Oliver Twist(雾都孤儿(孤星血泪))-7

Oliver Twistthe usual dinner hour, to banquet upon a small joint of mutton—apound and a half of the worst end of the neck—when Charlottebeing called out of the way, there ensued a brief interval of time,which Noah Claypole, being hungry and vicious, considered hecould not possibly devote to a worthier purpose than aggravatingand tantalising young Oliver Twist.Intent upon this innocent amusement, Noah put his feet on thetablecloth; and pulled Oliver’s hair; and twitched his ears; andexpressed his opinion that he was a “sneak”; and furthermoreannounced his intention of coming to see him hanged, wheneverthat desirable event should take place; and entered upon variousother topics of petty annoyance like a malicious and ill-conditioned charity-boy he was. But, none of these tauntsproducing the desired effect of making Oliver cry, Noah attemptedto be more facetious still; and in this attempt, did what many smallwits, with far greater reputations than Noah, sometimes do to thisday, when they want to be funny he got rather personal.“Work’us,” said Noah, “how’s your mother?”“She’s dead,” replied Oliver; “don’t you say anything about herto me!”Oliver’s colour rose as he said this; he breathed quickly; andthere was a curious working of the mouth and nostrils, which Mr.Claypole thought must be the immediate precursor of a violent fitof crying. Under this impression he returned to the charge.“What did she die of, Work’us?” said Noah.“Of a broken heart, some of our old nurses told me,” repliedOliver, more as if he were talking to himself, than answering Noah.“I think I know what it must be to die of that!”“Tol de rol lol lol, right fol lairy, Work’us,” said Noah, as a tearCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twistrolled down Oliver’s cheek. “What’s set you a-snivelling now?”“Not you,” replied Oliver, hastily brushing the tear away. “Don’tthink it.”“Oh, not me, eh!” sneered Noah.“No, not you,” replied Oliver sharply. “There; that’s enough.Don’t say anything more to me about her; you’d better not!”“Better not!” exclaimed Noah. “Well! Better not! Work’us, don’tbe impudent. Your mother, too! She was a nice ’un she was. Oh,Lor!” And here, Noah nodded his head expressively; and curledup as much of his small red nose as muscular action could collecttogether, for the occasion.“Yer know, Work’us,” continued Noah, emboldened by Oliver’ssilence, and speaking in a jeering tone of affected pity—of all tonesthe most annoying, “Yer know, Work’us, it can’t be helped now;and of course yer couldn’t help it then; and I’m very sorry for it;and I’m sure we all are, and pity yer very much. But yer mustknow, Work’us, yer mother was a regular right-down bad ’un.”“What did you say?” inquired Oliver, looking up very quickly.“A regular right-down bad ’un, Work’us,” replied Noah coolly.“And it’s a great deal better, Work’us, that she died when she did,or else she’d have been hard labouring in Bridewell, ortransported, or hung; which is more likely than either, isn’t it?”Crimson with fury, Oliver started up; overthrew the chair andtable; seized Noah by the throat; shook him, in the violence of hisrage, till his teeth chattered in his head; and collecting his wholeforce into one heavy blow, felled him to the ground.A minute ago, the boy had looked the quiet, mild, dejectedcreature that harsh treatment had made him. But his spirit wasroused at last; the cruel insult to his dead mother had set his bloodCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twiston fire. His breast heaved; his attitude was erect; his eye brightand vivid; his whole person changed, as he stood glaring over thecowardly tormentor who now lay crouching at his feet; and defiedhim with an energy he had never known before.“He’ll murder me!’ blubbered Noah. “Charlotte! missis! Here’sthe new boy a-murdering of me! Help! help! Oliver’s gone mad!Charlotte!”Noah’s shouts were responded to, by a loud scream fromCharlotte, and a louder from Mrs. Sowerberry; the former ofwhom rushed into the kitchen by a side-door, while the latterpaused on the staircase till she was quite certain that it wasconsistent with the preservation of human life, to come fartherdown.“Oh, you little wretch!” screamed Charlotte, seizing Oliver withher utmost force, which was about equal to that of a moderatelystrong man in particularly good training. “Oh, you littleungrateful, mur-de-rous, hor-rid villain!” And between everysyllable, Charlotte gave Oliver a blow with all her might,accompanying it with a scream, for the benefit of society.Charlotte’s fist was by no means a light one; but, lest it shouldnot be effectual in calming Oliver’s wrath, Mrs. Sowerberryplunged into the kitchen, and assisted to hold him with one hand,while she scratched his face with the other. In this favourableposition of affairs, Noah rose from the ground, and pommelledhim behind.This was rather too violent exercise to last long. When theywere all wearied out, and could tear and beat no longer, theydragged Oliver, struggling and shouting, but nothing daunted, intothe dust-cellar, and there locked him up. This being done, Mrs.Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver TwistSowerberry sank into a chair, and burst into tears.“Bless her, she’s going off!” said Charlotte. “A glass of water,Noah, dear. Make haste!”“Oh! Charlotte,” said Mrs. Sowerberry, speaking as well as shecould, through a deficiency of breath, and a sufficiency of coldwater, which Noah had poured over her head and shoulders. “Oh!Charlotte, what a mercy we have not all been murdered in ourbeds!”“Ah! mercy indeed, ma’am,” was the reply. “I only hope this’llteach master not to have any more of these dreadful creaturs, thatare born to be murderers and robbers from their very cradle; PoorNoah! He was all but killed, ma’am, when I come in.“Poor fellow!” said Mrs. Sowerberry, looking piteously on thecharity-boy.Noah, whose top waistcoat button might have been somewhereon a level with the crown of Oliver’s head, rubbed his eyes withthe inside of his wrists while this commiseration was bestowedupon him, and performed some affecting tears and sniffs.“What’s to be done!” exclaimed Mrs. Sowerberry. “Yourmaster’s not at home; there’s not a man in the house, and he’llkick that door down in ten minutes.” Oliver’s vigorous plungesagainst the bit of timber in question, rendered this occurrencehighly probable.“Dear, dear! I don’t know, ma’am,” said Charlotte, “unless wesend for the police-officers.”“Or the millingtary,” suggested Mr. Claypole.“No, no,” said Mrs. Sowerberry, bethinking herself of Oliver’sold friend. “Run to Mr. Bumble, Noah, and tell him to come heredirectly, and not to lose a minute; never mind your cap! MakeCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twisthaste! You can hold a knife to that black eye, as you run along. It’llkeep the swelling down.”Noah stopped to make no reply, but started off at his fullestspeed; and very much it astonished the people who were outwalking, to see a charity-boy tearing through the streets pell-mell,with no cap on his head, and a clasp-knife at his eye.Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver TwistChapter 7Oliver Continues Refractory.Noah Claypole ran along the streets at his swiftest pace,and paused not once for breath, until he reached theworkhouse gate. Having rested here, for a minute or so,to collect a good burst of sobs and an imposing show of tears andterror, he knocked loudly at the wicket; and presented such arueful face to the aged pauper who opened it, that even he, whosaw nothing but rueful faces about him at the best of times, startedback in astonishment.“Why, what’s the matter with the boy!” said the old pauper.“Mr. Bumble! Mr. Bumble!” cried Noah, with well-affecteddismay, and in tones so loud and agitated, that they not onlycaught the ear of Mr. Bumble himself, who happened to be hardby, but alarmed him so much that he rushed into the yard withouthis cocked hat—which is a very curious and remarkablecircumstance, as showing that even a beadle, acted upon by asudden and powerful impulse, may be afflicted with a momentaryvisitation of loss of self-possession, and forgetfulness of personaldignity.“Oh, Mr. Bumble, sir!” said Noah; “Oliver, sir—Oliver has—”“What? What?” interposed Mr. Bumble, with a gleam ofpleasure in his metallic eyes. “Not run away; he hasn’t run away,has he, Noah?”“No, sir, no. Not run away, sir, but he’s turned wicious,” repliedNoah. “He tried to murder me, sir; and then he tried to murderCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver TwistCharlotte; and then missis. Oh! what dreadful pain it is! Suchagony, please, sir!” And here, Noah writhed and twisted his bodyinto an extensive variety of eel-like positions; thereby giving Mr.Bumble to understand that, from the violent and sanguinary onsetof Oliver Twist, he had sustained severe internal injury anddamage, from which he was at that moment suffering the acutesttorture.When Noah saw that the intelligence he communicatedperfectly paralysed Mr. Bumble, he imparted additional effectthereunto, by bewailing his dreadful wound ten times louder thanbefore; and, when he observed a gentleman in a white waistcoatcrossing the yard, he was more tragic in his lamentations thanever; rightly conceiving it highly expedient to attract the notice,and rouse the indignation, of the gentleman aforesaid.The gentleman’s notice was very soon attracted; for he had notwalked three paces, when he turned angrily round, and inquiredwhat that young cur was howling for, and why Mr. Bumble did notfavour him with something which would render the series ofvocular exclamations so designated an involuntary process.“It’s a poor boy from the free-school, sir,” replied Mr. Bumble,“who has been nearly murdered—all but murdered, sir—by youngTwist.”“By Jove!” exclaimed the gentleman in the white waistcoat,stopping short. “I knew it! I felt a strange presentiment from thevery first, that that audacious young savage would come to behung!”“He has likewise attempted, sir, to murder the female servant,”said Mr. Bumble, with a face of ashy paleness.“And his missis,” interposed Mr. Claypole.Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist“And his master, too, I think you say, Noah?” added Mr.Bumble.“No! he’s out, or he would have murdered him,” replied Noah.“He said he wanted to.”“Ah! Said he wanted to, did he, my boy?” inquired thegentleman in the white waistcoat.“Yes, sir,” replied Noah. “And please, sir, missis wants to knowwhether Mr. Bumble can spare time to step up there, directly, andflog him—’cause master’s out.”“Certainly, my boy; certainly,” said the gentleman in the whitewaistcoat, smiling benignly, and patting Noah’s head, which wasabout three inches higher than his own. “You’re a good boy—avery good boy. Here’s a penny for you. Bumble, just step up toSowerberry’s with your cane, and see what’s best to be done.Don’t spare him, Bumble.”“No, I will not, sir,” replied the beadle, adjusting the wax-endwhich was twisted round the bottom of his cane. for purposes ofparochial flagellation. “Tell Sowerberry not to spare him either.They’ll never do anything with him, without stripes and bruises,”said the gentleman in the white waistcoat.“I’ll take care, sir,” replied the beadle. And the cocked hat andcane having been, by this time, adjusted to their owner’ssatisfaction, Mr. Bumble and Noah Claypole betook themselveswith all speed to the undertaker’s shop.Here the position of affairs had not at all improved. Sowerberryhad not yet returned, and Oliver continued to kick, withundiminished vigour, at the cellar door. The accounts of hisferocity, as related by Mr. Sowerberry and Charlotte, were of sostartling a nature, that Mr. Bumble judged it prudent to parley,Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twistbefore opening the door. With this view he gave a kick at theoutside, by way of prelude; and, then, applying his mouth to thekeyhole, said, in a deep and impressive tone:“Oliver!”“Come; you let me out!” replied Oliver, from the inside.“Do you know this here voice, Oliver?” said Mr. Bumble.“Yes,” replied Oliver.“Ain’t you afraid of it, sir? Ain’t you a-trembling while speak,sir?” said Mr. Bumble.“No!” replied Oliver boldly.An answer so different from the one he had expected to elicit,and was in the habit of receiving, staggered Mr. Bumble not alittle. He stepped back from the keyhole; drew himself up to hisfull height; and looked from one to another of the three bystanders, in mute astonishment.“Oh, you know, Mr. Bumble, he must be mad,” said Mrs.Sowerberry. “No boy in half his sense could venture to speak so toyou.”“It’s not madness, ma’am,” replied Mr. Bumble, after a fewmoments of deep meditation. “It’s meat.”“What?” exclaimed Mrs. Sowerberry.“Meat, ma’am, meat,” replied Bumble, with stern emphasis.“You’ve overfed him, ma’am. You’ve raised a artificial soul andspirit in him, ma’am, unbecoming a person of his condition, as theBoard, Mrs. Sowerberry, who are practical philosophers, will tellyou. What have paupers to do with soul or spirit? It’s quite enoughthat we let ’em have live bodies. If you had kept the boy on gruel,ma’am, this would never have happened.”“Dear, dear!” ejaculated Mrs. Sowerberry, piously raising herCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twisteyes to the kitchen ceiling, “this comes of being liberal!”The liberality of Mrs. Sowerberry to Oliver had consisted in aprofuse bestowal upon him of all the dirty odds and ends whichnobody else would eat; so there was a great deal of meekness andself-devotion in her voluntarily remaining under Mr. Bumble’sheavy accusation; of which, to do her justice, she was whollyinnocent, in thought, word, or deed.“Ah!” said Mr. Bumble, when the lady brought her eyes downto earth again; “the only thing that can be done now, that I knowof, is to leave him in the cellar for a day or so, till he’s a littlestarved down; and then to take him out, and to keep him on gruelall through his apprenticeship. He comes of a bad family.Excitable natures, Mrs. Sowerberry! Both the nurse and doctorsaid, that that mother of his made her way here, against difficultiesand pain that would have killed any well-disposed woman, weeksbefore.”At this point of Mr. Bumble’s discourse, Oliver, just hearingenough to know that some new allusion was being made to hismother, recommenced kicking, with a violence that renderedevery other sound inaudible. Sowerberry returned at thisjuncture. Oliver’s offence having been explained to him, with suchexaggerations as the ladies thought best calculated to rouse his ire,he unlocked the cellar-door in a twinkling, and dragged hisrebellious apprentice out, by the collar. Oliver’s clothes had beentorn in the beating he had received; his face was bruised andscratched; and his hair scattered over his forehead. The angryflush had not disappeared, however; and when he was pulled outof his prison, he scowled boldly on Noah, and looked quiteundismayed.Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist“Now, you are a nice young fellow, ain’t you?” said Sowerberry,giving Oliver a shake, and a box on the ear.“He called my mother names,” replied Oliver.“Well, and what if he did, you little, ungrateful wretch?” saidMrs. Sowerberry. “She deserved what he said, and worse.”