Oliver Twist
OLIVER, BEING OFFERED ANOTHER PLACE, MAKES HIS FIRST ENTRY INTO PUBLIC LIFE
In great families, when an place cannot be obtained, either in possession, reversion, remainder, or expectancy, for the man who is up, it is a very to send him to sea. The board, in of so wise and an example, took together on the of off Oliver Twist, in some small to a good port. This itself as the very best thing that possibly be done with him: the being, that the would him to death, in a mood, some day after dinner, or would his out with an iron bar; being, as is known, very and common among of that class. The more the case presented itself to the board, in this point of view, the more the of the step appeared; so, they came to the that the only way of providing for Oliver effectually, was to send him to sea without delay.
Mr. Bumble had been to make inquiries, with the view of out some captain or other who wanted a cabin-boy without any friends; and was returning to the to the result of his mission; when he at the gate, no less a person than Mr. Sowerberry, the undertaker.
Mr. Sowerberry was a tall gaunt, large-jointed man, in a of black, with of the same colour, and shoes to answer. His were not naturally to wear a aspect, but he was in to professional jocosity. His step was elastic, and his pleasantry, as he to Mr. Bumble, and him by the hand.
“I have taken the measure of the two that died last night, Mr. Bumble,” said the undertaker.
“You’ll make your fortune, Mr. Sowerberry,” said the beadle, as he his thumb and into the snuff-box of the undertaker: which was an little model of a coffin. “I say you’ll make your fortune, Mr. Sowerberry,” Mr. Bumble, the on the shoulder, in a manner, with his cane.
“Think so?” said the in a which and the of the event. “The prices allowed by the are very small, Mr. Bumble.”
“So are the coffins,” the beadle: with as near an approach to a laugh as a great official ought to in.
Mr. Sowerberry was much at this: as of he ought to be; and laughed a long time without cessation. “Well, well, Mr. Bumble,” he said at length, “there’s no that, since the new of has come in, the are something and more than they used to be; but we must have some profit, Mr. Bumble. Well-seasoned is an article, sir; and all the iron come, by canal, from Birmingham.”
“Well, well,” said Mr. Bumble, “every has its drawbacks. A profit is, of course, allowable.”
“Of course, of course,” the undertaker; “and if I don’t a profit upon this or that particular article, why, I make it up in the long-run, you see—he! he! he!”
“Just so,” said Mr. Bumble.
“Though I must say,” the undertaker, the of which the had interrupted: “though I must say, Mr. Bumble, that I have to against one very great disadvantage: which is, that all the people go off the quickest. The people who have been off, and have paid for many years, are the to when they come into the house; and let me tell you, Mr. Bumble, that three or four over one’s makes a great in one’s profits: when one has a family to provide for, sir.”
As Mr. Sowerberry said this, with the of an ill-used man; and as Mr. Bumble that it to a on the of the parish; the it to the subject. Oliver Twist being in his mind, he him his theme.
“By the bye,” said Mr. Bumble, “you don’t know who wants a boy, do you? A ’prentis, who is at present a dead-weight; a millstone, as I may say, the throat? Liberal terms, Mr. Sowerberry, terms?” As Mr. Bumble spoke, he his to the bill above him, and gave three upon the “five pounds”: which were printed in Roman of size.
“Gadso!” said the undertaker: taking Mr. Bumble by the gilt-edged of his official coat; “that’s just the very thing I wanted to speak to you about. You know—dear me, what a very this is, Mr. Bumble! I noticed it before.”
“Yes, I think it pretty,” said the beadle, proudly at the large which his coat. “The die is the same as the seal—the Good Samaritan the and man. The presented it to me on Newyear’s morning, Mr. Sowerberry. I put it on, I remember, for the time, to the on that tradesman, who died in a at midnight.”
“I recollect,” said the undertaker. “The it in, ‘Died from to the cold, and want of the common of life,’ didn’t they?”
Mr. Bumble nodded.
“And they it a special verdict, I think,” said the undertaker, “by adding some to the effect, that if the officer had—”
“Tush! Foolery!” the beadle. “If the to all the nonsense that talk, they’d have to do.”
“Very true,” said the undertaker; “they would indeed.”
“Juries,” said Mr. Bumble, his tightly, as was his when into a passion: “juries is ineddicated, vulgar, wretches.”
“So they are,” said the undertaker.
“They haven’t no more political economy about ’em than that,” said the beadle, his contemptuously.
“No more they have,” the undertaker.
“I ’em,” said the beadle, very red in the face.
“So do I,” the undertaker.
“And I only wish we’d a of the sort, in the house for a week or two,” said the beadle; “the and of the would soon their for ’em.”
“Let ’em alone for that,” the undertaker. So saying, he smiled, approvingly: to the of the officer.
Mr Bumble off his hat; took a from the of the crown; from his the which his had engendered; the on again; and, to the undertaker, said in a voice:
“Well; what about the boy?”
“Oh!” the undertaker; “why, you know, Mr. Bumble, I pay a good the poor’s rates.”
“Hem!” said Mr. Bumble. “Well?”
“Well,” the undertaker, “I was that if I pay so much ’em, I’ve a right to as much out of ’em as I can, Mr. Bumble; and so—I think I’ll take the boy myself.”
Mr. Bumble the by the arm, and him into the building. Mr. Sowerberry was with the for five minutes; and it was that Oliver should go to him that “upon liking”—a phrase which means, in the case of a apprentice, that if the master find, upon a trial, that he can work out of a boy without too much food into him, he shall have him for a term of years, to do what he with.
When little Oliver was taken “the gentlemen” that evening; and that he was to go, that night, as house-lad to a coffin-maker’s; and that if he of his situation, or came to the again, he would be sent to sea, there to be drowned, or on the head, as the case might be, he so little emotion, that they by common him a rascal, and ordered Mr. Bumble to remove him forthwith.
Now, although it was very natural that the board, of all people in the world, should in a great of and at the smallest of want of on the part of anybody, they were out, in this particular instance. The was, that Oliver, of too little feeling, too much; and was in a way of being reduced, for life, to a of and by the he had received. He the news of his destination, in perfect silence; and, having had his put into his hand—which was not very difficult to carry, as it was all the limits of a paper parcel, about a square by three deep—he his cap over his eyes; and once more attaching himself to Mr. Bumble’s cuff, was away by that to a new of suffering.
For some time, Mr. Bumble Oliver along, without notice or remark; for the his very erect, as a always should: and, it being a day, little Oliver was by the skirts of Mr. Bumble’s as they open, and to great his and knee-breeches. As they near to their destination, however, Mr. Bumble it to look down, and see that the boy was in good order for by his new master: which he did, with a fit and air of patronage.
“Oliver!” said Mr. Bumble.
“Yes, sir,” Oliver, in a low, voice.
“Pull that cap off your eyes, and up your head, sir.”
Although Oliver did as he was desired, at once; and passed the of his hand across his eyes, he left a tear in them when he looked up at his conductor. As Mr. Bumble upon him, it rolled his cheek. It was by another, and another. The child a effort, but it was an one. Withdrawing his other hand from Mr. Bumble’s he his with both; and until the out from his and fingers.
“Well!” Mr. Bumble, stopping short, and at his little a look of malignity. “Well! Of all the ungratefullest, and worst-disposed boys as I see, Oliver, you are the—”
“No, no, sir,” Oliver, to the hand which the well-known cane; “no, no, sir; I will be good indeed; indeed, I will, sir! I am a very little boy, sir; and it is so—so—”
“So what?” Mr. Bumble in amazement.
“So lonely, sir! So very lonely!” the child. “Everybody me. Oh! sir, don’t, don’t pray be to me!” The child his hand upon his heart; and looked in his companion’s face, with of agony.
Mr. Bumble Oliver’s and look, with some astonishment, for a seconds; three or four times in a manner; and after something about “that cough,” Oliver his and be a good boy. Then once more taking his hand, he walked on with him in silence.
The undertaker, who had just put up the of his shop, was making some in his day-book by the light of a most candle, when Mr. Bumble entered.
“Aha!” said the undertaker; looking up from the book, and in the middle of a word; “is that you, Bumble?”
“No one else, Mr. Sowerberry,” the beadle. “Here! I’ve the boy.” Oliver a bow.
“Oh! that’s the boy, is it?” said the undertaker: the above his head, to a view of Oliver. “Mrs. Sowerberry, will you have the to come here a moment, my dear?”
Mrs. Sowerberry from a little room the shop, and presented the of a short, thin, squeezed-up woman, with a countenance.
“My dear,” said Mr. Sowerberry, deferentially, “this is the boy from the that I told you of.” Oliver again.
“Dear me!” said the undertaker’s wife, “he’s very small.”
“Why, he is small,” Mr. Bumble: looking at Oliver as if it were his fault that he was no bigger; “he is small. There’s no it. But he’ll grow, Mrs. Sowerberry—he’ll grow.”
“Ah! I say he will,” the lady pettishly, “on our and our drink. I see no saving in children, not I; for they always cost more to keep, than they’re worth. However, men always think they know best. There! Get downstairs, little o’ bones.” With this, the undertaker’s wife opened a door, and pushed Oliver a of stairs into a cell, and dark: the ante-room to the coal-cellar, and “kitchen”; sat a girl, in shoes at heel, and very much out of repair.
“Here, Charlotte,” said Mr. Sowerberry, who had Oliver down, “give this boy some of the cold that were put by for Trip. He hasn’t come home since the morning, so he may go without ’em. I say the boy isn’t too to eat ’em—are you, boy?”
Oliver, had at the mention of meat, and who was with to it, in the negative; and a of was set him.
I wish some well-fed philosopher, meat and drink turn to him; blood is ice, is iron; have Oliver Twist at the that the dog had neglected. I wish he have the with which Oliver the with all the of famine. There is only one thing I should like better; and that would be to see the Philosopher making the same of himself, with the same relish.
“Well,” said the undertaker’s wife, when Oliver had his supper: which she had in horror, and with of his appetite: “have you done?”
There being nothing his reach, Oliver in the affirmative.
“Then come with me,” said Mrs. Sowerberry: taking up a and dirty lamp, and leading the way upstairs; “your bed’s under the counter. You don’t mind sleeping among the coffins, I suppose? But it doesn’t much you do or don’t, for you can’t sleep else. Come; don’t keep me here all night!”
Oliver no longer, but his new mistress.
