Oliver Twist
INTRODUCES SOME RESPECTABLE CHARACTERS WITH WHOM THE READER IS ALREADY ACQUAINTED, AND SHOWS HOW MONKS AND THE JEW LAID THEIR WORTHY HEADS TOGETHER
On the that upon which the three mentioned in the last chapter, of their little of as narrated, Mr. William Sikes, from a nap, an what time of night it was.
The room in which Mr. Sikes this question, was not one of those he had tenanted, previous to the Chertsey expedition, although it was in the same of the town, and was at no great from his lodgings. It was not, in appearance, so a as his old quarters: being a and badly-furnished apartment, of very limited size; only by one small window in the roof, and on a close and dirty lane. Nor were there wanting other of the good gentleman’s having gone in the world of late: for a great of furniture, and total of comfort, together with the of all such small as and linen, a of poverty; while the and condition of Mr. Sikes himself would have these symptoms, if they had in any need of corroboration.
The was on the bed, in his white great-coat, by way of dressing-gown, and a set of in no by the of illness, and the of a nightcap, and a stiff, black of a week’s growth. The dog sat at the bedside: now his master with a look, and now his ears, and a low as some noise in the street, or in the part of the house, his attention. Seated by the window, in an old which a of the robber’s ordinary dress, was a female: so and with and privation, that there would have been in her as the same Nancy who has already in this tale, but for the voice in which she to Mr. Sikes’s question.
“Not long gone seven,” said the girl. “How do you to-night, Bill?”
“As weak as water,” Mr. Sikes, with an on his and limbs. “Here; us a hand, and let me off this anyhow.”
Illness had not Mr. Sikes’s temper; for, as the girl him up and him to a chair, he on her awkwardness, and her.
“Whining are you?” said Sikes. “Come! Don’t there. If you can’t do anything than that, cut off altogether. D’ye me?”
“I you,” the girl, her aside, and a laugh. “What have you got in your now?”
“Oh! you’ve of it, have you?” Sikes, marking the tear which in her eye. “All the for you, you have.”
“Why, you don’t to say, you’d be hard upon me to-night, Bill,” said the girl, her hand upon his shoulder.
“No!” Mr. Sikes. “Why not?”
“Such a number of nights,” said the girl, with a touch of woman’s tenderness, which something like of tone, to her voice: “such a number of nights as I’ve been patient with you, nursing and for you, as if you had been a child: and this the that I’ve you like yourself; you wouldn’t have me as you did just now, if you’d of that, would you? Come, come; say you wouldn’t.”
“Well, then,” Mr. Sikes, “I wouldn’t. Why, damme, now, the girls’s again!”
“It’s nothing,” said the girl, herself into a chair. “Don’t you to mind me. It’ll soon be over.”
“What’ll be over?” Mr. Sikes in a voice. “What are you up to, now, again? Get up and about, and don’t come over me with your woman’s nonsense.”
At any other time, this remonstrance, and the in which it was delivered, would have had the effect; but the girl being weak and exhausted, her over the of the chair, and fainted, Mr. Sikes out a of the with which, on occasions, he was to his threats. Not knowing, very well, what to do, in this emergency; for Miss Nancy’s were of that which the patient and out of, without much assistance; Mr. Sikes a little blasphemy: and that mode of ineffectual, called for assistance.
“What’s the here, my dear?” said Fagin, looking in.
“Lend a hand to the girl, can’t you?” Sikes impatiently. “Don’t and at me!”
With an of surprise, Fagin to the girl’s assistance, while Mr. John Dawkins (otherwise the Artful Dodger), who had his friend into the room, deposited on the a with which he was laden; and a bottle from the of Master Charles Bates who came close at his heels, it in a with his teeth, and a of its the patient’s throat: taking a taste, himself, to prevent mistakes.
“Give her a of fresh air with the bellows, Charley,” said Mr. Dawkins; “and you her hands, Fagin, while Bill the petticuts.”
These restoratives, with great energy: that to Master Bates, who appeared to his in the proceedings, a piece of pleasantry: were not long in producing the effect. The girl her senses; and, to a chair by the bedside, her upon the pillow: Mr. Sikes to the new comers, in some at their unlooked-for appearance.
“Why, what wind has you here?” he asked Fagin.
“No wind at all, my dear, for nobody any good; and I’ve something good with me, that you’ll be to see. Dodger, my dear, open the bundle; and give Bill the little that we all our money on, this morning.”
In with Mr. Fagin’s request, the Artful this bundle, which was of large size, and of an old table-cloth; and the articles it contained, one by one, to Charley Bates: who them on the table, with on their and excellence.
“Sitch a pie, Bill,” that gentleman, to view a pasty; “sitch creeturs, with limbs, Bill, that the melt in your mouth, and there’s no occasion to ’em; a of seven and six-penny green, so that if you mix it with water, it’ll go to the of the tea-pot off; a and a of sugar that the didn’t work at all at, they got it up to a of goodness,—oh no! Two half-quartern brans; of best fresh; piece of Glo’ster; and, to wind up all, some of the you lushed!”
Uttering this last panegyric, Master Bates produced, from one of his pockets, a full-sized wine-bottle, corked; while Mr. Dawkins, at the same instant, out a wine-glassful of from the bottle he carried: which the his without a moment’s hesitation.
“Ah!” said Fagin, his hands with great satisfaction. “You’ll do, Bill; you’ll do now.”
“Do!” Mr. Sikes; “I might have been done for, twenty times over, you’d have done anything to help me. What do you by a man in this state, three and more, you false-hearted wagabond?”
“Only him, boys!” said Fagin, his shoulders. “And us come to him all these beau-ti-ful things.”
“The is well in their way,” Mr. Sikes: a little as he over the table; “but what have you got to say for yourself, why you should me here, in the mouth, health, blunt, and else; and take no more notice of me, all this time, than if I was that ’ere dog.—Drive him down, Charley!”
“I see such a dog as that,” Master Bates, doing as he was desired. “Smelling the like a old lady a going to market! He’d make his fortun’ on the stage that dog would, and the besides.”
“Hold your din,” Sikes, as the dog under the bed: still angrily. “What have you got to say for yourself, you old fence, eh?”
“I was away from London, a week and more, my dear, on a plant,” the Jew.
“And what about the other fortnight?” Sikes. “What about the other that you’ve left me here, like a in his hole?”
“I couldn’t help it, Bill. I can’t go into a long company; but I couldn’t help it, upon my honour.”
“Upon your what?” Sikes, with disgust. “Here! Cut me off a piece of that pie, one of you boys, to take the taste of that out of my mouth, or it’ll me dead.”
“Don’t be out of temper, my dear,” Fagin, submissively. “I have you, Bill; once.”
“No! I’ll it that you han’t,” Sikes, with a grin. “You’ve been and away, every hour that I have and here; and Bill was to do this; and Bill was to do that; and Bill was to do it all, cheap, as soon as he got well: and was for your work. If it hadn’t been for the girl, I might have died.”
“There now, Bill,” Fagin, at the word. “If it hadn’t been for the girl! Who but Fagin was the means of your having such a girl about you?”
“He says true there!” said Nancy, forward. “Let him be; let him be.”
Nancy’s gave a new turn to the conversation; for the boys, a from the old Jew, to her with liquor: of which, however, she took very sparingly; while Fagin, an of spirits, Mr. Sikes into a temper, by to his as a little banter; and, moreover, by laughing very at one or two jokes, which, after to the spirit-bottle, he to make.
“It’s all very well,” said Mr. Sikes; “but I must have some from you to-night.”
“I haven’t a piece of coin about me,” the Jew.
“Then you’ve got at home,” Sikes; “and I must have some from there.”
“Lots!” Fagin, up is hands. “I haven’t so much as would—”
“I don’t know how much you’ve got, and I say you know yourself, as it would take a long time to count it,” said Sikes; “but I must have some to-night; and that’s flat.”
“Well, well,” said Fagin, with a sigh, “I’ll send the Artful presently.”
“You won’t do nothing of the kind,” Mr. Sikes. “The Artful’s a too artful, and would to come, or his way, or by and so be perwented, or anything for an excuse, if you put him up to it. Nancy shall go to the and it, to make all sure; and I’ll and have a while she’s gone.”
After a great of and squabbling, Fagin the amount of the from five to three four and sixpence: with many that that would only him eighteen-pence to keep house with; Mr. Sikes that if he couldn’t any more he must him home; with the Dodger and Master Bates put the in the cupboard. The Jew then, taking of his friend, returned homeward, by Nancy and the boys: Mr. Sikes, meanwhile, himself on the bed, and himself to sleep away the time until the lady’s return.
In course, they at Fagin’s abode, where they Toby Crackit and Mr. Chitling upon their game at cribbage, which it is necessary to say the lost, and with it, his and last sixpence: much to the of his friends. Mr. Crackit, at being himself with a so much his in station and endowments, yawned, and after Sikes, took up his to go.
“Has nobody been, Toby?” asked Fagin.
“Not a leg,” answered Mr. Crackit, up his collar; “it’s been as as swipes. You ought to something handsome, Fagin, to me for house so long. Damme, I’m as as a juryman; and should have gone to sleep, as fast as Newgate, if I hadn’t had the good natur’ to this youngster. Horrid dull, I’m if I an’t!”
With these and other of the same kind, Mr. Toby Crackit up his winnings, and them into his pocket with a air, as though such small pieces of were the of a man of his figure; this done, he out of the room, with so much and gentility, that Mr. Chitling, on his and till they were out of sight, the company that he his at fifteen an interview, and that he didn’t value his the of his little finger.
“Wot a you are, Tom!” said Master Bates, by this declaration.
“Not a of it,” Mr. Chitling. “Am I, Fagin?”
“A very fellow, my dear,” said Fagin, him on the shoulder, and to his other pupils.
“And Mr. Crackit is a swell; an’t he, Fagin?” asked Tom.
“No at all of that, my dear.”
“And it is a thing to have his acquaintance; an’t it, Fagin?” Tom.
“Very much so, indeed, my dear. They’re only jealous, Tom, he won’t give it to them.”
“Ah!” Tom, triumphantly, “that’s where it is! He has me out. But I can go and earn some more, when I like; can’t I, Fagin?”
“To be sure you can, and the sooner you go the better, Tom; so make up your at once, and don’t any more time. Dodger! Charley! It’s time you were on the lay. Come! It’s near ten, and nothing done yet.”
In to this hint, the boys, to Nancy, took up their hats, and left the room; the Dodger and his friend indulging, as they went, in many at the of Mr. Chitling; in conduct, it is but to say, there was nothing very or peculiar: as there are a great number of upon town, who pay a much higher price than Mr. Chitling for being in good society: and a great number of (composing the good aforesaid) who their upon very much the same as Toby Crackit.
“Now,” said Fagin, when they had left the room, “I’ll go and you that cash, Nancy. This is only the key of a little where I keep a odd the boys get, my dear. I lock up my money, for I’ve got none to lock up, my dear—ha! ha! ha!—none to lock up. It’s a trade, Nancy, and no thanks; but I’m of the people about me; and I it all, I it all. Hush!” he said, the key in his breast; “who’s that? Listen!”
The girl, who was at the table with her arms folded, appeared in no way in the arrival: or to the person, he was, came or went: until the of a man’s voice her ears. The she the sound, she off her and shawl, with the of lightning, and them under the table. The Jew, afterwards, she a of the heat: in a of that contrasted, very remarkably, with the and of this action: which, however, had been by Fagin, who had his her at the time.
“Bah!” he whispered, as though by the interruption; “it’s the man I before; he’s downstairs. Not a word about the money while he’s here, Nance. He won’t stop long. Not ten minutes, my dear.”
Laying his upon his lip, the Jew a to the door, as a man’s step was upon the stairs without. He it, at the same moment as the visitor, who, into the room, was close upon the girl he her.
It was Monks.
“Only one of my people,” said Fagin, that Monks back, on a stranger. “Don’t move, Nancy.”
The girl closer to the table, and at Monks with an air of careless levity, her eyes; but as he Fagin, she another look; so and searching, and full of purpose, that if there had been any to the change, he have the two looks to have from the same person.
“Any news?” Fagin.
“Great.”
“And—and—good?” asked Fagin, as though he to the other man by being too sanguine.
“Not bad, any way,” Monks with a smile. “I have been this time. Let me have a word with you.”
The girl closer to the table, and no offer to the room, although she see that Monks was pointing to her. The Jew: she might say something about the money, if he to of her: pointed upward, and took Monks out of the room.
“Not that we were in before,” she the man say as they upstairs. Fagin laughed; and making some reply which did not her, seemed, by the of the boards, to lead his to the second story.
Before the of their had to echo through the house, the girl had off her shoes; and her over her head, and her arms in it, at the door, with interest. The moment the noise ceased, she from the room; the stairs with and silence; and was in the above.
The room for a of an hour or more; the girl with the same tread; and, afterwards, the two men were descending. Monks at once into the street; and the Jew again for the money. When he returned, the girl was her and bonnet, as if preparing to be gone.
“Why, Nance!” the Jew, starting as he put the candle, “how you are!”
“Pale!” the girl, her with her hands, as if to look at him.
“Quite horrible. What have you been doing to yourself?”
“Nothing that I know of, in this close place for I don’t know how long and all,” the girl carelessly. “Come! Let me back; that’s a dear.”
With a for every piece of money, Fagin told the amount into her hand. They without more conversation, a “good-night.”
When the girl got into the open street, she sat upon a doorstep; and seemed, for a moments, and unable to her way. Suddenly she arose; and on, in a direction opposite to that in which Sikes was her returned, her pace, until it into a run. After herself, she stopped to take breath: and, as if herself, and her to do something she was upon, her hands, and into tears.
It might be that her her, or that she the full of her condition; but she back; and with nearly as great in the direction; to time, and to keep with the of her own thoughts: soon the where she had left the housebreaker.
If she any agitation, when she presented herself to Mr. Sikes, he did not it; for if she had the money, and a reply in the affirmative, he a of satisfaction, and his upon the pillow, the which her had interrupted.
It was for her that the of money him so much next day in the way of and drinking; and had so an in the of his temper; that he had neither time to be very upon her and deportment. That she had all the and manner of one who is on the of some and step, which it has no common to upon, would have been to the lynx-eyed Fagin, who would most have taken the at once; but Mr. Sikes the of discrimination, and being with no more than those which themselves into a of everybody; and being, furthermore, in an condition, as has been already observed; saw nothing in her demeanor, and indeed, himself so little about her, that, had her been more than it was, it would have been very to have his suspicions.
As that day closed in, the girl’s increased; and, when night came on, and she sat by, until the should drink himself asleep, there was an in her cheek, and a fire in her eye, that Sikes with astonishment.
Mr. Sikes being weak from the fever, was in bed, taking water with his to it less inflammatory; and had pushed his Nancy to be for the third or fourth time, when these him.
“Why, my body!” said the man, himself on his hands as he the girl in the face. “You look like a come to life again. What’s the matter?”
“Matter!” the girl. “Nothing. What do you look at me so hard for?”
“What is this?” Sikes, her by the arm, and her roughly. “What is it? What do you mean? What are you of?”
“Of many things, Bill,” the girl, shivering, and as she did so, pressing her hands upon her eyes. “But, Lord! What in that?”
The of in which the last were spoken, to produce a on Sikes than the wild and look which had them.
“I tell you it is,” said Sikes; “if you haven’t the fever, and got it comin’ on, now, there’s something more than in the wind, and something too. You’re not a-going to—. No, damme! you wouldn’t do that!”
“Do what?” asked the girl.
“There ain’t,” said Sikes, his upon her, and the to himself; “there ain’t a stauncher-hearted going, or I’d have cut her three months ago. She’s got the on; that’s it.”
Fortifying himself with this assurance, Sikes the to the bottom, and then, with many oaths, called for his physic. The girl jumped up, with great alacrity; it out, but with her him; and the to his lips, while he off the contents.
“Now,” said the robber, “come and of me, and put on your own face; or I’ll it so, that you won’t know it when you do want it.”
The girl obeyed. Sikes, locking her hand in his, upon the pillow: his upon her face. They closed; opened again; closed once more; again opened. He his position restlessly; and, after again, and again, for two or three minutes, and as often up with a look of terror, and about him, was stricken, as it were, while in the very of rising, into a and sleep. The of his hand relaxed; the arm by his side; and he like one in a trance.
“The has taken at last,” the girl, as she rose from the bedside. “I may be too late, now.”
She herself in her and shawl: looking round, from time to time, as if, despite the sleeping draught, she every moment to the pressure of Sikes’s hand upon her shoulder; then, over the bed, she the robber’s lips; and then opening and the room-door with noiseless touch, from the house.
A was half-past nine, a dark passage through which she had to pass, in the main thoroughfare.
“Has it long gone the half-hour?” asked the girl.
“It’ll the hour in another quarter,” said the man: his to her face.
“And I cannot there in less than an hour or more,” Nancy: past him, and the street.
Many of the shops were already in the and through which she her way, in making from Spitalfields the West-End of London. The clock ten, her impatience. She along the narrow pavement: the from to side; and almost under the horses’ heads, streets, where of were their opportunity to do the like.
“The woman is mad!” said the people, to look after her as she away.
When she the more of the town, the were deserted; and here her progress a still in the she past. Some their behind, as though to see she was at such an rate; and a upon her, and looked back, at her speed; but they off one by one; and when she her place of destination, she was alone.
It was a family hotel in a but near Hyde Park. As the light of the lamp which its door, her to the spot, the clock eleven. She had for a as though irresolute, and making up her mind to advance; but the her, and she into the hall. The porter’s seat was vacant. She looked with an air of incertitude, and the stairs.
“Now, woman!” said a smartly-dressed female, looking out from a door her, “who do you want here?”
“A lady who is stopping in this house,” answered the girl.
“A lady!” was the reply, with a look. “What lady?”
“Miss Maylie,” said Nancy.
The woman, who had by this time, noted her appearance, only by a look of disdain; and a man to answer her. To him, Nancy her request.
“What name am I to say?” asked the waiter.
“It’s of no use saying any,” Nancy.
“Nor business?” said the man.
“No, that neither,” the girl. “I must see the lady.”
“Come!” said the man, pushing her the door. “None of this. Take off.”
“I shall be out if I go!” said the girl violently; “and I can make that a job that two of you won’t like to do. Isn’t there here,” she said, looking round, “that will see a message for a like me?”
This produced an on a good-tempered-faced man-cook, who with some of the other was looking on, and who to interfere.
“Take it up for her, Joe; can’t you?” said this person.
“What’s the good?” the man. “You don’t the lady will see such as her; do you?”
This to Nancy’s character, a quantity of in the of four housemaids, who remarked, with great fervour, that the was a to her sex; and her being thrown, ruthlessly, into the kennel.
“Do what you like with me,” said the girl, to the men again; “but do what I ask you first, and I ask you to give this message for God Almighty’s sake.”
The soft-hearted cook added his intercession, and the result was that the man who had appeared its delivery.
“What’s it to be?” said the man, with one on the stairs.
“That a woman to speak to Miss Maylie alone,” said Nancy; “and that if the lady will only the word she has to say, she will know to her business, or to have her out of doors as an impostor.”
“I say,” said the man, “you’re it strong!”
“You give the message,” said the girl firmly; “and let me the answer.”
The man ran upstairs. Nancy remained, and almost breathless, with lip to the very of scorn, of which the were very prolific; and of which they still more so, when the man returned, and said the woman was to walk upstairs.
“It’s no good being proper in this world,” said the housemaid.
“Brass can do than the gold what has the fire,” said the second.
The third herself with “what ladies was of”; and the fourth took the in a of “Shameful!” with which the Dianas concluded.
Regardless of all this: for she had at heart: Nancy the man, with limbs, to a small ante-chamber, by a lamp from the ceiling. Here he left her, and retired.
