Oliver Gets Experience at a High Price

For many days, Oliver remained in Fagin’s room, picking

the marks out o f the pocket-handkerchiefs and sometimes tak ing

part in the game, which the two boys and the merry old man

played every morning.

Oliver saw that the old man’s character was really strong.

Whenever the Dodger o r Charley Bates came home at night, em pty-

handed, Fagin would speak about their laziness and the necessity

o f an active life, and would send them supperless to bed.

More than once Oliver asked the old man to allow him to

go out to work with his two companions. At length, one mom

ing, Fagin said that Oliver might go with Charley Bates and the

Dodger.

The Dodger’s hat was cocked as usual; Charley Bates put

his hands in his pockets; and Oliver was between them, wondering

where they were going, and what kind o f work he would do.

But the boys were not in a hurry to start any work. They were just

walking lazily along the streets, and soon Oliver began to think

his companions were going to deceive the old gentleman, by not

going to work at all.

At this moment the Dodger made a sudden stop; and, laying

his finger on his lip, drew his companions back.

‘What’s the matter?’ asked Oliver.

‘Hush!’ replied the Dodger. ‘Do you see that old man at

the book-stall?’

‘The old gentleman over there?’ said Oliver. ‘Yes, 1 see him.’

‘H e ’ll d o,’ said the Dodger.

Oliver looked from one to the other with the greatest surprise,

but he was not permitted to make any inquiries; the two boys

walked across the road, and came up close to the old gentleman.

Oliver stood looking at them in silent amazement.

The old gentleman was a very respectable-looking person,

with a powdered head and gold spectacles. He was dressed in a

bottle-green coat with a black velvet collar; wore white trousers; and

carried a smart bamboo cane under his arm. He took up a book

from the stall, and there he stood, reading it. He was so absorbed

in reading that he saw neither the book-stall, nor the street, nor

the boys, nor, in short, anything but the book.

Oliver’s eyes were wide open. To his h o rro r the Dodger

plunged his hand into the old gentleman’s pocket, drew out a

handkerchief, handed it to Charley Bates, and the two boys ran

away round the corner at full speed!

In an instant Oliver understood the whole mystery o f the

handkerchiefs, and the merry game, and the watches, and the

jewels, and the old man.

He stood, for a moment, confused and frightened. Terror

seized him, he took to his heels and ran as fast as he could.

In the very instant when Oliver began to run, the old gentle

man, putting his hand to his pocket, and missing his handkerchief,

turned round. ‘Stop thief!’ shouted the old gentleman with all his

might and ran after Oliver.

The old gentleman was not the only person who was running

after Oliver. The Dodger and Charley Bates, unwilling to attract

public attention by running down the open street, hid into the very

first doorway round the corner. When they heard the cry and saw

Oliver running, they guessed exactly how the matter stood. They

shouted ‘Stop thief!’, too, and like good citizens they joined the

crowd, running after Oliver.

The crowd was coming nearer and nearer to the wretched

breathless child with agony in his eyes, and large drops o f perspiration

were streaming down his face. The next moment a heavy

blow knocked the boy down, and in a moment there was a big

crowd round Oliver. ‘Where’s the gentleman?’ ‘Here he is, coming

down the street.’ ‘Make room there for the gentleman!’ ‘Is

this the boy, sir?’

‘Yes, 1 am afraid it is the boy. Poor fellow!’ said the gentleman.

‘He has hurt himself.’

‘I did that, sir,’ said a big fellow, stepping forward; ‘and I

cut my knuckle against his mouth. I stopped him, sir.’

The fellow touched his hat with a grin, expecting something

for his pains; but, the old gentleman, eyeing him with an

expression o f dislike, looked anxiously round. At tha t moment a

police officer (who is generally the last person to arrive in such

cases) made his way through the crowd, and seized Oliver by

the collar.

‘Come, get u p,’ said the man, roughly.

‘It wasn’t me indeed, sir,’ said Oliver, clasping his hands

passionately, and looking round.

‘Come, get up!’

‘D o n ’t hurt h im,’ said the old gentleman.

‘Oh no, I won’t hurt h im,’ replied the officer. ‘Will you stand

upon your legs, you young devil?’

Oliver, who could hardly stand, made a shift to raise himself

on his feet, and was at once dragged along the streets by the police

officer. The gentleman walked on with them by the officer’s side.

Many o f the crowd got a little ahead and stared back at Oliver

from time to time.

When they reached the court house Oliver was searched and

then locked up in a cell.

‘There is something in that boy’s face,’ said th e old gentleman

to himself as he walked slowly away, ‘something that touches

and interests me. Can he be in n o c en t? The p o o r boy looked

like —’ continued the old gentleman, halting very abruptly, and

staring up into the sky, ‘Where have I seen something like that

look before? N o,’ said the old gentleman, shaking his head; ‘it

must be imagination.’

He was roused by a touch on the shoulder. The man with

the keys asked the old gentleman to follow him into the office.

Oliver was already there; trembling very much at the awfulness

o f the scene.

The old gentleman bowed respectfully.

Mr. Fang, the magistrate, was a lean, long-backed, stiffnecked,

middle-sized man, with no great quantity o f hair. In the

morning newspaper he read an article, criticizing him for his wrong

decisions. He was out o f temper, and he looked up angrily.

‘Who are you?’ said Mr. Fang.

‘My name, sir,’ said the old gentleman, speaking like a gentleman,

‘my name, sir, is Brownlow.’

‘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.

‘He appears against this boy, your worship.’

‘Are there any witnesses?’ inquired Mr. Fang.

‘None, your worship,’ replied the policeman.

‘Now,’ said Mr. Fang addressing Mr. Brownlow, ‘what’s the

charge against this boy? What have you got to say, sir?’

Mr. Brownlow described the case, saying that he ran after the

boy because he saw him running away. ‘Sir, I think that he may

be innocent. He has been hurt already,’ said the old gentleman in

conclusion. ‘And I fear,’ he added, with great energy, looking at

the boy, ‘I really fear that he is ill.’

‘What’s your name, you hardened scoundrel?’ demanded

Mr. Fang.

Oliver tried to reply but his tongue failed him. He was deadly

pale; and the whole place seemed turning round and round.

‘O h, he won’t speak out!’ said Mr. Fang. ‘Very well, very

well. Officer, where does he live? Has he any parents?’

‘He says they died in his infancy, your worship,’ replied the

officer.

‘Nonsense!’ said Mr. Fang: ‘d o n ’t try to make a fool o f me.’

‘I think he really is ill, your worship,’ said the officer.

‘I know better,’ said Mr. Fang.

‘Take care o f him, officer,’ said the old gentleman, raising

his hands instinctively; ‘h e ’ll fall down.’

‘Stand away, officer,’ cried Mr. Fang; ‘let him fall, if he likes.’

Oliver fainted and fell to the floor. The men in the office

looked at each other, but no one dared to help the boy.

‘Let him lie th e re; h e ’ll so o n be tire d o f th a t, ’ said

Mr. Fang.

‘How do you propose to deal with the case, sir?’ inquired

the clerk in a low voice.

‘He is sentenced to three months,’ replied Mr. Fang. ‘Hard

labour, o f course. Clear the office.’

The door was opened for this purpose, and a couple o f men

were preparing to carry the insensible boy to his cell when an elderly

man rushed hastily into the office.

‘Stop, stop! D o n ’t take him away!’ cried the newcomer,

breathless with haste.

‘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 it all. I keep the book-stall. Mr. Fang, you must hear me. You

must not refuse, sir.’ His manner was determined; and the matter

was growing rather too serious to be hushed up.

‘Now, man, what have you got to say?’ growled Mr. Fang,

remembering the morning newspaper.

‘The robbery was committed by another boy, and I saw that

this poor boy was perfectly amazed and stupefied by it.’

‘Why d id n ’t you come h ere b e fo re? ’ said Fang, a fte r a

pause.

‘I h ad n ’t anybody to help me in the shop,’ replied the man.

‘1 could get nobody till five minutes ago; and I've run here all

the way.’

‘The boy is discharged. Clear the office!’ said the magistrate.

‘Officer, do you hear? Clear the office!’

Mr. Brownlow found little Oliver Twist lying on his back

on the pavement in the court yard, with his shirt unbuttoned, his

face deadly white.

‘Poor boy, poor boy!’ said Mr. Brownlow, bending over him.

‘Call a coach, somebody. Directly!’

When a coach came Mr. Brownlow carefully laid Oliver on

the seat, and away they drove.

Дата добавления: 2015-10-13