Oliver Twist
SOME NEW ACQUAINTANCES ARE INTRODUCED TO THE INTELLIGENT READER, CONNECTED WITH WHOM VARIOUS PLEASANT MATTERS ARE RELATED, APPERTAINING TO THIS HISTORY
“Where’s Oliver?” said the Jew, with a look. “Where’s the boy?”
The their as if they were at his violence; and looked at each other. But they no reply.
“What’s of the boy?” said the Jew, the Dodger by the collar, and him with imprecations. “Speak out, or I’ll you!”
Mr. Fagin looked so very much in earnest, that Charley Bates, who it in all cases to be on the safe side, and who it by no means that it might be his turn to be second, upon his knees, and a loud, well-sustained, and roar—something a and a speaking trumpet.
“Will you speak?” the Jew: the Dodger so much that his in the big at all, perfectly miraculous.
“Why, the have got him, and that’s all about it,” said the Dodger, sullenly. “Come, let go o’ me, will you!” And, himself, at one jerk, clean out of the big coat, which he left in the Jew’s hands, the Dodger up the fork, and a pass at the old gentleman’s waistcoat; which, if it had taken effect, would have let a little more out than have been easily replaced.
The Jew in this emergency, with more than have been in a man of his decrepitude; and, up the pot, prepared to it at his assailant’s head. But Charley Bates, at this moment, calling his attention by a perfectly howl, he its destination, and it full at that gentleman.
“Why, what the is in the wind now!” a voice. “Who that ’ere at me? It’s well it’s the beer, and not the pot, as me, or I’d have settled somebody. I might have know’d, as nobody but an infernal, rich, plundering, old Jew to away any drink but water—and not that, unless he done the River Company every quarter. Wot’s it all about, Fagin? D—me, if my neck-handkercher an’t with beer! Come in, you warmint; are you stopping for, as if you was of your master! Come in!”
The man who out these words, was a stoutly-built of about five-and-thirty, in a black coat, very breeches, lace-up boots, and which a pair of legs, with large calves;—the of legs, which in such costume, always look in an and without a set of to them. He had a on his head, and a dirty his neck: with the long ends of which he the from his as he spoke. He disclosed, when he had done so, a with a of three days’ growth, and two eyes; one of which parti-coloured of having been by a blow.
“Come in, d’ye hear?” this ruffian.
A white dog, with his and in twenty different places, into the room.
“Why didn’t you come in afore?” said the man. “You’re too proud to own me company, are you? Lie down!”
This was with a kick, which sent the animal to the other end of the room. He appeared well used to it, however; for he himself up in a very quietly, without a sound, and his very ill-looking twenty times in a minute, appeared to himself in taking a survey of the apartment.
“What are you up to? Ill-treating the boys, you covetous, avaricious, in-sa-ti-a-ble old fence?” said the man, seating himself deliberately. “I wonder they don’t you! I would if I was them. If I’d been your ’prentice, I’d have done it long ago, and—no, I couldn’t have you afterwards, for you’re fit for nothing but as a of in a bottle, and I they don’t bottles large enough.”
“Hush! hush! Mr. Sikes,” said the Jew, trembling; “don’t speak so loud!”
“None of your mistering,” the ruffian; “you always when you come that. You know my name: out with it! I shan’t it when the time comes.”
“Well, well, then—Bill Sikes,” said the Jew, with humility. “You out of humour, Bill.”
“Perhaps I am,” Sikes; “I should think you was out of too, unless you as little when you about, as you do when you and—”
“Are you mad?” said the Jew, the man by the sleeve, and pointing the boys.
Mr. Sikes himself with an under his left ear, and his over on the right shoulder; a piece of which the Jew appeared to perfectly. He then, in cant terms, with which his whole was besprinkled, but which would be if they were recorded here, a of liquor.
“And mind you don’t it,” said Mr. Sikes, his upon the table.
This was said in jest; but if the have the with which the Jew his lip as he to the cupboard, he might have the not unnecessary, or the wish (at all events) to upon the distiller’s not very from the old gentleman’s heart.
After two of three of spirits, Mr. Sikes to take some notice of the gentlemen; which act to a conversation, in which the and manner of Oliver’s were detailed, with such and on the truth, as to the Dodger appeared most under the circumstances.
“I’m afraid,” said the Jew, “that he may say something which will us into trouble.”
“That’s very likely,” returned Sikes with a grin. “You’re upon, Fagin.”
“And I’m afraid, you see,” added the Jew, speaking as if he had not noticed the interruption; and the other closely as he did so,—“I’m that, if the game was up with us, it might be up with a good many more, and that it would come out for you than it would for me, my dear.”
The man started, and upon the Jew. But the old gentleman’s were up to his ears; and his were on the opposite wall.
There was a long pause. Every of the appeared in his own reflections; not the dog, who by a of his to be an attack upon the of the or lady he might in the when he out.
“Somebody must out wot’s been done at the office,” said Mr. Sikes in a much than he had taken since he came in.
The Jew assent.
“If he hasn’t peached, and is committed, there’s no till he comes out again,” said Mr. Sikes, “and then he must be taken on. You must of him somehow.”
Again the Jew nodded.
The of this line of action, indeed, was obvious; but, unfortunately, there was one very to its being adopted. This was, that the Dodger, and Charley Bates, and Fagin, and Mr. William Sikes, happened, one and all, to a and deeply-rooted to going near a police-office on any ground or whatever.
How long they might have sat and looked at each other, in a of not the most of its kind, it is difficult to guess. It is not necessary to make any on the subject, however; for the entrance of the two ladies Oliver had on a occasion, the to afresh.
“The very thing!” said the Jew. “Bet will go; won’t you, my dear?”
“Wheres?” the lady.
“Only just up to the office, my dear,” said the Jew coaxingly.
It is to the lady to say that she did not positively that she would not, but that she an and to be “blessed” if she would; a and of the request, which the lady to have been of that natural good which cannot to upon a fellow-creature, the pain of a direct and pointed refusal.
The Jew’s fell. He from this lady, who was gaily, not to say attired, in a red gown, green boots, and yellow curl-papers, to the other female.
“Nancy, my dear,” said the Jew in a manner, “what do you say?”
“That it won’t do; so it’s no use a-trying it on, Fagin,” Nancy.
“What do you by that?” said Mr. Sikes, looking up in a manner.
“What I say, Bill,” the lady collectedly.
“Why, you’re just the very person for it,” Mr. Sikes: “nobody about here anything of you.”
“And as I don’t want ’em to, neither,” Nancy in the same manner, “it’s more no than yes with me, Bill.”
“She’ll go, Fagin,” said Sikes.
“No, she won’t, Fagin,” said Nancy.
“Yes, she will, Fagin,” said Sikes.
And Mr. Sikes was right. By of threats, promises, and bribes, the lady in question was upon to the commission. She was not, indeed, by the same as her friend; for, having into the neighborhood of Field Lane from the but of Ratcliffe, she was not under the same of being by any of her acquaintances.
Accordingly, with a clean white over her gown, and her curl-papers up under a bonnet,—both articles of dress being provided from the Jew’s stock,—Miss Nancy prepared to issue on her errand.
“Stop a minute, my dear,” said the Jew, producing, a little basket. “Carry that in one hand. It looks more respectable, my dear.”
“Give her a door-key to in her t’other one, Fagin,” said Sikes; “it looks and like.”
“Yes, yes, my dear, so it does,” said the Jew, a large street-door key on the of the lady’s right hand.
“There; very good! Very good indeed, my dear!” said the Jew, his hands.
“Oh, my brother! My poor, dear, sweet, little brother!” Nancy, into tears, and the little and the street-door key in an of distress. “What has of him! Where have they taken him to! Oh, do have pity, and tell me what’s been done with the dear boy, gentlemen; do, gentlemen, if you please, gentlemen!”
Having those in a most and heart-broken tone: to the of her hearers: Miss Nancy paused, to the company, round, and disappeared.
“Ah, she’s a girl, my dears,” said the Jew, to his friends, and his gravely, as if in mute to them to the example they had just beheld.
“She’s a to her sex,” said Mr. Sikes, his glass, and the table with his fist. “Here’s her health, and they was all like her!”
While these, and many other encomiums, were being passed on the Nancy, that lady the best of her way to the police-office; whither, a little natural upon walking through the alone and unprotected, she in perfect safety afterwards.
Entering by the way, she with the key at one of the cell-doors, and listened. There was no within: so she and again. Still there was no reply: so she spoke.
“Nolly, dear?” Nancy in a voice; “Nolly?”
There was nobody but a criminal, who had been taken up for playing the flute, and who, the against having been proved, had been very properly by Mr. Fang to the House of Correction for one month; with the and that since he had so much to spare, it would be more on the than in a instrument. He no answer: being the of the flute, which had been for the use of the county: so Nancy passed on to the next cell, and there.
“Well!” a and voice.
“Is there a little boy here?” Nancy, with a sob.
“No,” the voice; “God forbid.”
This was a of sixty-five, who was going to prison for not playing the flute; or, in other words, for in the streets, and doing nothing for his livelihood. In the next was another man, who was going to the same prison for without license; doing something for his living, in of the Stamp-office.
But, as neither of these answered to the name of Oliver, or anything about him, Nancy up to the officer in the waistcoat; and with the most and lamentations, more by a and use of the street-door key and the little basket, her own dear brother.
“I haven’t got him, my dear,” said the old man.
“Where is he?” Nancy, in a manner.
“Why, the gentleman’s got him,” the officer.
“What gentleman! Oh, heavens! What gentleman?” Nancy.
In reply to this questioning, the old man the sister that Oliver had been taken in the office, and in of a having proved the to have been by another boy, not in custody; and that the had him away, in an condition, to his own residence: of and which, all the was, that it was in Pentonville, he having that word mentioned in the to the coachman.
In a of and uncertainty, the woman to the gate, and then, her walk for a run, returned by the most and she think of, to the of the Jew.
Mr. Bill Sikes no sooner the account of the delivered, than he very called up the white dog, and, on his hat, departed: without any time to the of the company good-morning.
“We must know where he is, my dears; he must be found,” said the Jew excited. “Charley, do nothing but about, till you home some news of him! Nancy, my dear, I must have him found. I trust to you, my dear,—to you and the Artful for everything! Stay, stay,” added the Jew, a with a hand; “there’s money, my dears. I shall up this shop to-night. You’ll know where to me! Don’t stop here a minute. Not an instant, my dears!”
With these words, he pushed them from the room: and double-locking and the door them, from its place of the box which he had to Oliver. Then, he to the and his clothing.
A at the door him in this occupation. “Who’s there?” he in a tone.
“Me!” the voice of the Dodger, through the key-hole.
“What now?” the Jew impatiently.
“Is he to be to the other ken, Nancy says?” the Dodger.
“Yes,” the Jew, “wherever she hands on him. Find him, him out, that’s all. I shall know what to do next; fear.”
The boy a reply of intelligence: and after his companions.
“He has not so far,” said the Jew as he his occupation. “If he means to us among his new friends, we may stop his mouth yet.”
