Oliver Twist

by Charles Dickens

  Oliver was just considering whether he hadn't better run away, when they reached the bottom of the hill. His conductor, catching him by the arm, pushed open the door of a house near Field Lane and, drawing him into the passage, closed it behind them.

  "Now, then!" cried a voice from below, in reply to a whistle from the Dodger.

  "Plummy and slam!'" was the reply.

  This seemed to be some watchword or signal that all was right, for the light of a feeble candle gleamed on the wall at the remote end of the passage, and a man's face peeped out from where a balustrade of the old kitchen staircase had been broken away.

  'Theres two on you," said the man, thrusting the candle farther out, and shading his eyes with his hand. "Who's the t'other one?"

  "A new pal," replied Jack Dawkins, pulling Oliver forward.

  "Where did he come from?"

  "Greenland. Is Fagin upstairs?"

  "Yes, he's a-sortin' the wipes. Up with you!" The candle was drawn back, and the face disappeared.

  Oliver, groping his way with one hand, and having the other firmly grasped by his companion, ascended with much difficulty the dark and broken stairs, which his conductor mounted with an ease and expedition that showed he was well acquainted with them. He threw open the door of baek-room, and drew Oliver in after him.

  The walls and ceiling of the room were perfectly black with age and dirt. There was a deal table before the fire, upon which were a candle, stuck in a ginger-beir bottle, two or three pewter pots, a loaf and butter, and a plate. In a frying-pan, which was on the fire, and which was secured to the man telshelf by a string, some sausages were cooking; and standing over them, with a toasting-fork in his hand, was a very old shrivelled Jew, whose villainous-looking and repulsive face was obscured by a quantity of matted red hair. He was dressed in a greasy flannel gown, with his throat bare; and seemed to be dividing his attention between the frying-pan and a clothes-horse, over which a great number of silk handkerchiefs were hanging. Several rough beds made of old sacks, were huddled side by side on the floor. Seated round the table were four or five boys, none older than the Dodger, smoking long clay pipes, and drinking spirits with the air of middle-aged men. These all crowded about their associate as he whispered a few words to the Jew, and then turned round and grinned at Oliver. So did the Jew himself, toasting-fork in hand.

  "This is him, Fagin," said Jack Dawkins, "my friend Oliver Twist"

  The Jew grinned and, making a low obeisance to Oliver, took him by the hand and hoped he should have the honour of his intimate acquaintance. Upon this, the young gentlemen with the pipes came round him, and shook both his hands very hard--especially the one in which he held his little bundle. One young gentleman was very anxious to hang up his cap for him; and another was so obliging as to put his hands in his pockets, in order that, as he was very tired, he might not have the trouble of emptying them himself when he went to bed. These civilities would probably have been extended much farther but for a liberal exercise of the Jew's toasting-fork on the heads and shoulders of the affectionate youths who offered them.

  "We are very glad to see you, Oliver, very," said the Jew. "Dodger, take off the sausages, and draw a tub near the fire for Oliver. Ah, you're a-staring at the pocket-handkerchiefs! eh, my dear! there are a good many of 'em, ain't there? We've just looked 'em out, ready for the wash; that's all, Oliver; that's all. Ha! ha! ha!"

  The latter part of this speech was hailed by a boisterous shout from all the hopeful pupils of the merry old gentleman. In the midst of which, they went to supper.

  Oliver ate his share, and the Jew then mixed him a glass of hot gin-and-water, telling him he must drink it off directly because another gentleman wanted the tumbler. Oliver did as he was desired. Immediately afterwards he felt himself gently lifted on to one of the sacks, and then he sunk into a deep sleep.

  CHAPTER IX

  Containing further particulars concerning the pleasant

  old gentleman and his hopeful pupils.

  IT WAS LATE NEXT MORNING WHEN OLIVER AWOKE, FROM A sound, long sleep. There was no other person in the room but the old Jew, who was boiling some coffee in a saucepan for breakfast, and whistling softly to himself as he stirred it round and round with an iron spoon. He would stop every now and then to listen when there was the least noise below, and when he had satisfied himself he would go on, whistling and stirring again, as before.

  Although Oliver had roused himself from sleep, he was not thoroughly awake. There is a drowsy state, between sleeping and waking, when you dream more in five minutes with your eyes half open, and yourself half conscious of everything that is passing around you, than you would in five nights with your eyes fast closed, and your senses wrapped in perfect unconsciousness. At such times, a mortal knows just enough of what his mind is doing, to form some glimmering conception'of its mighty powers, its bounding from earth and spurning time and space, when freed from the restraint of its corporeal associate.

  Oliver was precisely in this condition. He saw the Jew with his half-closed eyes, heard his low whistling, and recognized the sound of the spoon grating against the saucepan's sides; and yet the self-same senses were mentally engaged, at the same time, in busy action with almost everybody he had ever known.

  When the coffee was done, the Jew drew the saucepan to the hob. Standing, then, in an irresolute attitude for a few minutes, as if he did not well know how to employ himself, he turned round and looked at Oliver, and called him by his name. He did not answer, and was to all appearance asleep.

  After satisfying himself upon this head, the Jew stepped gently to the door, which he fastened. He then drew forth--as it seemed to Oliver, from some trap in the floor--a small box, which he placed carefully on the table. His eyes glistened as he raised the lid and looked in. Dragging an old chair to the table, he sat down and took from it a magnificent gold watch, sparkling with jewels.

  "Aha!" said the Jew, shrugging up his shoulders, and distorting every feature with a hideous grin. "Clever dogs! Clever dogs! Staunch to the last! Never told the old parson where they were. Never peached upon old Fagin! And why should they? It wouldn't have loosened the knot, or kept the drop up, a minute longer. No, no, no! Fine fellows! Fine fellows!"

  With these and other muttered reflections of the like nature, the Jew once more deposited the watch in its place of safety. At least half a dozen more were severally drawn forth from the same box and surveyed with equal pleasure, besides rings, brooches, bracelets, and other articles of jewellery, of such magnificent materials and costly workmanship that Oliver had no idea even of their names.

  Having replaced these trinkets, the Jew took out another, so small that it lay in the palm of his hand. There seemed to be some very minute inscription on it; for the Jew laid it flat upon the table and, shading it with his hand, pored over it long and earnestly. At length he put it down, as if despairing of success, and, leaning back in his chair, muttered:

  "What a fine thing capital punishment is! Dead men never repent; dead men never bring awkward stories to light. Ah, it's a fine thing for the trade! Five of 'em strung up in a row, and none left to play booty, or turn white-livered!"

  As the Jew uttered these words, his bright dark eyes, which had been staring vacantly before him, fell on Oliver's face; the boy's eyes were fixed on his in mute curiosity; and although the recognition was only for an instant--for the briefest space of time that can possibly be conceived--it was enough to show the old man that he had been observed. He closed the lid of the box with a loud crash; and, laying his hand on a bread knife, which was on the table, started furiously up. He trembled very much though; for, even in his terror, Oliver could see that the knife quivered in the air.

  "What's that?" said the Jew. "What do you watch me for? Why are you awake? What have you seen? Speak out, boy! Quick--quick! for your life!"

  "I wasn't able to sleep any longer, sir," replied Oliver, meekly. "I am very sorry if I have disturbed you, sir."

  "You were not awake an ho
ur ago?" said the Jew, scowling fiercely on the boy.

  "No! No, indeed!" replied Oliver.

  "Are you sure?" cried the Jew, with a still fiercer look than before, and a threatening attitude.

  "Upon my word I was not, sir," replied Oliver, earnestly. "I was not, indeed, sir."

  "Tush, tush, my dear!" said the Jew, abruptly resuming his old manner, and playing with the knife a little, before he laid it down, as if to induce the belief that he had caught it up in mere sport. "Of course I know that, my dear. I only tried to frighten you. You're a brave boy. Ha! ha! you're a brave boy, Oliver!" The Jew rubbed his hands with a chuckle, but glanced uneasily at the box, notwithstanding.

  "Did you see any of these pretty things, my dear?" said the Jew, laying his hand upon it after a short pause.

  "Yes, sir," replied Oliver.

  "Ah!" said the Jew, turning rather pale. "They--they're mine, Oliver; my little property. All I have to live upon, in my old age. The folks call me a miser, my dear. Only a miser, that's all."

  Oliver thought the old gentleman must be a decided miser to live in such a dirty place, with so many watches; but, thinking that perhaps his fondness for the Dodger and the other boys cost him a good deal of money, he only cast a deferential look at the Jew and asked if he might get up.

  "Certainly, my dear, certainly," replied the old gentleman. "Stay. There's a pitcher of water in the corner by the door. Bring it here, and I'll give you a basin to wash in, my dear."

  Oliver got up, walked across the room, and stooped for an instant to raise the pitcher. When he turned his head, the box was gone.

  He had scarcely washed himself, and made everything tidy by emptying the basin out of the window, agreeably to the Jew's directions, when the Dodger returned, accompanied by a very sprightly young friend, whom Oliver had seen smoking on the previous night, and who was now formally introduced to him as Charley Bates. The four sat down, to breakfast on the coffee, and some hot rolls and ham which the Dodger had brought home in the crown of his hat.

  "Well," said the Jew, glancing slyly at Oliver and addressing himself to the Dodger, "I hope you've been at work this morning, my dears?"

  "Hard," replied the Dodger.

  "As Nails," added Charley Bates.

  "Good boys, good boys!" said the Jew. "What have you got, Dodger?"

  "A couple of pocket-books," replied that young gentleman.

  "Lined?" inquired the Jew, with eagerness.

  "Pretty well," replied the Dodger, producing two pocket-books, one green and the other red.

  "Not so heavy as they might be," said the Jew, after looking at the insides carefully, "but very neat and nicely made. Ingenious workman, ain't he, Oliver?"

  "Very, indeed, sir," said Oliver. At which Mr. Charles Bates laughed uproariously, very much to the amazement of Oliver, who saw nothing to laugh at in anything that had passed.

  "And what have you got, my dear?" said Fagin to Charley Bates.

  "Wipes," replied Master Bates; at the same time producing four pocket-handkerchiefs.

  "Well," said the Jew, inspecting them closely, "they're very good ones, very. You haven't marked them well, though, Charley, so the marks shall be picked out with a needle, and we'll teach Oliver how to do it. Shall us, Oliver, eh? Ha! ha! ha!"

  "If you please, sir," said Oliver.

  "You'd like to be able to make pocket-handkerchiefs as easy as Charley Bates, wouldn't you, my dear?" said the Jew.

  "Very much, indeed, if you'll teach me, sir," replied Oliver.

  Master Bates saw something so exquisitely ludicrous in this reply, that he burst into another laugh, which laugh, meeting the coffee he was drinking, and carrying it down some wrong channel, very nearly terminated in his premature suffocation.

  "He is so jolly green!" said Charley when he recovered, as an apology to the company for his unpolite behaviour.

  The Dodger said nothing, but he smoothed Oliver's hair over his eyes and said he'd know better by and by, upon which the old gentleman, observing Oliver's colour mounting, changed the subject by asking whether there had been much of a crowd at the execution that morning? This made him wonder more and more; for it was plain from the replies of the two boys that they had both been there, and Oliver naturally wondered how they could possibly have found time to be so very industrious.

  When the breakfast was cleared away, the merry old gentleman and the two boys played at a very curious and uncommon game, which was performed in this way: The merry old gentleman, placing a snuffbox in one pocket of his trousers, a note-case in the other, and a watch in his waistcoat pocket, with a guard-chain round his neck, and sticking a mock diamond pin in his shirt, buttoned his coat tight round him, and putting his spectacle-case and handkerchief in his pockets, trotted up and down the room with a stick, in imitation of the manner in which old gentlemen walk about the streets any hour in the day. Sometimes he stopped at the fireplace, and sometimes at the door, making believe that he was staring with all his might into shop-windows. At such times, he would look constantly round him, for fear of thieves, and would keep slapping all his pockets in turn, to see that he hadn't lost anything, in such a very funny and natural manner, that Oliver laughed till the tears ran down his face. All this time, the two boys followed him closely about, getting out of his sight so nimbly, every time he turned round, that it was impossible to follow their motions. At last the Dodger trod upon his toes or ran upon his boot accidentally, while Charley Bates stumbled up against him behind; and in that one moment they took from him, with the most extraordinary rapidity, snuffbox, note-case, watch-guard, chain; shirt-pin, pocket-handkerchief, even the spectacle-case. If the old gentleman, felt a hand in any one of his pockets, he cried out where it was; and then the game began all over again.

  When this game had been played a great many times, a couple of young ladies called to see the young gentlemen, one of whom was named Bet, and the other Nancy. They wore a good deal of hair, not very neatly turned up behind, and were rather untidy about the shoes and stockings. They were not exactly pretty, perhaps; but they had a great deal of colour in their faces, and looked quite stout and hearty. Being remarkably free and agreeable in their manners, Oliver thought them very nice girls indeed. As there is no doubt they were.

  These visitors stopped a long time. Spirits were produced, in consequence of one of the young ladies complaining of a coldness in her inside; and the conversation took a very convivial and improving turn. At length, Charley Bates expressed his opinion that it was time to pad the hoof. This, it occurred to Oliver, must be French, for going out; for, directly afterwards, the Dodger, and Charley, and the two young ladies, went away together, having been kindly furnished by the amiable old Jew with money to spend.

  "There, my dear," said Fagin. "That's a pleasant life, isn't it? They have gone out for the day."

  "Have they done work, sir?" inquired Oliver.

  "Yes," said the Jew; "that is, unless they should unexpectedly come across any, when they are out; and they won't neglect it, if they do, my dear, depend upon it. Make 'em your models, my dear. Make 'em your models," tapping the fire-shovel on the hearth to add force to his words; "do everything they bid you, and take their advice in all matters--especially the Dodger's, my dear. He'll be a great man himself, and will make you one too, if you take pattern by him.--Is my handkerchief hanging out of my pocket, my dear?" said the Jew, . stopping short.

  "Yes, sir," said Oliver.

  "See if you can take it out without my feeling it, as you saw them do when we were at play this morning."

  Oliver held up the bottom of the pocket with one hand, as he had seen the Dodger hold it, and drew the handkerchief lightly out of it with the other.

  "Is it gone?" cried the Jew.

  "Here it is, sir," said Oliver, showing it in his hand.

  "You're a clever boy, my dear," said the playful old gentleman, patting Oliver on the head approvingly. "I never saw a sharper lad. Here's a shilling for you. If you go on in this way, you'll be th
e greatest man of the time. And now come here, and I'll show you how to take the marks out of the handkerchiefs."

  Oliver wondered what picking the old gentleman's pocket in play had to do with his chances of being a great man. But, thinking that the Jew, being so much his senior, must know best, he followed him quietly to the table and was soon deeply involved in his new study.

  CHAPTER X

  Oliver becomes better acquainted with the characters of his

  new associates, and purchases experience at a high price.

  Being a short, but very important chapter, in this history

  FOR MANY DAYS, OLIVER REMAINED IN THE JEW'S ROOM, PICKING the marks out of the pocket-handkerchiefs (of which a great number were brought home), and sometimes taking part in the game already described, which the two boys and the Jew played regularly every morning. At length he began to languish for fresh air, and took many occasions of earnestly entreating the old gentleman to allow him to go out to work with his two companions.

  Oliver was rendered the more anxious to be actively employed, by what he had seen of the stem morality of the old gentleman's character. Whenever the Dodger or Charley Bates came home at night empty-handed, he would expatiate with great vehemence on the misery of idle and lazy habits, and would enforce upon them the necessity of an active life by sending them supperless to bed. On one occasion, indeed, he even went so far as to knock them both down a flight of stairs; but this was carrying out his virtuous precepts to an unusual extent.

  At length, one morning, Oliver obtained the permission he had so eagerly sought. There had been no handkerchiefs to work upon, for two or three days, and the dinners had been rather meagre. Perhaps these were reasons for the old gentleman's giving his assent; but, whether they were or no, he told Oliver he might go, and placed him under the joint guardian-ship of Charley Bates and his friend the Dodger.

  The three boys sallied out, the Dodger with his coatsleeves tucked up, and his hat cocked, as usual; Master Bates sauntering along with his hands in his pockets; and Oliver between them, wondering where they were going, and what branch of manufacture he would be instructed in, first.