Oliver Twist(雾都孤儿(孤星血泪))-24

“The room door is open, is it?”“Wide,” replied Toby, after peeping into to satisfy himself.“That game of that is, that they always leave it open with a catch,so that the dog, who’s got a bed in here, may walk up and downthe passage when he feels wakeful. Ha! ha! Barney ‘ticed himaway tonight. So neat!”Although Mr. Crackit spoke in a scarcely audible whisper, andlaughed without noise, Sikes imperiously commanded him to besilent, and to get to work. Toby complied, by first producing hislantern, and placing it on the ground; and then by planting himselffirmly with his head against the wall beneath the window, and hishands upon his knees, so as to make a step of his back. This wasno sooner done, than Sikes, mounting upon him, put Oliver gentlythrough the window with his feet first; and, without leaving hold ofhis collar, planted him safely on the floor inside.“Take this lantern,” said Sikes, looking into the room. “You seethe stairs afore you?”Oliver, more dead than alive, gasped out, “Yes.” Sikes, pointingto the street door with the pistol barrel, briefly advised him to takenotice that he was within shot all the way; and that if he faltered,he would fall dead that instant.“It’s done in a minute,” said Sikes, in the same low whisper.“Directly I leave go of you, do your work. Hark!”“What’s that?” whispered the other man.They listened intently.“Nothing,” said Sikes, releasing his hold of Oliver. “Now!”In the short time he had had to collect his senses, the boy hadfirmly resolved that, whether he died in the attempt or not, hewould make one effort to dart upstairs from the hall, and alarmCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 235the family. Filled with this idea, he advanced at once, butstealthily.“Come back!” suddenly cried Sikes aloud. “Back! back!”Scared by the sudden breaking of the dead stillness of theplace, and by a loud cry which followed it, Oliver let his lanternfall, and knew not whether to advance or fly.The cry was repeated—a light appeared—a vision of twoterrified, half-dressed men at the top of the stairs swam before hiseyes—a flash—a loud noise—a smoke—a crash somewhere, butwhere he knew not—and he staggered back.Sikes had disappeared for an instant; but he was up again, andhad him by the collar before the smoke had cleared away. He firedhis own pistol after the men, who were already retreating; anddragged the boy up.“Clasp your arm tighter,” said Sikes, as he drew him throughthe window. “Give me a shawl here. They’ve hit him. Quick!Damnation, how the boy bleeds!”Then came the loud ringing of a bell, mingled with the noise offirearms, and the shouts of men, and the sensation of being carriedover uneven ground at a rapid pace. And then, the noises grewconfused in the distance; and a cold, deadly feeling crept over theboy’s heart; and he saw or heard no more.Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 236Chapter 23Which Contains The Substance Of A PleasantConversation Between Mr. Bumble And A Lady;And Shows That Even A Beadle May BeSusceptible On Some Points.The night was bitter cold. The snow lay on the ground,frozen into a hard thick crust, so that only the heaps thathad drifted into byways and corners were affected by thesharp wind that howled abroad; which, as if expending increasedfury on such prey as it found, caught it savagely up in clouds, and,whirling it into a thousand misty eddies, scattered it in air. Bleak,dark, and piercing cold, it was a night for the well-housed and fedto draw round the bright fire and thank God they were at home;and for the homeless, starving wretch to lay him down and die.Many hunger-worn outcasts close their eyes in our bare streets, atsuch times, who, let their crimes have been what they may, canhardly open them in a more bitter world.Such was the aspect of out-of-doors affairs, when Mrs. Corney,the matron of the workhouse to which our readers have beenalready introduced as the birthplace of Oliver Twist, sat herselfdown before a cheerful fire in her own little room, and glanced,with no small degree of complacency, at a small, round table, onwhich stood a tray of corresponding size, furnished with allnecessary materials for the most grateful meal that matrons enjoy.In fact, Mrs. Corney was about to solace herself with a cup of tea.As she glanced from the table to the fireplace, where the smallestCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 237of all possible kettles was singing a small song in a small voice, herinward satisfaction evidently increased—so much so, indeed, thatMrs. Corney smiled.“Well!” said the matron, leaning her elbow on the table, andlooking reflectively at the fire; “I’m sure we have all on us a greatdeal to be grateful for! A great deal, if we did but know it. Ah!”Mrs. Corney shook her head mournfully, as if deploring hemental blindness of those paupers who did not know it; andthrusting a silver spoon (private property) into the inmost recessesof a two-ounce tin tea-caddy, proceeded to make the tea.How slight a thing will disturb the equanimity of our frailminds! The black teapot, being very small and easily filled, ranover while Mrs. Corney was moralising; and the water slightlyscalded Mrs. Corney’s hand.“Drat the pot!” said the worthy matron, setting it down veryhastily on the hob; “a little stupid thing, that only holds a couple ofcups! What use is it of, to anybody! Except,” said Mrs. Corney,pausing—“except to a poor, desolate creature like me. Oh, dear!”With these words, the matron dropped into her chair, and, oncemore resting her elbow on the table, thought of her solitary fate.The small teapot, and the single cup, had awakened in her mindsad recollections of Mr. Corney (who had not been dead more thanfive-and-twenty years); and she was overpowered.“I shall never get another!” said Mrs. Corney pettishly; “I shallnever get another—like him.”Whether this remark bore reference to the husband, or theteapot, is uncertain. It might have been the latter, for Mrs. Corneylooked at it as she spoke, and took it up afterwards. She had justtasted her first cup, when she was disturbed by a soft tap at theCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 238room door.“Oh, come in with you!” said Mrs. Corney sharply. “Some of theold women dying, I suppose. They always die when I’m at meals.Don’t stand there, letting the cold air in, don’t. What’s amiss now,eh?”“Nothing, ma’am, nothing,” replied a man’s voice.“Dear me!” exclaimed the matron, in a much sweeter tone, “isthat Mr. Bumble?”“At your service, ma’am,” said Mr. Bumble, who had beenstopping outside to rub his shoes clean, and to shake the snow offhis coat: and who now made his appearance, bearing the cockedhat in one hand and a bundle in the other. “Shall I shut the door,ma’am?”The lady modestly hesitated to reply, lest there should be anyimpropriety in holding an interview with Mr. Bumble, with closeddoors. Mr. Bumble taking advantage of the hesitation, and beingvery cold himself, shut it without permission.“Hard weather, Mr. Bumble,” said the matron.“Hard, indeed, ma’am,” replied the beadle. “Anti-parochialweather, this, ma’am. We have given away, Mrs. Corney, we havegiven away a matter of twenty quartern loaves and a cheese and ahalf, this very blessed afternoon; and yet them paupers are notcontented.”“Of course not. When would they be, Mr. Bumble?” said thematron, sipping her tea.“When, indeed, ma’am!” rejoined Mr. Bumble. “Why, here’sone man that, in consideration of his wife and large family, has aquartern loaf and a good pound of cheese, full weight. Is hegrateful, ma’am? Is he grateful? Not a copper farthing’s worth ofCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 239it! What does he do, ma’am, but ask for a few coals; if it’s only apocket-handkerchief full, he says! Coals! What would he do withcoals? Toast his cheese with ’em, and then come back for more.That’s the way with these people, ma’am; give ’em a apron full ofcoals today, and they’ll come back for another, the day aftertomorrow, as brazen as alabaster.”The matron expressed her entire concurrence in thisintelligible simile; and the beadle went on.“I never,” said Mr. Bumble, “see anything like the pitch it’s gotto. The day afore yesterday, a man—you have been a marriedwoman, ma’am, and I may mention it to you—a man, with hardly arag upon his back (here Mrs. Corney looked at the floor), goes toour overseer’s door when he has got company coming to dinner,and says, he must be relieved, Mrs. Corney. As he wouldn’t goaway, and shocked the company very much, our overseer sent himout a pound of potatoes and half a pint of oatmeal. ‘My heart!’ saysthe ungrateful villain, ‘what’s the use of this to me? You might aswell give me a pair of iron spectacles!’ ‘Very good,’ says ouroverseer, taking ’em away again, ‘you won’t get anything elsehere.’ ‘Then I’ll die in the streets!’ says the vagrant. ‘Oh, no, youwon’t, says our overseer.’”“Ha! ha! That was very good! So like Mr. Grannett, wasn’t it?”interposed the matron. “Well, Mr. Bumble?”“Well, ma’am,” rejoined the beadle, “he went away; and he diddie in the streets. There’s a obstinate pauper for you!”“It beats anything I could have believed,” observed the matronemphatically. “But don’t you think out-of-door relief a very badthing, anyway, Mr. Bumble? You’re a gentleman of experience,and ought to know. Come.”Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 240“Mrs. Corney,” said the beadle, smiling as men smile who areconscious of superior information, “out-of-door relief, properlymanaged—properly managed, ma’am—is the parochial safeguard.The great principle of out-of-door relief is, to give the paupersexactly what they don’t want; and then they get tired of coming.”“Dear me!” exclaimed 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 reason why, if you look atany cases that get into them owdacious newspapers, you’ll alwaysobserve that sick families have been relieved with slices of cheese.That’s the rule now, Mrs. Corney, all over the country. But,however,” said the beadle, stopping to unpack his bundle, “theseare official secrets, ma’am; not to be spoken of; except, as I maysay, among the parochial officers, such as ourselves. This is theport wine, ma’am, that the Board ordered for the infirmary: real,fresh, genuine port wine; only out of the cask this forenoon; clearas a bell; and no sediment!”Having held the first bottle up to the light, and shaken it well totest its excellence, Mr. Bumble placed them both on top of a chestof drawers; folded the handkerchief in which they had beenwrapped; put it carefully in his pocket; and took up his hat, as if togo.“You’ll have a very cold walk, Mr. Bumble,” said the matron.“It blows, ma’am,” replied Mr. Bumble, turning up his coat-collar, “enough to cut one’s ears off.”The matron looked, from the little kettle, to the beadle, who wasmoving towards the door; and as the beadle coughed, preparatoryto bidding her good-night, bashfully inquired whether—whetherCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 241he wouldn’t take a cup of tea?Mr. Bumble instantaneously turned back his collar again; laidhis hat and stick upon a chair; and drew another chair up to thetable. As he slowly seated himself, he looked at the lady. She fixedher eyes upon the little teapot. Mr. Bumble coughed again, andslightly smiled.Mrs. Corney rose to get another cup and saucer from the closet.As she sat down, her eyes once again encountered those of thegallant beadle; she coloured, and applied herself to the task ofmaking his tea. Again Mr. Bumble coughed—louder this time thanhe had coughed yet.“Sweet, Mr. Bumble?” inquired the matron, taking up thesugar-basin.“Very sweet, indeed, ma’am,” replied Mr. Bumble. He fixed hiseyes on Mrs. Corney as he said this; and if ever a beadle lookedtender, Mr. Bumble was that beadle at that moment.The tea was made, and handed in silence. Mr. Bumble, havingspread a handkerchief over his knees to prevent the crumbs fromsullying the splendour of his shorts, began to eat and drink;varying these amusements, occasionally, by fetching a deep sigh;which, however, had no injurious effect upon his appetite, but, onthe contrary, rather seemed to facilitate his operations in the teaand toast department.“You have a cat, ma’am, I see,” said Mr. Bumble, glancing atone who, in the centre of her family, was basking before the fire;“and kittens too, I declare!”“I am so fond of them, Mr. Bumble, you can’t think,” replied thematron. “They’re so happy, so frolicsome, and so cheerful, thatthey are quite companions for me.”Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 242“Very nice animals, ma’am,” replied Mr. Bumble approvingly;“so very domestic.”“Oh, yes!” rejoined the matron, with enthusiasm; “so fond oftheir home, too, that it’s quite a pleasure, I’m sure.”“Mrs. Corney, ma’am,” said Mr. Bumble, slowly, and markingthe time with his teaspoon. “I mean to say this, ma’am, that anycat, or kitten, that could live with you, ma’am, and not be fond ofits home, must be a ass, ma’am.”“Oh, Mr. Bumble!” remonstrated Mrs. Corney.“It’s of no use disguising facts, ma’am,” said Mr. Bumble, slowlyflourishing the teaspoon with a kind of amorous dignity whichmade him doubly impressive; “I would drown it myself, withpleasure.”“Then you’re a cruel man,” said the matron vivaciously, as sheheld out her hand for the beadle’s cup; “and a very hard-heartedman besides.”“Hard-hearted, ma’am?” said Mr. Bumble. “Hard?” Mr.Bumble resigned his cup without another word; squeezed Mrs.Corney’s little finger as she took it; and inflicting two open-handedslaps upon his laced waistcoat, gave a mighty sigh, and hitched hischair a very little morsel farther from the fire.It was a round table; and as Mrs. Corney and Mr. Bumble hadbeen sitting opposite each other, with no great space betweenthem, and fronting the fire, it will be seen that Mr. Bumble, inreceding from the fire, and still keeping at the table, increased thedistance between himself and Mrs. Corney; which proceedingsome prudent readers will doubtless be disposed to admire, and toconsider an act of great heroism on Mr. Bumble’s part: he being insome sort tempted by time, place, and opportunity, to giveCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 243utterance to certain soft nothings, which, however well they maybecome the lips of the light and thoughtless, so seemimmeasurably beneath the dignity of judges of the land, membersof parliament, ministers of state, lord mayors, and other greatpublic functionaries but more particularly beneath the statelinessand gravity of a beadle; who (as is well known) should be thesternest and most inflexible among them all.Whatever were Mr. Bumble’s intentions, however (and nodoubt they were of the best), it unfortunately happened, as hasbeen twice before remarked, that the table was a round one;consequently Mr. Bumble, moving his chair by little and little,soon began to diminish the distance between himself and thematron; and, continuing to travel round the outer edge of thecircle, brought his chair, in time, close to that in which the matronwas seated. Indeed, the two chairs touched; and when they did so,Mr. Bumble stopped.Now, if the matron had moved her chair to the right, she wouldhave been scorched by the fire; and if to the left, she must havefallen into Mr. Bumble’s arms; so (being a discreet matron, and nodoubt foreseeing these consequences at a glance) she remainedwhere she was, and handed Mr. Bumble another cup of tea.“Hard-hearted, Mrs. Corney?” said Mr. Bumble, stirring his tea,and looking up into the matron’s face; “are you hardhearted, Mrs.Corney?”“Dear me!” exclaimed the matron, “what a very curiousquestion from a single man. What can you want to know for, Mr.Bumble?”The beadle drank his tea to the last drop; finished a piece oftoast; whisked the crumbs off his knees; wiped his lips; and