Oliver Twist(雾都孤儿(孤星血泪))-11

key grated in the lock. He turned with a sigh to the book whichhad been the innocent cause of all this disturbance.“There is something in that boy’s face,” said the old gentlemanto himself as he walked slowly away, tapping his chin with thecover of the book, in a thoughtful manner; “something thattouches and interests me. Can he be innocent? He looked like—Bythe bye,” exclaimed the old gentleman, halting very abruptly, andstaring up into the sky. “Bless my soul! where have I seensomething like that look before?”After musing for some minutes, the old gentleman walked, withthe same meditative face, into a back ante-room opening from theyard; and there, retiring into a corner, called up before his mind’seye a vast amphitheatre of faces over which a dusky curtain hadhung for many years. “No,” said the old gentleman, shaking hishead; “it must be imagination.”He wandered over them again. He had called them into view,and it was not easy to replace the shroud that had so longCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 105concealed them. There were the faces of friends, and foes, and ofmany that had been almost strangers peering intrusively from thecrowd; there were the faces of young and blooming girls that werenow old women; there were faces that the grave had changed andclosed upon, but which the mind superior to its power, stilldressed in their old freshness and beauty, calling back the lustre ofthe eyes, the brightness of the smile, the beaming of the soulthrough its mask of clay, and whispering of beauty beyond thetomb, changed but to be heightened, and taken from earth only tobe sent up as a light, to shed a soft and gentle glow upon the pathto heaven.But the old gentleman could recall no one countenance ofwhich Oliver’s features bore a trace. So he heaved a sigh over therecollections he had awakened; and being, happily for himself, anabsent old gentleman, buried them again in the pages of the mustybook.He was roused by a touch on the shoulder, and a request fromthe man with the keys to follow him into the office. He closed hisbook hastily; and was at once ushered into the imposing presenceof the renowned Mr. Fang.The office was a front parlour, with a panelled wall. Mr. Fangsat behind a bar, at the upper end; and on one side of the door wasa sort of wooden pen in which poor little Oliver was alreadydeposited, trembling very much at the awfulness of the scene.Mr. Fang was a lean, long-backed, stiff-necked, middle-sizedman, with no great quantity of hair, and what he had, growing onthe back and sides of his head. His face was stern and muchflushed. If he were really not in the habit of drinking rather morethan was exactly good for him, he might have brought an actionCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 106against his countenance for libel, and have recovered heavydamages.The old gentleman bowed respectfully; and advancing to themagistrate’s desk, said, suiting the action to the word, “That is myname and address, sir.” He then withdrew a pace or two; and, withanother polite and gentlemanly inclination of the head, waited tobe questioned.Now, it so happened that Mr. Fang was at that momentperusing a leading article in a newspaper of the morning,adverting to some recent decision of his, and commending him, forthe three hundred and fiftieth time, to the special, and particularnotice of the Secretary of State for the Home Department. He wasout of temper; and he looked up with an angry scowl.“Who are you?” said Mr. Fang.The old gentleman pointed, with some surprise, to his card.“Officer!” said Mr. Fang, tossing the card contemptuously awaywith—the newspaper. “Who is this fellow?”“My name, sir,” said the old gentleman, speaking like agentleman, “my name, sir, is Brownlow. Permit me to inquire thename of the magistrate who offers a gratuitous and unprovokedinsult to a respectable person, under the protection of the bench.”Saying this, Mr. Brownlow looked round the office as if in searchof some person who would afford him the required information.“Officer!” said Mr. Fang, throwing the paper on one side,“what’s this fellow charged with?”“He’s not charged at all, your Worship,” replied the officer. “Heappears against the boy, your Worship.”His Worship knew this perfectly well; but it was a goodannoyance, and a safe one.Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 107“Appears against the boy, does he?” said Fang, surveying Mr.Brownlow contemptuously from head to foot. “Swear him!”“Before I am sworn, I must beg to say one word,” said Mr.Brownlow; “and that is, that I really never, without actualexperience, could have believed—”“Hold your tongue, sir!” said Mr. Fang peremptorily.“I will not, sir!” replied the old gentleman.“Hold your tongue this instant, or I’ll have you turned out of theoffice!” said Mr. Fang. “You’re an insolent, impertinent fellow.How dare you bully a magistrate!”“What!” exclaimed the old gentleman, reddening.“Swear this person!” said Fang to the clerk. “I’ll not hearanother word. Swear him.”Mr. Brownlow’s indignation was greatly roused; but reflectingperhaps, that he might only injure the boy by giving vent to it, hesuppressed his feelings and submitted to be sworn at once “Now,”said Fang, “what’s the charge against this boy? What have you gotto say, sir?”“I was standing at a bookstall—” Mr. Brownlow began.“Hold your tongue, sir,” said Mr. Fang. “Policeman! Where’sthe policeman? Here, swear this policeman. Now, policeman, whatis this?”The policeman, with becoming humility, related how he hadtaken the charge; how he had searched Oliver, and found nothingon his person; and how that was all he knew about it.“Are there any witnesses?” inquired Mr. Fang.“None, your Worship,” replied the policeman.Mr. Fang sat silent for some minutes, and then, turning roundto the prosecutor, said in a towering passion:Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 108“Do you mean to state what your complaint against this boy is,or do you not? You have been sworn. Now, if you stand there,refusing to give evidence, I’ll punish you for disrespect to thebench; I will, by—” By what, or by whom, nobody knows, for theclerk and jailer coughed very loud, just at the right moment; andthe former dropped a heavy book upon the floor, thus preventingthe word from being heard—accidentally, of course.With many interruptions, and repeated insults, Mr. Brownlowcontrived to state his case; observing that, in the surprise of themoment, he had run after the boy because he saw him runningaway; and expressing his hope that, if the magistrate shouldbelieve him, although not actually the thief, to be connected withthieves, he would deal as leniently with him as justice would allow.“He has been hurt already,” said the old gentleman inconclusion. “And I fear,” he added, with great energy, lookingtowards the bar, “I really fear that he is ill.”“Oh! yes, I dare say!” said Mr. Fang, with a sneer. “Come, noneof your tricks here, you young vagabond; they won’t do. What’syour name?”Oliver tried to reply, but his tongue failed him. He was deadlypale; and the whole place seemed turning round and round.“What’s your name, you hardened scoundrel?” demanded Mr.Fang. “Officer, what’s his name?”This was addressed to a bluff old fellow, in a striped waistcoat,who was standing by the bar. He bent over Oliver, and repeatedthe inquiry; but finding him really incapable of understanding thequestion, and knowing that his not replying would only infuriatethe magistrate the more, and add to the severity of his sentence,he hazarded a guess.Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 109“He says his name’s Tom White, your Worship,” said the kindhearted thief-taker.“Oh, he won’t speak out, won’t he?” said Fang. “Very well, verywell. Where does he live?”“Where he can, your Worship,” replied the officer, againpretending to receive Oliver’s answer.“Has he any parents?” inquired Mr. Fang.“He says they died in his infancy, your Worship,” hazarding theusual reply.At this point of the inquiry, Oliver raised his head; and, lookinground with imploring eyes, murmured a feeble prayer for adraught of water.“Stuff and nonsense!” said Mr. Fang; “don’t try to make a foolof me.”“I think he really is ill, your Worship,” remonstrated the officer.“I know better,” said Mr. Fang.“Take care of him, officer,” said the old gentleman, raising hishands instinctively; “he’ll fall down.”“Stand away, officer,” cried Fang; “let him, if he likes.”Oliver availed himself of the kind permission, and fell to thefloor in a fainting fit. The men in the office looked at each other,but no one dared to stir.“I knew he was shamming,” said Fang, as if this wereincontestable proof of the fact. “Let him lie there; he’ll soon betired of that.”“How do you propose to deal with the case, sir?” inquired theclerk, in a low voice.“Summarily,” replied Mr. Fang. “He stands committed forthree months—hard labour, of course. Clear the office.”Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 110The door was opened for this purpose, and a couple of menwere preparing to carry the insensible boy to his cell, when anelderly man of decent but poor appearance, clad in an old suit ofblack, rushed hastily into the office, and advanced towards thebench.“Stop, stop! Don’t take him away! For Heaven’s sake stop amoment!” cried the newcomer, breathless with haste.Although the presiding Genii in such an office as this, exercise asummary and arbitrary power over the liberties, the good name,the character, almost the lives, of her Majesty’s subjects, especiallyof the poorer class; and although, within such walls, enoughfantastic tricks are daily played to make the angels blind withweeping; they are closed to the public, save through the mediumof the daily press. Mr. Fang was consequently not a little indignantto see an unbidden guest enter in such irreverent disorder.“What is this? Who is this? Turn this man out. Clear the office!”cried Mr. Fang.“I will speak,” cried the man; “I will not be turned out. I saw itall. I keep the bookstall. I demand to be sworn. I will not be putdown. Mr. Fang, you must hear me. You must not refuse, sir.”The man was right. His manner was determined; and thematter was growing rather too serious to be hushed up.“Swear the man,” growled Mr. Fang, with a very ill grace.“Now, man, what have you got to say?”“This,” said the man; “I saw three boys—two others and theprisoner here—loitering on the opposite side of the way, when thisgentleman was reading. The robbery was committed by anotherboy. I saw it done; and I saw that this boy was perfectly amazedand stupefied by it.” Having by this time recovered a little breath,Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 111the worthy bookstall keeper proceeded to relate, in a morecoherent manner, the exact circumstances of the robbery.“Why didn’t you come here before?” said Fang, after a pause.“I hadn’t a soul to mind the shop,” replied the man. “Everybodywho could have helped me, had joined in the pursuit. I could getnobody till five minutes ago; and I’ve run here all the way.”“The prosecutor was reading, was he?” inquired Fang, afteranother pause.“Yes,” replied the man. “The very book he has in his hand.”“Oh, that book, eh?” said Fang. “Is it paid for?”“No, it is not,” replied the man, with a smile.“Dear me, I forgot all about it!” exclaimed the absentmindedold gentleman innocently.“A nice person to prefer a charge against a poor boy!” saidFang, with a comical effort to look humane. “I consider, sir, thatyou have obtained possession of that book, under very suspiciousand disreputable circumstances; and you may think yourself veryfortunate that the owner of the property declines to prosecute. Letthis be a lesson to you, my man, or the law will overtake you yet.The boy is discharged. Clear the office.”“D—n me!” cried the old gentleman, bursting out with the ragehe had kept down so long, “d—n me! I’ll—”“Clear the office!” said the magistrate. “Officers, do you hear?Clear the office!”The mandate was obeyed; and the indignant Mr. Brownlow wasconveyed out, with the book in one hand, and the bamboo cane inthe other, in a perfect frenzy of rage and defiance. He reached theyard; and his passion vanished for a moment. Little Oliver Twistlay on his back on the pavement, with his shirt unbuttoned, andCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 112his temples bathed with water; his face a deadly white; and a coldtremble convulsing his whole frame.“Poor boy, poor boy!” said Mr. Brownlow, bending over him.“Call a coach, somebody, pray. Directly!” .A coach was obtained, and Oliver, having been carefully laid onone seat, the old gentleman got in and sat himself on the other.“May I accompany you?” said the bookstall keeper, looking in.“Bless me, yes, my dear sir,” said Mr. Brownlow quickly. “Iforgot you. Dear, dear! I have this unhappy book still! Jump in.Poor fellow! There’s no time to lose.”The bookstall keeper got into the coach; and away they drove.Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 113Chapter 12In Which Oliver Is Taken Better Care Of Than HeEver Was Before—And In Which The NarrativeReverts To The Merry Old Gentleman And HisYouthful Friends.The coach rattled away, down Mount Pleasant and upExmouth Street, over nearly the same ground as thatwhich Oliver had traversed when he first entered Londonin company with the Dodger; and, turning a different way when itreached the Angel at Islington, stopped at length before a neathouse, in a quiet, shady street near Pentonville. Here a bed wasprepared, without loss of time, in which Mr. Brownlow saw hisyoung charge carefully and comfortably deposited; and here hewas tended with a kindness and solicitude that knew no bounds.But, for many days, Oliver remained insensible to all thegoodness of his new friends. The sun rose and sank, and rose andsank again, and many times after that; and still the boy laystretched on his uneasy bed, dwindling away beneath the dry andwasting heat of fever. The worm does not his work more surely onthe dead body, than does this slow-creeping fire upon the livingframe.Weak, and thin, and pallid, he awoke at last from what seemedto have been a long and troubled dream. Feebly raising himself inthe bed, with his head resting on his trembling arm, he lookedanxiously around.“What room is this? Where have I been brought to?” saidCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 114Oliver. “This is not the place I went to sleep in.”He uttered these words in a feeble voice, being very faint andweak; but they were overheard at once; for the curtain at the bed’shead was hastily drawn back, and a motherly old lady, very neatly