第 十五 章 · SHOWING HOW VERY FOND OF OLIVER TWIST, THE MERRY OLD JEW AND MISS NANCY WERE

. SHOWING HOW VERY FOND OF OLIVER TWIST, THE MERRY OLD JEW AND MISS NANCY WERE

SHOWING HOW VERY FOND OF OLIVER TWIST, THE MERRY OLD JEW AND MISS NANCY

WERE

In the obscure parlour of a low public-house, in the filthiest part of

Little Saffron Hill; a dark and gloomy den, where a flaring gas-light

burnt all day in the winter-time; and where no ray of sun ever shone in

the summer: there sat, brooding over a little pewter measure and a

small glass, strongly impregnated with the smell of liquor, a man in a

velveteen coat, drab shorts, half-boots and stockings, whom even by

that dim light no experienced agent of the police would have hesitated

to recognise as Mr. William Sikes. At his feet, sat a white-coated,

red-eyed dog; who occupied himself, alternately, in winking at his

master with both eyes at the same time; and in licking a large, fresh

cut on one side of his mouth, which appeared to be the result of some

recent conflict.

“Keep quiet, you warmint! Keep quiet!” said Mr. Sikes, suddenly

breaking silence. Whether his meditations were so intense as to be

disturbed by the dog’s winking, or whether his feelings were so wrought

upon by his reflections that they required all the relief derivable

from kicking an unoffending animal to allay them, is matter for

argument and consideration. Whatever was the cause, the effect was a

kick and a curse, bestowed upon the dog simultaneously.

Dogs are not generally apt to revenge injuries inflicted upon them by

their masters; but Mr. Sikes’s dog, having faults of temper in common

with his owner, and labouring, perhaps, at this moment, under a

powerful sense of injury, made no more ado but at once fixed his teeth

in one of the half-boots. Having given in a hearty shake, he retired,

growling, under a form; just escaping the pewter measure which Mr.

Sikes levelled at his head.

“You would, would you?” said Sikes, seizing the poker in one hand, and

deliberately opening with the other a large clasp-knife, which he drew

from his pocket. “Come here, you born devil! Come here! D’ye hear?”

The dog no doubt heard; because Mr. Sikes spoke in the very harshest

key of a very harsh voice; but, appearing to entertain some

unaccountable objection to having his throat cut, he remained where he

was, and growled more fiercely than before: at the same time grasping

the end of the poker between his teeth, and biting at it like a wild

beast.

This resistance only infuriated Mr. Sikes the more; who, dropping on

his knees, began to assail the animal most furiously. The dog jumped

from right to left, and from left to right; snapping, growling, and

barking; the man thrust and swore, and struck and blasphemed; and the

struggle was reaching a most critical point for one or other; when, the

door suddenly opening, the dog darted out: leaving Bill Sikes with the

poker and the clasp-knife in his hands.

There must always be two parties to a quarrel, says the old adage. Mr.

Sikes, being disappointed of the dog’s participation, at once

transferred his share in the quarrel to the new comer.

“What the devil do you come in between me and my dog for?” said Sikes,

with a fierce gesture.

“I didn’t know, my dear, I didn’t know,” replied Fagin, humbly; for the

Jew was the new comer.

“Didn’t know, you white-livered thief!” growled Sikes. “Couldn’t you

hear the noise?”

“Not a sound of it, as I’m a living man, Bill,” replied the Jew.

“Oh no! You hear nothing, you don’t,” retorted Sikes with a fierce

sneer. “Sneaking in and out, so as nobody hears how you come or go! I

wish you had been the dog, Fagin, half a minute ago.”

“Why?” inquired the Jew with a forced smile.

“’Cause the government, as cares for the lives of such men as you, as

haven’t half the pluck of curs, lets a man kill a dog how he likes,”

replied Sikes, shutting up the knife with a very expressive look;

“that’s why.”

The Jew rubbed his hands; and, sitting down at the table, affected to

laugh at the pleasantry of his friend. He was obviously very ill at

ease, however.

“Grin away,” said Sikes, replacing the poker, and surveying him with

savage contempt; “grin away. You’ll never have the laugh at me, though,

unless it’s behind a nightcap. I’ve got the upper hand over you, Fagin;

and, d—me, I’ll keep it. There! If I go, you go; so take care of me.”

“Well, well, my dear,” said the Jew, “I know all that; we—we—have a

mutual interest, Bill,—a mutual interest.”

“Humph,” said Sikes, as if he thought the interest lay rather more on

the Jew’s side than on his. “Well, what have you got to say to me?”

“It’s all passed safe through the melting-pot,” replied Fagin, “and

this is your share. It’s rather more than it ought to be, my dear; but

as I know you’ll do me a good turn another time, and—”

“Stow that gammon,” interposed the robber, impatiently. “Where is it?

Hand over!”

“Yes, yes, Bill; give me time, give me time,” replied the Jew,

soothingly. “Here it is! All safe!” As he spoke, he drew forth an old

cotton handkerchief from his breast; and untying a large knot in one

corner, produced a small brown-paper packet. Sikes, snatching it from

him, hastily opened it; and proceeded to count the sovereigns it

contained.

“This is all, is it?” inquired Sikes.

“All,” replied the Jew.

“You haven’t opened the parcel and swallowed one or two as you come

along, have you?” inquired Sikes, suspiciously. “Don’t put on an

injured look at the question; you’ve done it many a time. Jerk the

tinkler.”

These words, in plain English, conveyed an injunction to ring the bell.

It was answered by another Jew: younger than Fagin, but nearly as vile

and repulsive in appearance.

Bill Sikes merely pointed to the empty measure. The Jew, perfectly

understanding the hint, retired to fill it: previously exchanging a

remarkable look with Fagin, who raised his eyes for an instant, as if

in expectation of it, and shook his head in reply; so slightly that the

action would have been almost imperceptible to an observant third

person. It was lost upon Sikes, who was stooping at the moment to tie

the boot-lace which the dog had torn. Possibly, if he had observed the

brief interchange of signals, he might have thought that it boded no

good to him.

“Is anybody here, Barney?” inquired Fagin; speaking, now that

Sikes was looking on, without raising his eyes from the ground.

“Dot a shoul,” replied Barney; whose words: whether they came from the

heart or not: made their way through the nose.

“Nobody?” inquired Fagin, in a tone of surprise: which perhaps might

mean that Barney was at liberty to tell the truth.

“Dobody but Biss Dadsy,” replied Barney.

“Nancy!” exclaimed Sikes. “Where? Strike me blind, if I don’t honour

that ’ere girl, for her native talents.”

“She’s bid havid a plate of boiled beef id the bar,” replied Barney.

“Send her here,” said Sikes, pouring out a glass of liquor. “Send her

here.”

Barney looked timidly at Fagin, as if for permission; the Jew remaining

silent, and not lifting his eyes from the ground, he retired; and

presently returned, ushering in Nancy; who was decorated with the

bonnet, apron, basket, and street-door key, complete.

“You are on the scent, are you, Nancy?” inquired Sikes, proffering the

glass.

“Yes, I am, Bill,” replied the young lady, disposing of its contents;

“and tired enough of it I am, too. The young brat’s been ill and

confined to the crib; and—”

“Ah, Nancy, dear!” said Fagin, looking up.

Now, whether a peculiar contraction of the Jew’s red eye-brows, and a

half closing of his deeply-set eyes, warned Miss Nancy that she was

disposed to be too communicative, is not a matter of much importance.

The fact is all we need care for here; and the fact is, that she

suddenly checked herself, and with several gracious smiles upon Mr.

Sikes, turned the conversation to other matters. In about ten minutes’

time, Mr. Fagin was seized with a fit of coughing; upon which Nancy

pulled her shawl over her shoulders, and declared it was time to go.

Mr. Sikes, finding that he was walking a short part of her way himself,

expressed his intention of accompanying her; they went away together,

followed, at a little distant, by the dog, who slunk out of a back-yard

as soon as his master was out of sight.

The Jew thrust his head out of the room door when Sikes had left it;

looked after him as he walked up the dark passage; shook his clenched

fist; muttered a deep curse; and then, with a horrible grin, reseated

himself at the table; where he was soon deeply absorbed in the

interesting pages of the Hue-and-Cry.

Meanwhile, Oliver Twist, little dreaming that he was within so very

short a distance of the merry old gentleman, was on his way to the

book-stall. When he got into Clerkenwell, he accidently turned down a

by-street which was not exactly in his way; but not discovering his

mistake until he had got half-way down it, and knowing it must lead in

the right direction, he did not think it worth while to turn back; and

so marched on, as quickly as he could, with the books under his arm.

He was walking along, thinking how happy and contented he ought to

feel; and how much he would give for only one look at poor little Dick,

who, starved and beaten, might be weeping bitterly at that very moment;

when he was startled by a young woman screaming out very loud. “Oh, my

dear brother!” And he had hardly looked up, to see what the matter was,

when he was stopped by having a pair of arms thrown tight round his

neck.

“Don’t,” cried Oliver, struggling. “Let go of me. Who is it? What are

you stopping me for?”

The only reply to this, was a great number of loud lamentations from

the young woman who had embraced him; and who had a little basket and a

street-door key in her hand.

“Oh my gracious!” said the young woman, “I have found him! Oh! Oliver!

Oliver! Oh you naughty boy, to make me suffer such distress on your

account! Come home, dear, come. Oh, I’ve found him. Thank gracious

goodness heavins, I’ve found him!” With these incoherent exclamations,

the young woman burst into another fit of crying, and got so dreadfully

hysterical, that a couple of women who came up at the moment asked a

butcher’s boy with a shiny head of hair anointed with suet, who was

also looking on, whether he didn’t think he had better run for the

doctor. To which, the butcher’s boy: who appeared of a lounging, not to

say indolent disposition: replied, that he thought not.

“Oh, no, no, never mind,” said the young woman, grasping Oliver’s hand;

“I’m better now. Come home directly, you cruel boy! Come!”

“Oh, ma’am,” replied the young woman, “he ran away, near a month ago,

from his parents, who are hard-working and respectable people; and went

and joined a set of thieves and bad characters; and almost broke his

mother’s heart.”

“Young wretch!” said one woman.

“Go home, do, you little brute,” said the other.

“I am not,” replied Oliver, greatly alarmed. “I don’t know her. I

haven’t any sister, or father and mother either. I’m an orphan; I live

at Pentonville.”

“Only hear him, how he braves it out!” cried the young woman.

“Why, it’s Nancy!” exclaimed Oliver; who now saw her face for the first

time; and started back, in irrepressible astonishment.

“You see he knows me!” cried Nancy, appealing to the bystanders. “He

can’t help himself. Make him come home, there’s good people, or he’ll

kill his dear mother and father, and break my heart!”

“What the devil’s this?” said a man, bursting out of a beer-shop, with

a white dog at his heels; “young Oliver! Come home to your poor mother,

you young dog! Come home directly.”

“I don’t belong to them. I don’t know them. Help! help!” cried Oliver,

struggling in the man’s powerful grasp.

“Help!” repeated the man. “Yes; I’ll help you, you young rascal! What

books are these? You’ve been a stealing ’em, have you? Give ’em here.”

With these words, the man tore the volumes from his grasp, and struck

him on the head.

“That’s right!” cried a looker-on, from a garret-window. “That’s the

only way of bringing him to his senses!”

“To be sure!” cried a sleepy-faced carpenter, casting an approving look

at the garret-window.

“It’ll do him good!” said the two women.

“And he shall have it, too!” rejoined the man, administering another

blow, and seizing Oliver by the collar. “Come on, you young villain!

Here, Bull’s-eye, mind him, boy! Mind him!”

Weak with recent illness; stupified by the blows and the suddenness of

the attack; terrified by the fierce growling of the dog, and the

brutality of the man; overpowered by the conviction of the bystanders

that he really was the hardened little wretch he was described to be;

what could one poor child do! Darkness had set in; it was a low

neighborhood; no help was near; resistance was useless. In another

moment he was dragged into a labyrinth of dark narrow courts, and was

forced along them at a pace which rendered the few cries he dared to

give utterance to, unintelligible. It was of little moment, indeed,

whether they were intelligible or no; for there was nobody to care for

them, had they been ever so plain.

The gas-lamps were lighted; Mrs. Bedwin was waiting anxiously at the

open door; the servant had run up the street twenty times to see if

there were any traces of Oliver; and still the two old gentlemen sat,

perseveringly, in the dark parlour, with the watch between them.