CHAPTER XXI The Expedition It was a cheerless morning when they got into the street, blowing and raining hard, and the clouds looking dull and stormy. The night had been very wet, large pools of water had collected in the road, and the kennels were overflowing. There was a faint glimmering of the coming day in the sky, but it rather aggravated the relief, the gloom of the scene. The somber light only serving to pile that which the street lamps afforded, without shedding any warmer or brighter tints upon the wet housetops and dreary streets. There appeared to be nobody stirring in that quarter of the town. The windows of the houses were all closely shut, and the streets through which they passed were noiseless and empty.  Many of the lamps were already extinguished. A few country wagons were slowly toiling on towards London. Now and then a stagecoach covered with mud rattled briskly by the driver bestowing as he passed, and a monetary lash upon the heavy wagoner, who by keeping on the wrong side of the road had endangered his arriving at the office a quarter of a minute after his time. The public houses with gas lights burning inside were already open. By degrees other shops began to be unclosed, and a few scattered people were met with. Then came straggling groups of labourers going to their work. Then men and women with fish baskets on their heads, donkey carts laden with vegetables, chase carts filled with livestock or whole carcasses of meat, milk women with pails, an unbroken concourse of people trudging out with various supplies to the eastern suburbs of the town. As they approached the city the noise and traffic gradually increased when they threaded the streets between Shawditch and Smithfield it had swelled into a roar of sound and bustle. It was as light as it was likely to be till night came on again, and the busy morning of half the London population had begun. Turning down Sun Street and Crown Street and crossing Finsbury Square, Mr Sykes struck by way of Chiswell Street into Barbican, then sent a long lane and so into Smithfield on which the latter place rose a tumult of discord sounds that filled Oliver Twist with amazement. It was a market morning, the ground was covered nearly ankle-deep with filth and mire, the thick steam perpetually rising from the reeking bodies of the cattle and mingling with the fog, which seemed to rest upon the chimney tops hung heavily above. All the pens in the centre of the large area and as many temporary pens as could be crowded into the vacant space were filled with sheep tied up to posts by the gutter side with long lines of beasts and oxen three or four deep. Countrymen, butchers, drovers, hawkers, boys, thieves, idlers and vagabonds of every low grade were mingled together in a mass. Whistling of drovers, the barking dogs, the bellowing and plunging of the oxen, the bleeding of sheep, the grunting and squeaking of pigs, the cries of hawkers, the shouts, the oaths that quarrelling on all sides, the ringing of bells and the roar of voices that issued for every public house, the crowding, pushing, driving, beating, whooping and yelling, the hideous and discordant din that resounded from every corner of the market, and the unwashed, unshaven, squalid and dirty figures constantly running to and fro and bursting in and out of the throng rendered it a stunning and bewildering scene, which quite confounded the senses. Mr. Sykes, dragging Oliver after him, elbowed his way through the thickest of the crowd, and bestowed very little attention on the numerous sights and sound which so astonished the boy. He nodded twice or thrice to a passing friend and, resisting his many invitations to take the morning dram, pressed steadily onward, until they were clear of the turmoil, and had made their way through Hosea Lane to Holborn.  Oliver, quickening his pace into a kind of trot between a fast walker and run, kept up with the rapid strides of the housebreaker as well as he could. They held their course at this rate until they passed Hyde Park Corner, and were on their way to Kensington. When Sykes relaxed his pace, until an empty cart, which was some little distance behind, came up. Seeing Hounslow written on it, he asked the driver with as much civility as he could assume, if he would give them a lift as far as eyes are worth. Jump up, said the man, is that your boy? Yes, he's my boy, replied Sykes, looking hard at Oliver and putting his hand abstractly into the pocket where the pistol was. Your father walks a bit too quick for you, donning my man, inquired the driver, seeing that Oliver was out of breath. Not a bit of it, replied Sykes, interposing, he's used to it. Here, take all of my hand, Ned, in with you. Thus addressing Oliver, he helped him into the cart, and the driver pointing to a heap of sacks, hauling the load down there. And rest himself. As they passed the different milestones, Oliver wondered more and more where his companion meant to take him. Kensington, Hammersmith, Chiswick, Kewbridge, Brentford, all were passed, and yet they went on as steadily as if they had only just begun their journey. At length they came to a public house called the Cochin Horses, a little way beyond which another road appeared to run off, and here the cart stopped. Sykes dismounted with great precipitation, holding Oliver by the hand all the while, and lifting him down directly, bestowed a furious look upon him, and wrapped the side pocket with his fist in a significant manner. Goodbye, boys, said the man. He's sulky, replied Sykes, giving him a shake. He's a sulky young dog, don't mind him. Not I rejoined the other getting into his cart. It's a fine day after all, and he drove away. Sykes waited until he had fairly gone, and then telling Oliver he might look about him if he wanted, once again led him onward on his journey. They turned round to the left a short way past the public house, and then taking a right hand road walked on for a long time, passing many large gardens and gentlemen's houses on both sides of the way, and stopping for nothing but a little beer when they reached a town. Here against the walls of the house Oliver saw written up in pretty large letters, Hampton. They lingered about in the fields for some hours, at length they came back into the town, and turning into an old public house with a defaced signboard, ordered some dinner by the kitchen fire. The kitchen was an old low-roofed room, with a great beam across the middle of the ceiling, and benches with high backs to them, by the fire on which were seated several rough men, in smock-frocks drinking and smoking. They took no notice of Oliver and very little of Sykes, and as Sykes took very little of them, and his young comrades sat in the corner by themselves, without being much troubled by their company. They had some cold meat for dinner, so sat long after it, while Mr Sykes indulged himself with three or four pipes that Oliver began to feel quite certain they were not going any further. Being much tired with the walk and getting up so early, he dozed a little at first, and then quite overpowered by fatigue and the fumes of tobacco fell asleep. It was quite dark when he was awakened by a push from Sykes, rousing himself sufficiently to sit up and look about him. He found that worthy in close fellowship and communication with a laboring man over a pint of ale. So you're going to Lower Halliford, are you, inquired Sykes? Yes I am, replied the man who seemed a little worse or better as the case might be for drinking, and not slow about it. However, my horse hasn't got a load behind him going back, and the ad coming up in the morning, and he won't be long of doing it. He has luck to him. Good God, he's a good one. Could you give me and the boy lift as far as they're, demanded Sykes pushing out towards his new friend? If you're going directly I can, replied the man looking out the pot. Are you going to Halliford? Going on to the Sheperton, replied Sykes. I'm your man, as far as I'll go, replied the other. Is it all paid, Becky? Yes, the other gentleman's paid, replied the girl. I say, replied the man with tipsy gravity. That won't do you no. Why not rejoin, Sykes? You're going to accommodate us, or what's to prevent me standing a treat for a pint or so, in return. The stranger reflected upon this argument with a very profound face. Having done so, he seized Sykes by the hand, and declared he was a real good fellow, to which Mr. Sykes replied he was joking. As if he had been sober, there would have been strong reason to suppose he was. After the exchange of a few more compliments, they bade the company good night, and went out. The girl, gathering up all the pots and glasses as they did so, and lounging out to the door with her hands full to see the party start. The horse, whose health had been drunk in his absence, was standing outside, ready harnessed to the cart. Oliver and Sykes got in without any further ceremony, and the man to whom he belonged, having lingered for a minute or two, to bear him up, and to defy the hustler, and the world to produce his equal, mounted awesome. Then the hustler was told to give the horses his head, and the head being given him, he made a very unpleasant use of it, tossing it into the air with great disdain, and running into the pile of windows over the way. After performing these feats, and supporting himself for a short time on his hind legs, he started off at great speed, and rattled out of the town right gallantly. The night was very dark. A damp mist arose from the river, and the marshy ground about, spread itself over the dreary fields. It was piercing cold too. All was gloomy and black, while a word was spoken for the driver had gone sleepy, and Sykes was in no mood to lead him into conversation. Oliver sat huddled in the corner of the cart, bewildered with alarm and apprehension, and figuring strange objects in the corned trees, whose branches waved grimly to a froe, as if in some fantastic joy at the desolation of the scene. As they passed somebody church, the clock struck seven. There was a light in the furry house window opposite, which streamed across the road, and threw into more somber shadow a dark yew tree with graves beneath it. It was a dull sound of falling water not far off, and the leaves of the old tree stirred gently in the night wind. It would seem like quiet music for the repose of the dead. And they came again into the lonely road. Two or three miles more, and the carts stopped. Sykes alighted, took Oliver by the hand, and they once again walked on. They turned into no house at Shepperton, as the weary boy had expected, but still kept walking on in mud and darkness, through the gloomy lanes and over cold open wastes, until they came within sight of the lights of a town at no great distance. I intently looking forward, Oliver saw that the water was just below them, and they were coming to the foot of a bridge. Sykes kept straight on until they were close upon the bridge, and then turned suddenly down a bank upon the left. The water thought Oliver, turning sick with fear. He's brought me to this lonely place to murder me. He was about to throw himself to the ground and make one struggle for his young life, when he saw that they stood before a solitary house, all ruinous and decayed. There was a window on each side of the dilapidated entrance, and one story above, but no light was visible. The house was dark, dismantled, and to all appearance uninhabited. The Sykes, with Oliver's hand still in his, softly approached the low porch and raised the latch. The door yielded to the pressure, and they passed in together. End of Chapter 21 Chapter 22 of Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 22 The burglary Hello! cried a loud horse voice as soon as they set foot in the passage. Don't make such a row, said Sykes, bolting the door. Show a glim, Toby! Aha! my pal! cried the same voice. A glim, Barney, a glim. Show the gentlemen in, Barney. Wake up first, if convenient. The speaker appeared to throw a boot jackal, some such article, at the person he addressed, to rousing from his slumbers. For the noise of a wooden body falling violently was heard, and then an indistinct muttering as of a man between sleep and awake. Do you hear? cried the same voice. There's Bill Sykes in a passage with nobody to do the civil to him, and you're sleeping there as if you took Lordenham with your meals, and nothing stronger. You're only fresher now, do you want the iron candlestick to wake you thoroughly? A pair of slip-shop feet shuffled hastily across the bare floor of the room as this interrogatory was put, and there issued from the door on the right hand first a feeble candle, and next the form of the same individual had been herefor too described as laboring under the infirmity of speaking through his nose, and officiating as a waiter at the public house on Saffron Hill. Mr Sykes exclaimed Barney with no real or counterfeit joy. Cupid, sir, Cupid, are you? Get on first, said Sykes, putting Oliver in front of him. Quicker or I shall tread upon your eels. Muttering a curse upon his tardiness, Sykes pushed Oliver before him, and they entered a low dark room with a smoky fire, two or three broken chairs, a table, a very old couch on which with his legs much higher than his head, a man was reposing at full length, smoking a long clay pipe. He was dressed in a smartly cut, snuff-coloured coat, with large brass buttons, an orange neckerchief, a coarse-staring shawl-pattern waistcoat, and drab breeches. Mr Crackett, for he it was, had no very great quantity of hair either upon his head or face, but what he had was of a reddish dye, and tortured into a long corkscrewed curls through which he occasionally thrusts at very dirty fingers, ornamented with large common rings. He was a trifle above the middle size, and apparently rather weak in the legs, but this circumstance by no means detracted from his own admiration of his top boots, which he contemplated in their elevated situation, with a lively satisfaction. Bill Moboy, said this figure turning his head towards the door, I'm glad to see you. I was almost afraid you'd given up. In which case I should have made a personal venture. Hello! After hearing this exclamation, in a tone of great surprise, as his eyes rested on Oliver, Mr Toby Crackett brought himself into a sitting position, and demanded who that was. The boy, only the boy, replied, so extroing a chair towards the fire. One of Mr Flagin's lads explained Barney with a grin. Fagin's a, explained Toby looking lower. What an invaluable boy that will make for the old lady's pockets in chapels. His mug is his fortune to him. There, that's enough of that, in the post, Sykes impatiently, and stooping over his recumbent friend, he whispered a few words in his ear, at which Mr Crackett laughed immensely, and on and Oliver with a long stare of astonishment. Now, said Sykes, as he resumed his seat, if you'll give us something to eat and drink while we're waiting, you'll put some heart in us, or in me, in all events. Sit down by the fire, younger, and rest yourself, for you'll have to go out with us again tonight, no, not very far off. Oliver looked at Sykes in mute and timid wonder, and drawing a stool to the fire, sat with his aching head upon his hands, scarcely knowing where he was, or what was passing around him. Here, said Toby, as the young Jew placed some fragments of food and a bottle upon the table, success still a crack, he rose to all on the toast, and carefully depositing his empty pipe in a corner, advanced to the table, filled a glass with spirits, and drank off its contents, Mr Sykes did the same. The drain for the boy, said Toby, half-filling a wine glass, down with the innocence, indeed, said Oliver, looking pretty silly up into the man's face, indeed I, down with it, echoed Toby. Do you think I don't know what's good for you? Tell him to drink it, Bill. He had better, said Sykes, clapping his hand upon his pocket, burn my body if he isn't more trouble than a whole family of dodgers. Drink it, you perverse little limp, drink it. Frightened by the menacing gestures of the two men, Oliver hastily swallowed the contents of the glass, and immediately fell into a violent fit of coughing, which delighted Toby, crack it in Barney, and even drew a smile from the certainly Mr Sykes. This stunned and Sykes having satisfied his appetite, Oliver can eat nothing but a small crust of bread, which they made him swallow. The two men laid themselves down on the chairs for a short nap. Oliver retained his stool by the fire, Barney wrapped in a blanket, stretched himself upon the floor, closed the outside fender. They slept, or appeared to sleep for some time. Nobody's stirring but Barney, the rose once a choice to throw coals on the fire. Oliver fell into a heavy dose, imagining himself straying along the gloomy lanes, or wondering about the dark churchyard, or atrocing some one or other of the scenes in the past day, when he was roused by Toby crackling, jumping up and declaring it was her past one. In an instant, the other two were on their legs, and were actively engaged in busy preparation. Sykes and his companion enveloped their necks and chinged in large dark shawls, and drew on their great coats. Barney opened the cupboard, brought forth several articles, which he hostily crammed into the pockets. Barkers for me, Barney, said Toby crack it. Here they are, replied Barney, producing a pair of pistols. You loaded them yourself. All right, replied Tony, staring him away, the persuaders. I've got them, replied Sykes. Crape, Keyes, sent the bits darkies, nothing forgotten in quiet Toby, fastening a small crowbar to a loop in the skirt of his coat. All right, rejoined his companion, bring them bits of timber, Barney, that's the time of day. With these words, he took a thick stick from Barney's hand, so having delivered another to Toby, busied himself in fastening Oliver's cape. Now then, said Sykes, holding out his hand. Oliver, who was completely stupefied by the unwanted exercise, and the air and the drink which had been forced upon him, put his hand mechanically into that which Sykes extended for the purpose. It was now intensely dark, the fog was much heavier than it had been in the early part of the night, and the atmosphere was so damp that although no rain fell, Oliver's hair and eyebrows, within a few minutes after leaving the house, it become stiff with the half frozen moisture that was floating about. They crossed the bridge, and kept on towards the light which they had seen before. They were a low great distance off, and as they walked pretty briskly, they soon arrived at Chertsey. Slap through their town, whispered Sykes, there'd be nobody in the way tonight to see us. Toby acquiesced, and they hurried through the small main streets of the little town, which at that later hour was wholly deserted. A dim light shone the intervals from some bedroom window, and the horse barking of dogs occasionally broke the silence of the night, but there was nobody abroad. They'd cleared the town as the church bells struck to. Quickening their pace, they turned up a road upon the left hand. After walking about a quarter of a mile, they stopped for a detached house, surrounded by a wall, to the top of which Toby Crackett, scarcely pausing to take breath, climbed in a twinkling. The boy next had Toby, host him up by a catch hold of him. Before Oliver had time to look round, Sykes had caught him under the arms, and in three or four seconds he and Toby were laying on the grass on the other side. Sykes hollowed directly, and they stole cautiously towards the house. And now for the first time Oliver well nine mad with grief and terror, saw that housebreaking and robbery, if not murder, were the objects of the expedition. He clasped his hands together, and involuntarily uttered a subdued exclamation of horror. A mist came before his eyes, the cold sweat stood upon his ashy face, his limbs failed him, and he sank upon his knees. Get up, murmured Sykes, trembling with rage and drawing a pistol from his pocket.   I will never come near London again, never, never. Oh, pray have mercy on me, and do not make me steal, for the love of all the bright angels that rest in heaven, have mercy upon me. The man to whom this appeal was made swore a dreadful oath, and had cocked the pistol. When Toby, striking it from his grasp, placed his hand upon the boy's mouth, and dragged him to the house. Hush, cried the man, it won't answer here. Say another word, and I'll do your business myself with a crack on the head. That makes no noise, and is quite a certain and more genteel. Here, Bill, wrench the shutter open. He's game enough now, I engage. I've seen older hands of his age took the same way for a minute or two on a cold night. Sykes invoking terrible implications upon Fagan's head for sending Oliver on such an errand, plied the crowbar vigorously but with little noise. After some delay and some assistance from Toby, the shutter to which he had referred swung over and on its hinges. It was a little lattice window about five and a half feet from the ground at the back of the house, which belonged to a scullery or small brewing place at the end of the passage. The aperture was so small that the inmates had probably not thought it worthwhile to defend it more securely, but it was large enough to admit a boy of Oliver's size nevertheless. A brief exercise on Mr Sykes' heart, suffice to overcome the fastening of the lattice, and soon stood wide open. Now listen, you young limb, Mr Sykes drawing a dark lantern from his pocket, throwing the graph full on Oliver's face. I'm going to push you through there, take this light, go softly up the steps straight before you and along the little hall to the street door, unfasten it and let us in. There is a bolt at the top you won't be able to reach into post Toby. Stand upon one of the hall chairs. There are three there Bill, with a large blue unicorn and a gold pitchfork on it, which is the old lady's arms. Keep it quiet, can't you? replied Sykes, with a threatening look. The room door is open, is it? Wide replied Tony after peeping in to satisfy himself. The game of that is that they always leave it open with a catch, so that the dog who's got a bed in here, they walk up and down the passage where he feels waitful. Ha! Barney ties him away tonight, so neat! Although Mr Crackett's spoken a scarcely audible whisper and laugh without noise, Sykes empirically commanded him to be silent and to get to work. Toby complied by first producing his lantern and placing it on the ground, and then by planting himself firmly with his head against the wall beneath the window and his hands upon his knees so as to make a step of his back. This was no sooner done than Sykes mounting upon him, put Oliver gently through the window with his feet first, and without leaving hold of his collar, planted him safely on the floor inside. Take this lantern, said Sykes, looking into the room. See the stairs are for you. Oliver, more dead than alive, gasped out, Yes! Sykes pointing to the street door with a pistol barrel, briefly advised him to take notice that he was within shot all the way, and that if he faltered he would fall dead at that instant. It's done in a minute, said Sykes, in the same low whisper.  What's that whispered the other man? They listened intently. Nothing, said Sykes, releasing his hold of Oliver. Now! In the short time he had had to collect his senses, the boy had firmly resolved that whether he died in the attempt or not, he would make one effort to dart upstairs from the hall and alarm the family. Filled with this idea he advanced at once, but stealthily. Come back! cried Sykes aloud. Back, back! Scared by the sudden breaking of the dead stillness of the place and by a loud cry which followed it, Oliver let his lantern fall and knew not whether to advance or fly. The cry was repeated, a light appeared, a vision of two terrified half-dressed men at the top of the stairs swam before his eyes. Flash and loud noise, smoke, crashed somewhere, but he knew not, he staggered back. Sykes had disappeared for an instant, he was up again, and had him by the collar before the smoke had cleared away. He fired his own pistol after the men who were already retreating and dragged the boy up. Clasp your arm tighter, said Sykes as he threw him through the window. Give me a shawl here, they let him quit, how the boy bleeds. Then came the loud ringing of a bell, mingled with the noise of firearms and the shouts of men, and the sensation of being carried over uneven ground in a rapid pace, and then the noise grew confused in the distance, and a cold, deadly feeling crept over the boy's heart, and he saw or heard no more. Although Mr. Crackett spoke in a scarcely audible whisper and laughed without noise, Sykes empirically commanded him to be silent and to get to work. Toby complied by first producing his lantern and placing it on the ground, and then by planting himself firmly with his head against the wall beneath the window and his hands upon his knees so as to make a step of his back. This was no sooner done than Sykes mounting upon him, but Oliver gently threw the window with his feet first and without leaving hold of his collar, planted him safely on the floor inside. Take this lantern, said Sykes, looking into the room. See the stairs are for you. Oliver, more dead than alive, gasped out, yes. Sykes pointing to the street door with a pistol barrel briefly advised him to take notice that he was within shot all the way, and that if he faltered he would fall dead that instant. It's done in a minute, said Sykes, in the same low whisper. Directly I'll lead go of you. You do your work, Ark. What's that whispered the other man? They listened intently. Nothing, said Sykes, releasing his hold of Oliver. Now, in the short time he had had to collect his senses, the boy had firmly resolved that whether he died in the attempt or not he would make one effort to dart upstairs from the hall and alarm the family. Filled with this idea he advanced at once, but stealthily. Come back, cried Sykes, now. Back, back! Scared by the sudden breaking of the dead stillness of the place and by a loud cry which followed it, Oliver let his lantern fall and knew not whether to advance or fly. The cry was repeated, a light appeared, a vision of two terrified half dressed men at the top of the stairs swam before his eyes. Flash and loud noise, smoke, crash somewhere, but he knew not, he staggered back. Sykes had disappeared for an instant, he was up again and had him by the collar before the smoke had cleared away. He fired his own pistol after the men who were already retreating and dragged the boy up. Clasp your arm tighter, said Sykes, as he drew in through the window. Give me a shawl here, lay there in quick, how the boy bleeds. Then came the loud ringing of a bell, mingled with the noise of firearms and the shouts of men and the sensation of being carried over uneven ground in a rapid pace, and then the noise grew confused in the distance and a cold, deadly feeling crept over the boy's heart, and he saw or heard no more. Chapter 23 Of Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 23, which contains the substance of a pleasant conversation between Mr Bumble and a lady, and shows that even a beetle may be susceptible on some points. The night was bitter cold, the snow lay on the ground, frozen into a hard thick crust, so that only the heaps that had drifted into byways and corners were affected by the sharp wind that hurled abroad. Which, as if expending increased fury on such prey as it found, caught it savagely up in clouds and whirling it into a thousand misty eddies, scattered in air, bleak, dark and piercing cold.  Many hunger-worn outcasts close their eyes in our bare streets at such times, who, let their crimes have been what they may, can hardly open them in a more bitter world. Such was the aspect of Out-of-Doors affairs when Mrs Corney, the matron of the Workhouse to which our readers have already been introduced, as the birthplace of Oliver Twist, sat herself down before a cheerful fire in her own little room, and glanced with no small degree of complacency at a small round table on which stood a tray of corresponding size, furnished with all necessary materials for the most grateful meal that matrons enjoy. In fact, Mrs Corney was about to soloist herself with a cup of tea, as she glanced from the table to the fireplace where the smallest of all the possible kettles were singing a small song in a small voice, her inward satisfaction evidently increased. So much so indeed that Mrs Corney smiled. Well, said the matron leading her over on the table and looking reflectively at the fire, I'm sure we have all on us a great deal to be grateful for, a great deal if we did but know it. Mrs Corney shook her head mournfully as if deploring the mental blindness of those paupers who did not know it, and thrusting a silver spoon, private property, into the innermost recesses of a two ounce tin tea caddy, proceeded to make the tea. How slight a thing would disturb the equanimity of our frail minds, black teapot being very small and easily filled ran over what Mrs Corney was moralising, and the water slightly scalded Mrs Corney's hand.  What uses it off to anybody, except, said Mrs Corney, pausing, except to a poor, desolate creature like me, oh dear. With these words the matron dropped into her chair, one small resting her elbow on the table, thought of her solitary fate, a small teapot in the single cup, but awakened in her mind, sad recollections of Mr Corney. It would not been dead more than five and twenty years, and she was overpowered. I shall never get another, said Mrs Corney, petrically, I shall never get another like him. Whether this remark bore reference to the husband or the teapot, it is uncertain. It might have been the latter, for Mrs Corney looked at it as she spoke and took it up afterwards. She just tasted her first cup when she was disturbed by a soft tap at the room door.  Some of the old women dying, I suppose. They always die when I'm at meals. Don't stand there letting the cold air in, don't it? What's a miss now, eh? Nothing, ma'am, nothing, replied a man's voice. Dear me, explained the matron in a much sweeter tone, is that Mr Bumble? At your service, ma'am, said Mr Bumble, who had been stopping outside to rub his shoes clean, and to take the snarf his coat, and who now made his appearance, bearing the cocktail in one hand, and a bundle in the other.  The lady, modestly hesitated to reply, lest there should be any impropriety in holding an interview with Mr Bumble with closed doors. Mr Bumble taking advantage of the hesitation, and being very cold himself, shut it without permission. Hard weather, Mr Bumble, said the matron. Hard indeed, ma'am, replied the people, anti-parochial weather this man. We have given away a matter of twenty quart and loaves and cheese and a half. This very blessed afternoon, yet then paupers, are not contented. Of course not, why would they be, Mr Bumble, said the matron, sipping at sea. When indeed, ma'am, replied Mr Bumble, where here is one man, that in consideration of his wife and large family, has a quart and loaf, and a good pound of cheese, full weight, is he grateful, ma'am? Is he grateful, not a cup of farthing's worth of it? What does he do, ma'am, but ask for a few coals? It's only a pocket handkerchief, fool, he says. Coals? What would he do with coals? Toast his cheese with them? Come back for more? That's the way with these people, ma'am. Give them an apron full of coals today, and they'll come back for another day after tomorrow, as brazen as alabaster. The matron expressed her entire concurrence with his intelligible simile, and the beadle went on. I never, said Mr Bumble, see anything like the pitch is caught to. Day before yesterday, a man, you've been a married woman, ma'am, and I may mention it to you, a man with handy a rag on his back. Here, Mrs Corney looked at the floor. Coastal, I'll oversee a stall, when he's got company coming to dinner, and says, he must be relieved. Mrs Corney, as he wouldn't go away and shock the company very much, I'll oversee it, send him out a pound of potatoes, and a half pint of oatmeal. My heart says the ungrateful villain. What's the use of this to me? You might as well give me a pair of iron spectacles. Very good, says our overseer, take you away again. You don't get anything else here. Then I'll die in the streets, says the vagrant. Oh, now you won't, says the overseer. Ah-ha, that was very good, so like Mr Granite, isn't it, and to pose the matron. Well, Mr Bumble? Well, yes, ma'am, matured the beadle. He went away, and he did die in the streets. There's an obstinate pauper for you. It beats anything I could have believed, observed the matron emphatically. But don't you think out-of-door relief is a very bad thing anyway, Mr Bumble? You're a gentleman of experience, and ought to know. Come. Mrs Corney, said the beadle, smiling as men smile with a conscious of superior information. Out-of-door relief, properly managed, properly managed, ma'am, is the parochial safeguard. The great principle of out-of-door relief is to give the paupers exactly what they don't want, and then they get tired of coming. Dear me, explained Mrs Corney, well, that is a good one too. Yes, betwixt you and me, ma'am, returned Mr Bumble. It's the great principle and the reason why, if you look at any cases, they get into them audacious new papers. You'll always observe that sick families have been relieved with slices of cheese. That's the rule now, Mrs Corney, all over the country. But, however, said the beadle, stopping to unpack his bundle. These are official secrets, ma'am, not to be spoken of, except, as I may say among, the parochial officers, such as ourselves. This is the port wine, ma'am, that Paul ordered for the infirmary. Real fresh, genuine port wine, only out of the cask this fallen, clear as a bell, and no sediment. Having held up the first bottle to the light, and shaken it well to test its excellence, Mr Bumble placed it both on top of a chest of drawers, folded the handkerchief in which they had been wrapped, put it carefully in his pocket, and took up his hat as if to go. For, though a very cold walk, Mr Bumble, said the matron.  The matron looked from the little kettle to the beadle, who was moving towards the door, as the beadle coughed, a priority to bringing her good night. Bashfully inquired whether he wouldn't take a cup of tea. Mr Bumble instantly turned back his collar again. Ladies' hat and stick upon a chair, and drew another chair up to the table. As he slowly seated himself, he looked at the lady. She fixed her eyes upon the little teapot. Mr Bumble coughed again, and slightly smiled. This is corny rose to get another cup of saucer for the closet, and she sat down her eyes once more and counted those of the gallant beadle. She coloured and applied herself to the task of making his tea. Again Mr Bumble coughed, louder this time than he had coughed yet. Sweet Mr Bumble, inquired the matron, taking up the sugar basin. Early sweet indeed, ma'am, replied Mr Bumble. He fixed his eyes on Mrs Corny as he said this. And if ever a beadle looked tender, Mr Bumble was that beadle that moment. Tea was made, and handed in silent. Mr Bumble, having spread a handkerchief over his knees, to prevent crumbs from sowing the splendour of his shorts, began to eat and drink. Varying these amusements occasioning by affecting a deep sigh, which, however, had no injurious effect upon his appetite, but on the contrary, rather seemed to facilitate his operations in the tea and toast department. You have a cat, ma'am, I see, said Mr Bumble, glancing at one, who was in the centre of her family, basking before the fire. And kittens too, I declare. I'm so fond of them, Mr Bumble, you can't think, replied the matron. They're so happy, so frolicsome, so cheerful. That they are quite companions for me. Very nice animals, ma'am, replied Mr Bumble, approvingly. So very domestic. Oh, yes, rejoined the matron with enthusiasm. So fond of their home, too. It's quite a pleasure, I'm sure. Mrs Corney, ma'am, said Mr Bumble, slowly, marking the time with his teaspoon. I mean to say this, ma'am, that any cat or kitten that could live with you, ma'am, and not be fond of its home must be an ours, ma'am. Oh, Mr Bumble, remonstrated Mrs Corney. There's no use of disguising facts, ma'am, said Mr Bumble, slowly, farishing the teaspoon with a kind of amorous dignity, which made it doubly impressive. I would drown it myself with pleasure.  Hard-hearted, ma'am, said Mr Bumble. Hard, Mr Bumble, wreathed, signed his cup without another word.  There's a round table, and Mrs Corney and Mr Bumble have been sitting opposite each other with no great space between them. And fronting the fire, it will be seen that Mr Bumble, proceeding from the fire and still keeping up the table, increased the distance between himself and Mrs Corney, which, proceeding, some prudent readers will doubtless be disposed to admire and to consider an act of great heroism on Mr Bumble's part. He, being in some sort of tempted by time and place, an opportunity to give upwards to certain soft nothings, which, however well they may become, the lips of the light and thoughtless, to see them immeasurably beneath the dignity of judges of the land, members of parliament, ministers of state, Lord Mayor's another great function with, but more particularly beneath the statelyness and gravity of a beetle, who, as is well known, should be the sternest and most inflexible among them all. Whatever were Mr Bumble's intentions, however, and no doubt they were of the best, it unfortunately happened, as has been twice before remarked, that the table was a round one. Consequently, Mr Bumble, moving his chair little and little, soon began to diminish the distance between himself and the matron, and continuing to travel round the outer edge of the circle, brought his chair in time close to that which the matron was seated. Indeed the two chairs touched, and when they did so Mr Bumble stopped. Now if the matron had moved her chair to the right, she would have been scorched by the fire, and to the left she must have fallen into Mr Bumble's arms. So being discreet mate, and no doubt foreseeing these consequences at a glance, she remained where she was, and handed Mr Bumble another cup of tea. Hard-hearted Mrs Corney said Mr Bumble, stirring his tea and looking up into the matron's face. Are you hard-hearted Mrs Corney? Dear me, explained the matron, what a very curious question for the single man. What do you want to know from Mr Bumble?  Mr Bumble cried that discreet lady in a whisper, for the fright was so great that she had quite lost her voice. Mr Bumble, I shall scream. Mr Bumble made no reply, but in a slow and dignified manner put his arm round the matron's waist. As the lady had stated her intention of screaming, of course she would have screamed at this additional boldness, but that the exertion was rendered unnecessary by a hasty knocking at the door, which was no sooner heard that Mr Bumble darted with much agility to the wine-bottles, and began dusting them with great violence, while the matron sharply demanded who was there. It is worthy of remark, as a curious physical instance of the efficacy of a sudden surprise, encountering the effects of extreme fear, that her voice had quite recovered all its official disparity.  Old Sally is going fast. Well, what's that to me demanded the matron? I can't keep her alive, can I? No, Mistress replied the old woman. Nobody can, she's far beyond the reach of help. I've seen many people die, little babes and great strong men, and I know when death's coming well enough. But she's troubled in her mind, and when the fits are not on her, and that's not often, for she's dying very hard. She says she's got something to tell you, but you must hear.   Briefly requested Mr Bumble to stay till she came back. There's anything particular should occur. Bidding the messenger walk fast and not being all night hobbling up the stairs. She followed her from the room with a very ill grace, scolding all the way. Mr Bumble's conduct on being left to himself was rather inexplicable. He opened the closet, counted the teaspoon, weighed the sugar tongs, closely inspected a silver milk pot to ascertain that it was the genuine metal. Having satisfied his curiosity on these points, put on his cocked hat, corner-wise, and danced with much gravity four distinct times around the table.  CHAPTER XXIV Treats on a very poor subject, but is a short one, and may be found of importance in this history. It was no unfit messenger of death who had disturbed the quiet of the matron's room. Her body was bent by age, her limbs trembled with palsy, her face distorted into mumbling leer, resembled more the grotesque shaping of some wild pencil than the works of nature's hand. Alas, how few of nature's faces are left alone to gladness with their beauty. The cares and sorrows and hungerings of the world change them as they change hearts. And it is only when those passions sleep and have lost their hold forever that the troubled clouds pass off and leave heaven's surface clear. It is a common thing for the countenances of the dead, even in that fixed and rigid state, to subside into a long-forgotten expression of sleeping infancy, and settle into the very look of early life, so calm, so peaceful do they grow again, that those who knew them in their happy childhood kneel by the coffin's side in awe, and see the angel even upon the earth. The old crown tautled along the passage and up the stairs, muttering some indistinct answers to the chidings of her companion. Being at length compelled to pause for breath, she gave the light into her hand and remained behind to follow as she might, or the more nimble superior made her way into the room where the sick woman lay. It was a bare garret room with the dim light burning at the far end. There was another old woman watching by the bed. The parish, Apocrythe's Apprentice, was standing by the fire making a toothpick out of a quill. Cold night, Mrs. Corny, said the young gentleman, as the matron entered. Very cold indeed, sir, replied the mistress, in her most civil tones, and dropping a curtsy as she spoke. You should get better colds out of your contractors, said the apothecary's deputy, breaking a lump on the top of the fire with a rusty poker. These are not at all the sort of thing for a cold night. The board's choosing, sir, return, matron. The least they could do would be to keep us pretty warm, for our places are hard enough.  Oh, said the young man, turning his face towards the bed, as if he had previously quite forgotten the patient. It's all you pee up there, Mrs. Corny. It is, is it, sir, replied the matron. If she lasts a couple of hours, I shall be surprised, said the apothecary's apprentice. Intent upon the toothpick's point. It's a break-up of the system altogether, as she is a dozing old lady. The attendant stooped over the bed to ascertain and nodded in the affirmative. Then perhaps she'll go off in that way if you don't make a row, said the young man. Put the light on the floor, she won't see it there. The attendant did as she was told, shaking her head meanwhile, to intimate that the woman would not die so easily. Having done so, she returned to her seat by the side of the other nurse, who had by this time returned. The mistress, with the expression of impatience, wrapped herself in her shawl and sat at the foot of the bed. The apothecary's apprentice, having completed the manufacture of the toothpick, planted himself in front of the fire and made good use of it for ten minutes or so, when apparently growing rather dull, he wished Mrs. Corny the joy of her job. He took himself off on tiptoe. When they had sat in silence for some time, the two old women rose from the bed and clutching over the fire, held up their withered hands to catch the heat. The flame threw a ghastly light on their shriveled faces and made their ugliness appear terrible. In this position they began to converse in a low voice. Did she say any more of my dear while I was gone, inquired the messenger? Not a word replied the other. She plucked and tore her arms for a little time, but I held her hands and she soon dropped off. She hasn't much strength in her, so I easily kept her quiet. I ain't so weak for an old woman, although I am on parish allowance. No, no, no. Did she drink the hot wine the doctor said she was to have, demanded the first? I tried to get it down and join the other, but her teeth were set tight. She clenched the mug so hard it was as much as I could do to get it back again, so I drank it and it did me good. Looking cautiously round to ascertain that they were not overheard. The two hags covered near the fire and chuckled heartily. I mined the time, said the first speaker, when she would have done the same and not made rare fun of it afterwards. Ah, that she would rejoin the other. She had a merry heart and many, many beautiful corpses she had laid out as nice and neat as waxwork. My old eyes have seen them and I, those old hands touch them too, for I had helped her scores of times. Stretching forth her trembling fingers as she spoke, the old creature shook them exulting me before her face. A fumbling round in her pocket brought out an old-time discoloured tinned snuff box, for which she shook a few grains into the outstretched palm of her companion and a few more into her own. One over thus employed, the matron, who had been impatiently watching until the dying woman should awaken from her stupor, joined them by the fire and sharply asked how long she was to wait. Not long mistress replied the second woman, looking up into her face. We have none of us long to wait for death.   You, Martha, tell me, has she been in this way before? I often replied the first woman, but will never be again added the second one. That is, she'll never wake again but once, and mine, mistress, that won't be for long. Long or short, said the matron snappishly. She won't find me here when she does wake.  Are you worrying me again for nothing? She's no part of my duty to see that the old women of the house die. And I won't. That's more. Mind that, you impugned old harridans.  I'll warrant you. She was bouncing away when a cry for the two women who had turned towards the bed caused her to look round. The patient had raised herself upright and was stretching her arms upwards to them. Who's that? she cried in a hollow voice. Hush, hush, said one of the women, stooping over. Lie down, lie down. I'll never lie down again alive, said the woman, struggling. I will tell her. Come here, Nira. Let me whisper in your ear. She clutched at the matron by the arm and, forcing her into a chair by the bedside, was about to speak. When looking round, she caught sight of the fire of the two old women bending towards the forward attitude of eager listeners. Turn them away, said the woman, drowsily. Make haste, make haste. The two old crows, chiming in together, began pouring out many piteous lamentations that the poor deer was too far gone to know her best friends, and were uttering sundry protestations that they would never leave her, when the superior pushed them from the room, closed the door, and returned to the bedside. Upon being excluded, the old ladies changed their tone and cried through the keyhole that old Sally was drunk, which indeed was not unlikely since in addition to a moderate dose of opium prescribed by the apothecary, she was laboring under the effects of a final taste of gin and water, which had been privately administered in the openness of their hearts by the worthy old ladies themselves. Now listen to me, said the dying woman aloud, as if making a great effort to revive one latent spark of energy. In this very room, in this very bed, I once nursed a pretty young creta that was brought into the house with her feet cut and bruised with walking, and all soiled with dust and blood. She gave birth to a boy and died. Let me think, what was the year again? Never mind about the years, said the impatient auditor, what about her? Aye, murmured the sick woman, relapsing into a former drowsy state. What about her?  I robbed her, so I did. She wasn't cold when I stole it. Stole what, for grud's sake, cried the matron with a gesture, as if she would call for help. It, replied the woman, laying her hand over the other's mouth. The only thing she had. She wanted clothes to keep her warm and food to eat, but she had kept it safe and had it in her bosom. There was gold, I tell you, rich gold that might have saved her life. Gold? Eccled the matron, bending eagerly over the woman, she fell back.  Who was the mother? When was it? She charged me to keep it safe, replied the woman with a groan, and trusted me as the only woman about her. I stole it in my heart, when she first showed it to me hanging round her neck. And the child's death, perhaps, is on me besides. They would have treated him better if they'd known it all. Known what, asked the other, speak. The boy grew so like his mother, said the woman, rambling on and not heeding the question. I could never forget it when I saw his face. Poor girl, poor girl, she was so young too, such a gentle lamb. Wait is more to tell.  No, no, replied the matron, inclining her head to capture words as they came more faintly from the dying woman. Be quick, or it may be too late. The mother, said the woman, making a more violent effort than before. The mother, when the pains of death first came upon her, wisted in my ear that if her baby was born alive and thrived, the day might come when it would not feel so much disgrace to hear its poor young mother's name. An old kind heaven, she said, folding her thin hands together, whether it be a boy or a girl, raise up some friends for it in this troubled world, and take pity upon a lonely, desolate child, abandoned to its mercy. The boy's name demanded the matron. They called him Oliver, replied the woman, feebly. The gold I stole was, yes, yes, what? cried the other. She was bedding eagerly over the woman to hear her reply. But drew back instinctively as she once again rose, slowly and stiffly, into a sitting posture, and clutching the cover lid with both hands, muttered some interesting sounds in her throat, and fell lifeless on the bed. Stone dead, said one of the old women, hurrying in as soon as the door was opened. And nothing to tell after all, rejoined the matron walking carelessly away. The two crones, all appearance, too busily occupied in the preparations for their dreadful duties to make any reply, were left alone, hovering about the body. End of Chapter 24 Chapter 25 of Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 25, wherein history reverts to Mr. Fagan and Company While these things were passing in the country workhouse, Mr. Fagan sat in the old den, the same from which Oliver had been removed by the girl, brooding over a dull, smoky fire. He held a pair of bellows upon his knee, with which he had apparently been endeavouring to rouse it into a more cheerful action. But he had fallen into deep thought, and with his arms folded on them, and his chin resting on his thumbs, fixed his eyes abstractedly upon the rusty bars. At a table behind him sat the artful dodger, Master Charles Bates, and Mr. Chitling, all intent upon a game of wist, while the artful, taking dummy against Master Bates and Mr. Chitling, accountants of the first-name gentleman, particularly intelligent at all times, acquired a great additional interest from his close observance of the game.  He also sustained a clay pipe between his teeth, which he only removed for a brief space when he deemed it necessary to apply for refreshment to a quart pot upon the table, which stood ready filled with gin and water for the accommodation of the company. Master Bates was also attentive to the play, but being of a more excitable nature than his accomplished friend, it was observable that he more frequently applied himself to the gin and water, and moreover indulged in many jests and irrelevant remarks. All highly unbecoming of a scientific rubber, indeed the artful presuming upon their close attachment more than once, took occasion to reason gravely with his companion upon these improprieties, all of which reminiscences Master Bates received in extremely good part, merely requesting his friend to be blowed or to similar kind, the happy application of which excited considerable admiration in the mind of Mr Chitney. It was remarkable that the latter gentleman and his partner invariably lost, and that the circumstance, so far from angering Master Bates, appeared to afford him the highest amusement in as much as he laughed most up gloriously at the end of every deal, and protested that he had never seen such a jolly game in all his born days. That's two doubles and a rub, said Mr Chitney, with a long face as he drew half a crown from his waistcoat pocket. I never see such a fellow as you, Jack, you win everything. Even when we're good cards, Charlie and I can't make nothing of them. Either the master or the manor of this remark, which was made very ruefully, delighted Charlie Bates so much, and his consequent shout of laughter roused the two from his reverie, and induced him to inquire what was the matter. Matterfaking, cried Charlie, always should watch the play. Tommy Chitney hasn't won a point, and I went partners with him against the artful and dumb. Aye, aye, said the two, with a grin which sufficiently demonstrated that he was at no loss to understand the reason. Try again, Tom, try again. No more of it for me, thank ye, Fagan, replied Mr Chitney. I've had enough. That ear-dodger is such a run of luck, there's no standing again him. Aha, my dear, replied the two. You must get up very early in the morning to win against the dodger. Morning, said Charlie Bates, you must put your boots on overnight, and have a telescope at each eye and a lot of glass between your shoulders, if you want to come over him. Mr Dawkins received these handsome compliments with much philosophy, and offered to cut any gentleman in company for the first picture card at a schlinger time. Nobody accepting the challenge, and his pipe, by this time being smoked out, he proceeded to amuse himself by sketching a ground-plan of Newgate on the table with a piece of chalk, which had served him in lieu of counters, whistling meantime with peculiar shrillness. How precious do you are, Tommy, you said the dodger, stopping short when there had been a long silence, and addressing Mr Chitney. What do you think he's thinking of, Fagan? How shall I know, my dear, replied the two, looking round as he plied the bellows, about his losses, maybe, or the little retirement in the country he's got left, eh? Is that it, my dear? Not a bit of it, replied the dodger, stopping the subject of discourse, as Mr Chitney was about to reply. What do you say, Charlie? I should say, replied Master Bates with a grin, that he was uncommon sweet upon Betsy, see how he's a-blushing. Oh, my eye, here's a merry-go-rounder. Tommy Chitney's in love. Oh, Fagan, Fagan, what a spree! Thoroughly overpowered with the notion of Mr Chitney being the victim of the tender passion, Master Bates threw himself back in his chair, with such violence that he lost his balance, and pitched over upon the floor, where, the accident debating nothing of his merriment, he lay at full length until his laugh was over, when he resumed his former position and began another laugh. Never mind him, my dear, said the two, winking at Mr Dawkins, and giving Master Bates a reproving tap with a nozzle of the bellows.  What do I mean to say, Fagan? replied Mr Chitney, and very read in the face. It isn't anything to do with anybody here. No more it is, replied the two. Charlie will talk, don't mind him, my dear, don't mind him. Betsy's a fine girl, do as she bids you, Tom. You'll make your fortune. So I do do as she bids me, replied Mr Chitney. I shouldn't have been milled if I hadn't been for her advice, but it turned out a good job for you, didn't it, Fagan? That's what, six weeks of it? It must come, some time or another, and why not in the winter time? You don't want to go out and walk in so much, eh, Fagan? Hard to be sure, my dear, replied the two. You wouldn't mind it again, Tom, would you? Asked the Dodger, winking upon Charlie and the Jew. If Bet was all right, I mean to say that I shouldn't, replied Tom angrily, there now. I don't say as much as that, I should like to know, eh, Fagan? Nobody, my dear, replied the Jew, not a soul, Tom. I don't know one of them that would do it besides you, not one of them, my dear. I might have got clear off if I'd split upon, I might not, Fagan, angrily pursued the poor half with a dupe. A word from me would have done it, wouldn't it, Fagan? To be sure it would, my dear, replied the Jew. But I didn't blab did I, Fagan, demanded Tom, pouring question upon question with great volubility. No, no, to be sure, replied the Jew. You were too stout-hearted for that, a deal too stout, my dear. Perhaps I was rejoined, Tom, looking round, and if I was, what's to laugh at in that, eh, Fagan? The Jew, perceiving that Mr. Chitling was considerably roused, hastened to assure him that nobody was laughing, and to prove the gravity of the company, appealed to Master Bates the principal offender, but unfortunately Charlie, and opening his mouth to reply that he was never more serious in his life, was unable to prevent the escape of such a violent roar that the abuse Mr. Chitling, without any preliminary ceremonies, rushed across the room and aimed a blow at the offender, who, being skilful in an evading pursuit, ducked to avoid it, and chose his time so well that it lighted on the chest of the merry old gentleman, and caused him to stagger to the wall where he stood panting for breath, while Mr. Chitling looked on in intense dismay. Ark, cried the Dodger at this moment. I hear the tinkler, catching up the light, he crept softly upstairs. The bell was rung again with some impatience, while the party were in darkness. After a short pause the Dodger reappeared, and whispered Fagan mysteriously. What, cried the Jew, alone? The Dodger nodded in the affirmative, and, shading the flame of the candle with his hand, gave Charlie Bates a private intimation. In dumb show, it had better not be funny just then. Having performed this friendly office, he fixed his eyes on the Jew's face and awaited his directions. The old man bit his yellow fingers and meditated for some seconds, his face working with agitation for a while. As if he dreaded something and feared to know the worst, at length he raised his head. Where is he, he asked. The Dodger pointed to the floor above and made a gesture as if to leave the room. Yes, said the Jew, answering the muting quarry, bring him down, hush, quiet, Charlie, gently, Tom, scarce, scarce. The brief direction to Charlie Bates and his recent antagonists was softly and immediately obeyed. There was no sound of the whereabouts, the Dodger descended the stairs, bearing the light in his hand but followed by a man in a coarse smock frock, who, after casting a hurried glance around the room, pulled off a large wrapper which had concealed the lower portion of his face, and disclosed, all haggard, unwashed and unshawn, the features of flash-toby-cracket. How are you, Fagy? said this worthy nodding to the Jew. Popped that shawl away at my casted Dodger, so I might know where to find it when I cut. That's the time of days. You'll be a fine young cracksman before the old phial now. With these words he pulled up the smock frock and winding it round his middle drew a chair to the fire and placed his feet upon the hob. See there, Fagy? he said, pointing disconsolently to his top boots. Not a drop of Diane Martin since you know when. Not a bubble of black in by Chauve. But don't look at me that way, man. It's all good time. I can't talk about business till I've eaten, drank. So produced assessments and less of a quiet fill-out for the first time in three days. The Jew motioned to the Dodger to place what eatables there were upon the table, and seating himself opposite the housebreaker, waited his leisure. To judge from appearances, Tobie was by no means in a hurry to open the conversation. At first the Jew contented himself with patiently watching his countenance, as if to gain from his expression some clue of the intelligence he brought. But in vain, he looked tired and worn, but there was the same complacent repose upon his features that they always wore. And through dirt and beard and whisker, there still shone unimpaired the self-satisfied smirk of Tobie Crackett. Then the Jew, in an agony of impatience, watched every morsel he put into his mouth, pacing up and down the room meanwhile in irrepressible excitement. It was all of no use. Tobie continued to eat with the utmost outward indifference, until he could eat no more. Ordering the Dodger out, he closed the door, mixed a glass of spirits and water, and composed himself for talking. First and foremost, Fagy said to Tobie, Yes, yes, him to pose the Jew chalking up his chair. Mr. Crackett stopped to take a draught of spirits and water, and to declare that the gin was excellent. The placing his feet against the low mantle pieces so as to bring his boots to about the level of his eye he quietly resumed. First and foremost, Fagy said to the housebreaker, How's Bill? What screamed the Jew starting from his seat? What, you don't mean to say, began Tobie turning pale? Mean cried the Jew, stamping furiously on the ground. Where are they, Sykes and the boy? Where are they? Where have they been? Where are they hiding? Why have they not been here? The Crack failed, said Tobie faintly. I know it, replied the Jew, tearing a newspaper from his pocket and pointing to it. What more? They fired and hit the boy. We cut over the fields at the back, within between us, straight as the crow flies through edge and ditch. They gave chase. Damn, the whole country was awake and the dogs upon us. The boy! Bill had him on his back and scuttled like the wind. We stopped to take him between us, his head hung down and he was cold. They were close upon our eels, every man for himself, and each from the gallows. We parted company, left the youngster lying in a ditch, alive or dead, that's all I know about him. The Jew stopped to hear no more, but a ring of loud yell, twining his hands in his hair, rushed from the room and from the house. Chapter 26 English a mysterious character appears upon the scene, and many things inseparable from this history are done and performed. The old man had gained the street corner before he began to recover the effect of Toby Crackett's intelligence. He had relaxed nothing of his unusual speed, but was still pressing onward in the same wild and disordered manner, when the sudden dashing past of a carriage and a boisterous cry from the foot passengers, who saw his danger, drove him back upon the pavement. Avoiding as much as was possible all the main streets, and skulking only through the byways and alleys, he at length emerged on Snow Hill. Here he walked even faster than before, nor did he linger until he had again turned into a court, when, as if conscious that he was now in his proper element, he fell into his usual shuffling pace and seemed to breathe more freely. Near to the spot on which Snow Hill and Holborn Hill meet, opens upon the right hand as you come out of the city, a narrow and dismal alley leading to Saffron Hill. In its filthy shops are exposed for sale huge bunches of second hand silk handkerchiefs of all sizes and patterns. For here reside the traders who purchased them from pickpockets. Hundreds of these handkerchiefs hang dangling from pegs outside the windows, or flaunting from the doorposts, and the shelves within are piled with them, confined as the limits of field-lane are. It has a barber, coffee shop, its beer shop, its fried fish warehouse, it is a commercial colony of itself, the Emporium of Petty Larsonie, visited at early morning and setting of dusk by silent merchants, who traffic in dark back parlours and who go as strangely as they come. Here the clothesman, the shoe-vampire and the rag merchant display their goods, the signboards to the petty thief. Here stores of old iron and bones and heaps of mildewy fragments of woolen stuff and linen, rust and rot in the grimy severs. It was into this place at the due turn, he was well known to the sallow denizens of the lane, for such of them as were on the lookout to by yourself nodded familiarly as he passed along. He replied to their salutations in the same way, but bestowed no closer recognition until he reached the further end of the alley, when he stopped to address the salesman of small stature, who had squeezed as much of his person into a child's chair as the chair would hold, and was smoking a pipe at his warehouse door.  The neighbourhood was a little too hot, lively, said Fagan, elevating his eyebrows and crossing his hands upon his shoulders. Well, I've heard that complaint of it once or twice before, replied the trader, but it soon calls down again, don't you find it so? Fagan nodded in the affirmative, pointing in the direction of Saffron Hill, inquiring whether anyone was up yonder tonight. The cripples inquired the man, the Jew nodded. Let me see, perused the merchant, reflecting. Yes, this I'm half a dozen of them gone in, that I knows. I don't think your friend's there. Sykes is not, I suppose, inquired the Jew with a disappointed countenance. Non is stwentness, as the lawyers say, by the little man shaking his head and looking amazingly sly. Have you got anything in my line tonight? Nothing denied, said the Jew, turning away. Have you gone up to the cripples, Fagan, cried the little man, calling after him? Stop! I don't mind if I have a drop there with you. But as the Jew was looking back, waged his hand to intimate that he preferred being alone. And moreover, as the little man could not very easily disengage himself from the chair, the sign of the cripples was for a time bereft of the advantage of Mr. Lively's presence. By the time he'd gone upon his legs, the Jew had disappeared, so Mr. Lively, after ineffectually standing on tiptoe, in the hope of catching sight of him, again forced himself into the little chair, and exchanging a shake of the head with a lady in the opposite shop, in which doubt and mistrust were plainly mingled, resumed his pipe with a grave demeanor. The three cripples, or rather the cripples, which was the sign by which the establishment was familiarly known to its patrons, was the public house in which Mr. Sykes and his dog have already figured, merely making a sign to a man at the bar, Fagan walked straight upstairs, and opening the door of a room and softly insinuating himself into the chamber, looked anxiously about, shading his eyes with his hand, as if in search of some particular person. The room was illuminated by two gas lights, the glare of which was prevented by the barred shutters, and closely drawn curtains had faded red from being visible outside. The ceiling was blackened to prevent his colour from being injured by the flaring of the lamps, but the place was so full of dense tobacco smelt that at first it was scarcely possible to discern anything more. By degrees, however, as some of it cleared away through the open door, an assemblage of heads, as confused as the noises that greeted the ear, might be made out as the eye grew more accustomed to the scene. The spectator gradually became aware of the presence of a numerous company, male and female, crowded round a long table at the upper end of which sat a chairman with a hammer of office in his hand, while a professional gentleman with a bluish nose and his face tied up for the benefit of a toothache, presided at a jingling piano in a remote corner. As Fagan stepped softly in, the professional gentleman running over the keys by way of a prelude occasioned a general cry of order for a song, which having subsided a young lady proceeded to entertain the company with a ballad in four verses, between each of which the accompanist played the melody all through as loud as he could. When this was over, the chairman gave a sentiment after which the professional gentleman on the chairman's right and left volunteered a duet and sang it with great applause. He was curious to observe some faces which stood out prominently from among the group. There was the chairman himself, the landlord of the house, the coarse, rough, heavy-built fellow, who, while the songs were proceeding, rolled his eyes hither and thither, and seemed to give himself up to joviality, had an eye for everything that was done, and an ear for everything that was said, and sharp ones too. Nearing were the singers receiving with professional indifference the compliments of the company, and applying themselves in turn to a dozen-profit glasses of spirits and water, tended by their more boisterous admirers, whose countenance expressed it for almost every vice in almost every grade irresistibly attracted the attention, by their very repulsiveness, cunning ferocity and drunkenness in all its stages were there, in their strongest aspect, and women some with the last lingering tinge of their early freshness almost fading as you looked, others with every mark and stamp of their sex utterly beaten out, and presenting but one loathsome blank of proflicacy and crime, some mere girls, others but young women, and none past the prime of life, formed the darkest and saddest portion of this dreary picture. Fagan, troubled by no grave emotions, looked eagerly from face to face while his proceedings were in progress, but apparently without meeting that of which he was in search, succeeding at length in catching the eye of a man he occupied the chair, he beckoned to him slightly and left the room as quietly as he had entered it. What could I do for you, Mr. Fagan, inquired the man as he followed him out to the landing? Won't you join us? They'll be delighted, every one of them. The Jew shook his head impatiently and said in a whisper, Is he here? Is he here? No, replied the man. And none knew Zabani, inquired Fagan. None, replied the landlord the cripples, for it was he. He won't stir till it's all safe, depend on it. They're on the scent down there, and that if he moved he'd blow upon the thing at once. He's all right enough, Bani is, else I should have heard of him. I'll pound it that Bani's managing properly. Let him alone for that. Will he behead the knight as the Jew, laying the same emphasis on the pronoun as before? Monks, do you mean, inquired the landlord, hesitating? Hush, said the Jew. Yes. Certain replied the man, drawing a gold watch from his foe. I expected him here before now. If you wait ten minutes he'll be. No, no, said the Jew, hastily as though, however desirous he might be to see the person in question. He was nevertheless relieved by his absence. Tell him I came here to see him, and he must come to me tonight. No, say tomorrow, as he is not here, tomorrow will be time enough. Good said the man, nothing more. Not a word now, said the Jew, descending the stairs. I say, said the other, looking over the rails, and speaking in a horse whisper. What a time this would be for a cell. I've got Phil Barker in here so drunk that a boy might take him. But it's not Phil Barker's time, said the Jew, looking up. Phil has something more to do before we can afford to part with him. So go back to the company, my dear, and tell him to lead merry lives. While they last, the landlord reciprocated the old man's last, and returned to his guests. The Jew was no sooner alone, than his countenance resumed its former expression of anxiety and thought. After a brief reflection he called a hacked cabaret lay, and bade the man drive towards Bethnal Green. He dismissed him within some quarter of a mile of Mr. Sykes' residence, and performed the short remainder of the distance on foot. Now, muttered the Jew as he knocked at the door. If there's any deep play here, I shall have it out of you, my girl, cunning as you are. She was in her room, the woman said. Fagan crept softly upstairs and entered it without any previous ceremony. The girl was alone, lying with her head upon the table, and her hair straggling over it. She has been drinking, thought the Jew coolly, or perhaps she is only miserable. The old man turned to close the door, as he made this reflection, the noise thus occasioned rouse the girl. She eyed his crafty face narrowly, as she inquired to his recital of Toby Crockett's story. When it was concluded, she sank into a former attitude, but spoke not a word. She pushed the candle impatiently away, once or twice, as she feverishly changed her position. Shuffled her feet upon the ground, but this was all. During the silence, the Jew looked restlessly about the room, as if to assure himself that there were no appearances of Sykes having covertly returned. Apparently satisfied with his inspection, he coughed twice or thrice, and made as many efforts to open a conversation. But the girl heeded him no more than if he had been made of stone. At length he made another attempt, and rubbing his hands together, said in his most conciliatory tone, and where should you think Billy is now, my dear? The girl moaned out some half-inteligible reply, as she could not tell, and seemed from the smothered noise that escaped her to be crying.  Poor little child left in the ditch now, so only think. The child, said the girl, suddenly looking up, is better where he is than among us. And if no harm comes to bill from it, I hope he lies dead in the ditch, and that his young bones may rot there. What! cried the Jew in amazement. Why, I do return the girl, meeting his gaze. I shall be glad to have him away from my eyes, and to know that the worst is over. I can't bear to have him about me. The sight of him turns me against myself, and all of you. H'uh! said the Jew, scoffingly, you're drunk. How might I cry to the girl, Billy? It's no fault of yours if I am not. You never have me anything else, if you had your will, except now. The human doesn't soot you, doesn't it? No, replied the Jew furiously. It does not. Change it, then, responded the girl with a laugh. Change it, explained the Jew, exasperated beyond all bounds by his companions. Unexpected obsturacy, and the vexation of the life. I will change it, listen to me, you drab, listen to me, who with six words could strangle Sykes, as sure as if I had his bull's throat between my fingers now. If he comes back and leaves the boy behind him, if he gets off free and dead or alive, fails to restore him to me, murder him yourself if you will, and escape Jack Ketch, and do it at the moment he sets foot in this room, will mind me, it will be too late. What's all this cried the girl involuntarily? What is it? pursued Fagan, mad with rage. When the boy's worth hundreds of pounds to me, am I to lose what chance threw me in the way of getting safely through the whims of a drunken gang that I could whistle away their lives of, and me bound too, to borne the devil that only wants the will, and as the power to panting for breath, the old man stammered for a word, that instant checked the torrent in his wrath, and changed his whole demeanour. A moment before his clenched hands grasped the air, his eyes had dilated and his face grown livid with passion, but now he shrunk into a chair, and cowering together, trembled with the apprehension of having himself disclose some hidden villainy. After a short silence, he ventured to look round at his companion. He appeared somewhat reassured and beholding her in the same listless attitude from which he had first roused her. None see dear, croaked the tune his usual voice. Do you mind me, my dear?  If Bill was not done it this time, he will another. He's done many a good job for you, and will do many more when he can. I mean, he can't, he won't, so know more about that. But regarding this boy, my dear, said the tune loving the palms of his hands nervously together. The boy must take his chance with the rest interrupted Nancy hastily. I hope, and I'll say again, I hope he's dead and out of harm's way and out of yours. That is, if Bill comes to no harm, and if Toby gets clear off, Bill's pretty sure to be safe, but Bill's worth two of Toby any time. And about what I was saying, my dear, observed the tune keeping his glistening eyes steadily upon her. You must say it all over again if there's anything you want me to do, join Nancy. And if it is, you had better wait until tomorrow.  Fagan put several other questions, all with the same drift of ascertaining whether the girl had profited it by his unguarded hints. But she answered them so readily, and was withal so utterly unmoved by his searching looks, that his original impression of her being more than a trifle in liquor was confirmed. Nancy indeed was not exempt from a failing which was very common among the Jew's female pupils, and in which, in their tenderer years, they were rather encouraged and checked. A disordered appearance and a wholesale perfume of Geneva which pervaded the apartment afforded strong confirmatory evidence of the justice of the Jew's supposition. And when, after indulging in the temporary display of violence above described, she subsided first into dullness, and afterwards into a compound of feelings, under the influence of which she shed tears one minute, and in the next gave utterance to various acclamations of, never say die. And diverse calculations as to what might be the amount of the odds so long as a lady or gentleman was happy. Mr. Fagan, who had considerably experienced such matters in his time, saw with great satisfaction that she was very far gone indeed. Having eased his mind by this discovery, and having accomplished his twofold object of imparting to the girl what he had had that night heard, and of ascertaining, with his own eyes, that Sykes had not returned, Mr. Fagan again turned his face homeward, leaving his young friend asleep with her head upon the table. It was within an hour of midnight, the weather being dark and piercing cold, he had no great temptation to loiter. The sharp wind that scoured the street seemed to have cleared them of passages, as of dust and mud, for a few people were abroad, and they were, to all appearance, hastening fast home. It blew for the right quarter for the Jew, however, and straight before it he went, trembling and shivering as every fresh gust drove him rudely on his way. He had reached the corner of his own street, and was already fumbling in his pocket for the door-key, when a dark figure emerged from a projecting entrance which lay in deep shadow crossing the road, glided up to him, unperceived. Fagan whispered a voice close to his ear. Ah, said the Jew, turning quickly around. Is that? Yes, said, interrupted the stranger. I've been lingering here these two hours, where the devil had you been? On your business, my dear, replied the Jew, glancing uneasily at his companion, and slackening his pace as he spoke, on your business all night. Oh, of course, said the stranger, with a snare, and well, what's come of it? Nothing good, said the Jew. Nothing bad, I hope, said the stranger, stopping short, and turning a startled look on his companion. The Jew shook his head, and was about to reply, when the stranger, interrupting him, motioned to the house, before which he had by this time arrived, remarking that he had better say what he had got to say undercover, for his blood was chilled with standing about so long, and the wind blew through him. Fagan looked as if he could have willingly excused himself from taking home a visitor, but that love's seasonable hour, and indeed muttered something about having no fire, but his companion, repeating his request in a peremptory manner, he unlocked the door and requested him to close it softly, while he got alight. It's as dark as the grave, said the man, groping forward a few steps, make haste.  That wasn't my doing, so the other man, feeling his way, the wind blew it to, or it shut of its own accord, or one or the other, looked sharp with a light brush, or knocked my brains out again, something in this confounded hole. Fagan stealthily descended the kitchen stairs. After a short absence he returned with a lighted candle, and the intelligence that Toby Crackett was asleep in the back room below, and that the boys were in the front one. Beckoning to the man to follow him, he led the way upstairs. We can say a few words we've got to say here, my dear, said the Jew, throwing open the door on the first floor. And as there were holes in the shutters, and we never showed lights to our neighbours, we shall set the candle on the stairs there. With those words the Jew, stooping down, placed the candle on an upper flight of stairs, exactly opposite to the room door. This done he led the way into the apartment, which was destitute of all moveables, save a broken armchair and an old couch or sofa without covering, which stood behind the door.  It was not quite dark, the door was partially open, and the candle outside threw a feeble reflection on the opposite wall. They conversed for some time in whispers, and nothing of the conversation was distinguishable beyond the few disjointed words here and there. A listener might easily have perceived that Fagan appeared to be defending himself against some remarks of the stranger, and that the latter was in a state of considerable irritation. They might have been talking thus for a quarter of an hour or more, when monks, by which name the Jew had designated the strange man several times in the course of their callilliquy, said, raising his voice a little, I tell you again, it was badly planned. One of them kept him here among the rest and made a sneaking, stumbling pickpocket of him at once. Only hear him, exclaimed the Jew's chugging his shoulders. What, you mean to say you couldn't have done it if you had chosen to demand amongst Stirling? Haven't you done it for the other boys' scores of times? If you had patience for a twelve-month at most, couldn't you have got him convicted and sent safely out of the kingdom, perhaps for life? Whose term would that have served my dear, required the Jew humbly? Moine replied, monks. But not Moine, said the Jew, submissively. He might have become of use to me. When there are two parties to a bargain, it's only reasonable that the interests of both should be consulted, is it, my good friend? What then demanded, monks? My Stirling was not easy to train him to the business, replied the Jew. He was not like the other boys in the same circumstances. Curse him or no, matter the man, or he would have been a thief long ago. I have no hold upon him to make him worse, pursued the Jew, anxiously watching the countenance of his companion. His hand was not in, I had nothing to frighten him with, which we always must have at the beginning, or we labour in vain. What could I do, send him out with a dodger than Charlie? We had enough of that at first, my dear, I trembled full as all. That was not my doing, observed monks. No, no, my dear, renewed the Jew. I don't quarrel with it now. Because if it had never happened, you might never have clapped eyes on the boy to notice him. And so led to the discovery that it was him you were looking for. Well, I got him back for you by means of the girl, and then she begins to favour him. Throttle the girl, said monks impatiently. Well, we can't afford to do that now, my dear, replied the Jew smiling. And besides, that sort of thing is not in our way, or one of these days I might be glad to have it done. I know what these girls are, monks. Well, as soon as the boy begins to harden, she'll care no more for him than for a block of wood. If you want him made a thief, if he is alive, I can make him one, from this time. And if, if, said the Jew, touring nearer to the other, it's not likely mine, but the worse comes to the worse, than he is dead. It's no fault of mine, if he isn't, to post the other man with a look of terror, and clasping the Jew's arm with trembling hands. Mind that, Fagin, I had no hand in it. Anything but his death, I told you from the first. I won't shed blood. It's always found out, and haunts a man besides. If they shot him dead, I was not the cause. Do you hear me? Fire is eternal then. What's that? What, cried the Jew, grasping the coward round the body with both arms as he sprung to his feet. Where? Yonder, replied the man, glaring at the opposite wall. The shadow, I saw the shadow of a woman in a cloak, and a bonnet passed along the waistcoat, like a breath. The Jew released his hold, and they rushed to multi-slee for the room. The candle, wasted by the draught, was standing where it had been placed. It showed them only an empty staircase, and their own white faces. They listened intently, and profound silence reigned throughout the house. It's your fancy, said the Jew, taking up the light and turning to his companion. I swear I saw it, replied Muck's trembling. It was bending forward when I saw it first, and when I spoke it darted away. The Jew glanced contemptuously at the pale face of his associate, and telling him he could follow if he pleased, ascended the stairs. They looked into all the rooms. They were cold, bare, and empty. They descended into the passage, and then sent to the cellars below. The green damp hung upon the low walls, the tracks of the snail and the slug, gristened in the light of the candle. But it was as still as death. What do you think now, said the Jew, when they had regained the passage? Besides ourselves, there's not a creature in the house, except Toby and the boys, and they're safe enough to see here. As proof of the fact, the Jew drew forth two keys from his pocket, and explained that when he first went downstairs, he had locked them in to prevent any intrusion on the conference. The accumulated testimony effectually staggered, Mr. Monk. His protestations had gradually become less and less vehement, as they proceeded in their search without making any discovery. And now he gave vent to several grim laughs, and confessed he could only have been his excited imagination. He declined any renewal of the conversation, however, for that night, suddenly remembering that it was past one o'clock, and so the amiable couple parted. End of Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Of Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 27 Atones for the unpoliteness of a former chapter, which deserted a lady most unceremoniously. As it would be, and by no means seemingly in a humble author to keep so mighty a personage as a beadle waiting with his back to the fire, and the skirts of his coat gathered up under his arms, until such times it might suit his pleasure to relieve him. And as it would still less become his station or his gallantry to involve in the same neglect a lady on whom the beadle had looked with an eye of tenderness and affection, and in whose ear he had whispered sweet words, which, coming from such a quarter, might well throw the bosom of a maid or matron of whatsoever degree. The historian, whose pen traces these words, trusting that he knows his place, that he entertains the becoming reverence for those upon earth, to whom high and important authority is delegated, hastens to pay them that respect which their position demands, and to treat them with all that dutious ceremony which their exalted work, and by consequence great virtues, imperatively claim at his hands. Towards this end indeed he had proposed to introduce in this place the dissertation touching the divine right of beadles, and the elucidative of the position that a beadle can do no wrong, which could not fail to have been both pleasurable and profitable to the right-minded reader, but which he is unfortunately compelled, by want of time and space, to postpone to some more convenient and fitting opportunity, on the arrival of which he will be prepared to show that a beadle, properly constituted, that is to say a parochial beadle, attached to a parochial workhouse, and attending it in his official capacity, the parochial church, is, in right and virtue of his office, possessed of all the excellences and best qualities of humanity, and that to none of these excellences can mere companies beadles, or court of law beadles, or even chapel of these beadles, save the last, and they are in a very lowly and inferior degree, lay the remotest sustainable claim. Mr Bumble had recounted the teaspoons, reweighed the sugar tongs, made a closer inspection of the milk pot, and ascertained to a nicety the exact condition of the furniture, down to the very horse-hair seats of the chairs, and had repeated each process full half a dozen times, before it began to think that it was time for Mrs Corney to return. Thinking begats thinking, and as there were those sounds of Mrs Corney's approach, it occurred to Mr Bumble that it would be an innocent and virtuous way of spending the time, if he further to allay his curiosity, or a curious glance at the interior of Mrs Corney's chest of drawers, having listened at the keyhole to assure himself that nobody was approaching the chamber. Mr Bumble, beginning at the bottom, proceeded to make himself acquainted with the contents of the three long drawers, which being filled with various garments of good fashion and texture, carefully preserved between two layers of old newspapers, speckled with dry lavender, so to yield him some exceeding satisfaction. Arriving in course of time at the right-hand corner drawer, in which was the key, and beholding there in a small padlock box which being shaken gave forth a pleasant sound, as of the chinking of coin, Mr Bumble returned with a stately walk to the fireplace, and resuming his old attitude with a grave and determined air, I'll do it, he followed up this remarkable declaration, by shaking his head in a waggish manner for ten minutes, as though he were remonstrating with himself for being such a pleasant dog, then he took a view of his legs in profile with much seeming pleasure and interest. He was still placidly engaged in this latter survey, but Mrs Corney, hurrying into the room, threw herself in a breathless state on a chair by the fireside, and covering her eyes with one hand placed the other over her heart, and gasped for breath. Mrs Corney, said the Bumble, stooping over the maitre. What is this, ma'am? Has anything happened, ma'am? Brownson me, I am all non-Mr Bumble in his alarm, could not immediately think of a word, tenterhooks, so he said, broken bottles. Oh, Mr Bumble, cried the lady, I've been so dreadfully put out. Put out, ma'am, explained Mr Bumble. Who has dared to, I know, said Mr Bumble, checking himself with native majesty. It's them vicious paupers. It's dreadful to think of, said the lady, shuddering, and don't think of it, ma'am, rejoin, Mr Bumble. I can't help it, whimpered the lady. Then take something, ma'am, said Mr Bumble, soothingly, a little of the wine. Oh, not for the world, replied Mrs Corney, I couldn't. Oh, the top shelf in the right-hand corner. Oh, uttering these words, the good lady pointed distractedly to the cupboard, and underwent a convulsion from internal spasms. Mr Bumble rushed to the closet, snatching up a pint green-glass bottle from the shelf. Thus incoherently indicated, filled a tea-cup with its contents and held it to the lady's lips. Oh, in better hours, said Mrs Corney, falling back after drinking half of it. Mr Bumble raised his eyes piercely to the ceiling in thankfulness, and bringing them down again to the brim of the cup, lifted it to his nose. Peppermint exclaimed Mrs Corney in a faint voice, smiling gently on the beetle as she spoke. Try it, there's a little something else in it. Mr Bumble tasted the medicine with a doubtful look. Smacked his lips, took another taste, and put the cup down empty. It's very comforting, said Mrs Corney. Very much so indeed, ma'am, said the beetle. As he spoke he drew a chair beside the matron, and tenderly inquired what had happened to the stressor. Nothing, replied Mrs Corney. I'm a foolish, excitable, weak creature. Not weak, ma'am, retorted Mr Bumble, drawing his chair a little closer. Are you a weak creature, Mrs Corney? We're all weak creatures, said Mrs Corney, laying down a general principle. So we are, said the beetle. Nothing was said on either side for a minute or two afterwards. By the expiration of that time, Mr Bumble had illustrated the position by removing his left arm from the back of Mrs Corney's chair, where it had previously rested, but to Mrs Corney's apron string, round which it gradually became entwined. We're all weak creatures, said Mr Bumble. Mrs Corney sighed. Throat sighed, Mrs Corney, said Mr Bumble. I can't help it, said Mrs Corney, and she sighed again. This is a very comfortable room, ma'am, said Mr Bumble, looking round to another room, and this man would be a complete thing. It would be too much for one moment, the lady, but not for two, ma'am, rejoined Mr Bumble with a soft accent. Hey, Mrs Corney? Mrs Corney drooped her head when the beetle said this. The beetle drooped his too, to get a view of Mrs Corney's face. Thus Mrs Corney, with great propriety, turned her head away, and released her hand to get her a pocket handkerchief. But insensibly replaced it in that of Mr Bumble. The board allows you coals, don't they, Mrs Corney? In quite the beetle, affectionately pressing her hand. And candles, replied Mrs Corney, slightly returning the pressure. Coals, candles, and a house rent-free, said Mr Bumble. Oh, Mrs Corney, what an angel you are! The lady was not proof against this burst of feeling. She sank into Mr Bumble's arms, and that gentleman in his agitation imprinted a passionate kiss upon her chaste nose. Such parochial perfection, explained Mr Bumble rapturously. You know that Mr Slout is worse tonight, my fascinator? Yes, replied Mrs Corney bashfully. He can't never weep, the doctor says, pursued Mr Bumble. He's the master of this establishment.  Oh, Mrs Corney, what a prospect this opens! What an opportunity for a joining of hearts and housekeeping. Mrs Corney sobbed. The little word, said Mr Bumble, bending over the bashful beauty. The one little word. The one little word, my blessed Corney. Yes, replied the matron. One more pursued the beetle. Compose your darling feelings for only one more. When is it to come off? Mrs Corney, twice assayed to speak, and twice failed. At length summoning up courage, she threw her arms where Mr Bumble's neck, and said, it might be as soon as he ever pleased, and that he was an irresistible duck. Matters being thus amicably and satisfactorily arranged, the contract was solemnly ratified in another tea cup full of the peppermint mixture, which was rendered the more necessary by the flutter and agitation of the lady's spirits. While it was being disposed of, she acquainted Mr Bumble with the old woman's disease. Very good, said that gentleman sipping his peppermint. I called her so of reasons I go home and tell him to send tomorrow morning. Was it that that frightened you, love? It wasn't anything in particular, dear, said the lady evasively. Must have been something, love, urge Mr Bumble. Well, to tell your own be? Not now, rejoined the lady, one of these days, after we're married, dear. After we're married, exclaimed Mr Bumble. It wasn't any impudence when any of the male porpoises know no love and to post the lady hastily. If I thought it was, continued Mr Bumble, if I thought as any one of them had dared to lift his vulgar eyes to that lovely countenance, they wouldn't have dared to do it, love, responded the lady. They'd better not, said Mr Bumble, clenching his fist. Let me see any man parochial or extaporochial, as would presume to do it, or I could tell him that he wouldn't do it a second time. Unembellished by any violence or gesticulation, this might have seemed no very high compliment to the lady's charms. But as Mr Bumble accompanied the threat with many warlike gestures, she was much touched with this proof of his devotion, and protested with great admiration that he was indeed a dove. The dove then turned up his coat collar and put on his cocked hat, having exchanged a long and affectionate embrace with his future partner, once again brave the cold wind of the night, merely pausing for a few minutes in the male pauper's ward to abuse them a little, with the view of satisfying himself that he could fill the office of workhouse master with needful as severity. For sure did his qualifications Mr Bumble left the building with a light heart, and bright visions of his future promotion, which served to occupy his mind until he reached the shock of the undertaker. Now, Mr and Mrs Sovery having gone out to tea and supper, and Noah Claypole not being at any time disposed to take upon himself a greater amount of physical exertion than is necessary to a convenient performance of the two functions of eating and drinking, his shop was not closed, although it was past the usual hour of shutting up. Mr Bumble tapped with his cane on the counter several times, but attracting no attention and beholding a light shining through the glass window of the little parlour at the back of the shop, he made bold to peep in and see what was going forward, and when he saw what was going forward he was not a little surprised. The cloth was laid for supper, the table was covered with bread and butter, plates, glasses, a porter pot and a wine bottle. At the upper end of the table Mr Noah Claypole lulled negligently in an easy chair, with his legs thrown over one of the arms and an open class wife in one hand, and a massive buttered bread in the other. Close beside him stood Charlotte opening oysters for a barrel, which Mr Claypole condescending to swallow with remarkable avidity. A more than ordinary redness in the meager of the young gentleman's nose and a kind of fixed wink in his right eye, denoted that he was in a slight degree intoxicated. These symptoms were confirmed by the intense relish with which he took his oysters, for which nothing but a strong appreciation of their cooling properties in cases of internal fever could have sufficiently accounted.  What a delicious thing is an oyster, Mr Claypole, after you've swallowed it.  It's quite a cruelty said Charlotte. So it is aqueous Mr Claypole, are you fond of oysters? Not over much replied Charlotte, I'd like to see you eat them Noah dear better than eating them myself. Lord, said Noah, how queer. Have another, said Charlotte. Here's one with such a beautiful delicate beard. Can't manage any more, said Noah. Very sorry, come here Charlotte, I'll kiss you. What? said Mr Bumble bursting into the room. Say that again sir.  Mr Claypole without making any further change in his position and suffering his legs to reach the ground. Gazed at the beetle in drunken terror. Say it again you vile, agatious fellow, said Mr Bumble.   Kiss her, exclaimed Mr Bumble with strong indignation. I didn't mean to do it, said Noah, blubbering. She's always a kissing of me whether I like it or not. Oh Noah cried Charlotte approaching me. You know you are retorted Noah. She's always a doing of it Mr Bumble sir. She shucks me under the chin please sir and makes all manner of love. Silence cried Mr Bumble sternly. Take yourself downstairs man.  And when he does come home. Tell him that Mr Bumble said he was to send an old woman's shell after breakfast tomorrow morning. Do you hear sir? Kissing cried Mr Bumble holding up his hands. The sin and wickedness of the lower orders of this parochial district is frightful. If Parliament don't take their abominable courses after consideration this country's ruined. And the character of the peasantry gone forever. But these words the Beatles strove with a lofty and gloomy air from the undertaker's premises. And now that we have accompanied him so far on his road home and have made all the necessary preparations for the old woman's funeral. Let us set on foot a few inquiries after young Oliver Twist. And that's the time whether he will still be lying in the ditch where Toby Crackett left him. End of chapter 27