บทที่ บทที่ 9 · CONTAINING FURTHER PARTICULARS CONCERNING THE PLEASANT OLD GENTLEMAN,

. 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 wrapt in

perfect unconsciousness. At such time, 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 recognised 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

appearances 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 poached 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 curiousity; 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 hour 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 snuff-box 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

fire-place, 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 accidently, while Charley Bates

stumbled up against him behind; and in that one moment they took from

him, with the most extraordinary rapidity, snuff-box, 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 gentleman; 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.

The 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 the 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.