Oliver Twist
WHICH CONTAINS THE SUBSTANCE OF A PLEASANT CONVERSATION BETWEEN MR. BUMBLE AND A LADY; AND SHOWS THAT EVEN A BEADLE MAY BE SUSCEPTIBLE ON SOME POINTS
The night was cold. The on the ground, into a hard thick crust, so that only the that had into and were by the wind that abroad: which, as if on such as it found, it up in clouds, and, it into a thousand eddies, it in air. Bleak, dark, and cold, it was a night for the well-housed and to the fire and thank God they were at home; and for the homeless, to him and die. Many hunger-worn close their in our streets, at such times, who, let their have been what they may, can open them in a more world.
Such was the of out-of-doors affairs, when Mrs. Corney, the of the to which our readers have been already as the of Oliver Twist, sat herself a fire in her own little room, and glanced, with no small of complacency, at a small table: on which a of size, with all necessary materials for the most that enjoy. In fact, Mrs. Corney was about to herself with a cup of tea. As she from the table to the fireplace, where the smallest of all possible was a small song in a small voice, her increased,—so much so, indeed, that Mrs. Corney smiled.
“Well!” said the matron, her on the table, and looking at the fire; “I’m sure we have all on us a great to be for! A great deal, if we did but know it. Ah!”
Mrs. Corney her mournfully, as if the of those who did not know it; and a spoon (private property) into the of a two-ounce tea-caddy, to make the tea.
How a thing will the of our minds! The black teapot, being very small and easily filled, ran over while Mrs. Corney was moralising; and the water Mrs. Corney’s hand.
“Drat the pot!” said the matron, setting it very on the hob; “a little thing, that only a of cups! What use is it of, to anybody! Except,” said Mrs. Corney, pausing, “except to a like me. Oh dear!”
With these words, the into her chair, and, once more her on the table, of her fate. The small teapot, and the single cup, had in her mind sad of Mr. Corney (who had not been more than five-and-twenty years); and she was overpowered.
“I shall another!” said Mrs. Corney, pettishly; “I shall another—like him.”
Whether this to the husband, or the teapot, is uncertain. It might have been the latter; for Mrs. Corney looked at it as she spoke; and took it up afterwards. She had just her cup, when she was by a soft at the room-door.
“Oh, come in with you!” said Mrs. Corney, sharply. “Some of the old dying, I suppose. They always die when I’m at meals. Don’t there, the cold air in, don’t. What’s now, eh?”
“Nothing, ma’am, nothing,” a man’s voice.
“Dear me!” the matron, in a much tone, “is that Mr. Bumble?”
“At your service, ma’am,” said Mr. Bumble, who had been stopping to his shoes clean, and to shake the off his coat; and who now his appearance, the in one hand and a in the other. “Shall I the door, ma’am?”
The lady to reply, there should be any in an with Mr. Bumble, with closed doors. Mr. Bumble taking of the hesitation, and being very cold himself, it without permission.
“Hard weather, Mr. Bumble,” said the matron.
“Hard, indeed, ma’am,” the beadle. “Anti-porochial weather this, ma’am. We have away, Mrs. Corney, we have away a of twenty and a and a half, this very afternoon; and yet them are not contented.”
“Of not. When would they be, Mr. Bumble?” said the matron, her tea.
“When, indeed, ma’am!” Mr. Bumble. “Why here’s one man that, in of his wife and large family, has a and a good of cheese, full weight. Is he grateful, ma’am? Is he grateful? Not a copper farthing’s of it! What he do, ma’am, but ask for a coals; if it’s only a pocket full, he says! Coals! What would he do with coals? Toast his with ’em and then come for more. That’s the way with these people, ma’am; give ’em a full of to-day, and they’ll come for another, the day after to-morrow, as as alabaster.”
The her entire in this simile; and the on.
“I never,” said Mr. Bumble, “see anything like the it’s got to. The day yesterday, a man—you have been a married woman, ma’am, and I may mention it to you—a man, with a upon his (here Mrs. Corney looked at the floor), goes to our overseer’s door when he has got company to dinner; and says, he must be relieved, Mrs. Corney. As he wouldn’t go away, and the company very much, our sent him out a of potatoes and a of oatmeal. ‘My heart!’ says the 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, taking ’em away again, ‘you won’t anything else here.’ ‘Then I’ll die in the streets!’ says the vagrant. ‘Oh no, you won’t,’ says our overseer.”
“Ha! ha! That was very good! So like Mr. Grannett, wasn’t it?” the matron. “Well, Mr. Bumble?”
“Well, ma’am,” the beadle, “he away; and he did die in the streets. There’s a for you!”
“It anything I have believed,” the emphatically. “But don’t you think out-of-door a very thing, any way, Mr. Bumble? You’re a of experience, and ought to know. Come.”
“Mrs. Corney,” said the beadle, as men who are of information, “out-of-door relief, properly managed: properly managed, ma’am: is the safeguard. The great of out-of-door is, to give the what they don’t want; and then they of coming.”
“Dear me!” Mrs. Corney. “Well, that is a good one, too!”
“Yes. Betwixt you and me, ma’am,” returned Mr. Bumble, “that’s the great principle; and that’s the why, if you look at any cases that into them newspapers, you’ll always that families have been with slices of cheese. That’s the now, Mrs. Corney, all over the country. But, however,” said the beadle, stopping to his bundle, “these are official secrets, ma’am; not to be spoken of; except, as I may say, among the officers, such as ourselves. This is the port wine, ma’am, that the ordered for the infirmary; real, fresh, port wine; only out of the this forenoon; clear as a bell, and no sediment!”
Having the bottle up to the light, and it well to test its excellence, Mr. Bumble them on top of a of drawers; the in which they had been wrapped; put it in his pocket; and took up his hat, as if to go.
“You’ll have a very cold walk, Mr. Bumble,” said the matron.
“It blows, ma’am,” Mr. Bumble, up his coat-collar, “enough to cut one’s ears off.”
The looked, from the little kettle, to the beadle, who was moving the door; and as the coughed, to her good-night, whether—whether he wouldn’t take a cup of tea?
Mr. Bumble his again; his and upon a chair; and another chair up to the table. As he slowly seated himself, he looked at the lady. She her upon the little teapot. Mr. Bumble again, and smiled.
Mrs. Corney rose to another cup and from the closet. As she sat down, her once again those of the beadle; she coloured, and herself to the of making his tea. Again Mr. Bumble coughed—louder this time than he had yet.
“Sweet? Mr. Bumble?” the matron, taking up the sugar-basin.
“Very sweet, indeed, ma’am,” Mr. Bumble. He his on Mrs. Corney as he said this; and if a looked tender, Mr. Bumble was that at that moment.
The tea was made, and in silence. Mr. Bumble, having spread a over his to prevent the from the of his shorts, to eat and drink; these amusements, occasionally, by a sigh; which, however, had no upon his appetite, but, on the contrary, to his operations in the tea and toast department.
“You have a cat, ma’am, I see,” said Mr. Bumble, at one who, in the centre of her family, was the fire; “and too, I declare!”
“I am so of them, Mr. Bumble, you can’t think,” the matron. “They’re so happy, so frolicsome, and so cheerful, that they are for me.”
“Very animals, ma’am,” Mr. Bumble, approvingly; “so very domestic.”
“Oh, yes!” the with enthusiasm; “so of their home too, that it’s a pleasure, I’m sure.”
“Mrs. Corney, ma’am,” said Mr. Bumble, slowly, and marking the time with his teaspoon, “I to say this, ma’am; that any cat, or kitten, that live with you, ma’am, and not be of its home, must be a ass, ma’am.”
“Oh, Mr. Bumble!” Mrs. Corney.
“It’s of no use facts, ma’am,” said Mr. Bumble, slowly the with a of which him impressive; “I would it myself, with pleasure.”
“Then you’re a man,” said the vivaciously, as she out her hand for the beadle’s cup; “and a very hard-hearted man besides.”
“Hard-hearted, ma’am?” said Mr. Bumble. “Hard?” Mr. Bumble his cup without another word; Mrs. Corney’s little as she took it; and two open-handed upon his waistcoat, gave a sigh, and his chair a very little from the fire.
It was a table; and as Mrs. Corney and Mr. Bumble had been opposite each other, with no great space them, and the fire, it will be that Mr. Bumble, in from the fire, and still at the table, the himself and Mrs. Corney; which proceeding, some readers will be to admire, and to an act of great on Mr. Bumble’s part: he being in some by time, place, and opportunity, to give to soft nothings, which well they may the of the light and thoughtless, do the of of the land, members of parliament, ministers of state, lord mayors, and other great public functionaries, but more particularly the and of a beadle: who (as is well known) should be the and most among them all.
Whatever were Mr. Bumble’s intentions, (and no they were of the best): it happened, as has been twice remarked, that the table was a one; Mr. Bumble, moving his chair by little and little, soon to the himself and the matron; and, to travel the of the circle, his chair, in time, close to that in which the was seated.
Indeed, the two chairs touched; and when they did so, Mr. Bumble stopped.
Now, if the had moved her chair to the right, she would have been by the fire; and if to the left, she must have into Mr. Bumble’s arms; so (being a matron, and no these at a glance) she where she was, and Mr. Bumble another cup of tea.
“Hard-hearted, Mrs. Corney?” said Mr. Bumble, his tea, and looking up into the matron’s face; “are you hard-hearted, Mrs. Corney?”
“Dear me!” the matron, “what a very question from a single man. What can you want to know for, Mr. Bumble?”
The his tea to the last drop; a piece of toast; the off his knees; his lips; and the matron.
“Mr. Bumble!” that lady in a whisper; for the was so great, that she had her voice, “Mr. Bumble, I shall scream!” Mr. Bumble no reply; but in a slow and manner, put his arm the matron’s waist.
As the lady had her of screaming, of she would have at this additional boldness, but that the was by a at the door: which was no sooner heard, than Mr. Bumble darted, with much agility, to the bottles, and them with great violence: while the who was there.
It is of remark, as a physical of the of a in the of fear, that her voice had all its official asperity.
“If you please, mistress,” said a old female pauper, ugly: her in at the door, “Old Sally is a-going fast.”
“Well, what’s that to me?” the matron. “I can’t keep her alive, can I?”
“No, no, mistress,” the old woman, “nobody can; she’s the of help. I’ve a many people die; little and great men; and I know when death’s a-coming, well enough. But she’s in her mind: and when the are not on her,—and that’s not often, for she is very hard,—she says she has got something to tell, which you must hear. She’ll die till you come, mistress.”
At this intelligence, the Mrs. Corney a of against old who couldn’t die without their betters; and, herself in a thick which she up, Mr. Bumble to till she came back, anything particular should occur. Bidding the messenger walk fast, and not be all night up the stairs, she her from the room with a very grace, all the way.
Mr. Bumble’s on being left to himself, was inexplicable. He opened the closet, the teaspoons, the sugar-tongs, closely a milk-pot to that it was of the metal, and, having satisfied his on these points, put on his corner-wise, and with much four times the table.
Having gone through this very performance, he took off the again, and, himself the fire with his it, to be in taking an exact of the furniture.
