstofwhichtheywenttosupper.
Oliveratehisshare,andtheJewthenmixedhimaglassofhotgin-and-water:tellinghimhemustdrinkitoffdirectly,becauseanothergentlemanwantedthetumbler.Oliverdidashewasdesired.
Immediatelyafterwardshefelthimselfgentlyliftedontooneofthesacks;andthenhesunkintoadeepsleep.
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