第 十 章 · OLIVER BECOMES BETTER ACQUAINTED WITH THE CHARACTERS OF HIS NEW

. OLIVER BECOMES BETTER ACQUAINTED WITH THE CHARACTERS OF HIS NEW

ASSOCIATES; AND PURCHASES EXPERIENCE AT A HIGH PRICE. BEING A SHORT,

BUT VERY IMPORTANT CHAPTER, IN THIS HISTORY

For many days, Oliver remained in the Jew’s room, picking the marks out

of the pocket-handkerchief, (of which a great number were brought

home,) and sometimes taking part in the game already described: which

the two boys and the Jew played, regularly, every morning. At length,

he began to languish for fresh air, and took many occasions of

earnestly entreating the old gentleman to allow him to go out to work

with his two companions.

Oliver was rendered the more anxious to be actively employed, by what

he had seen of the stern morality of the old gentleman’s character.

Whenever the Dodger or Charley Bates came home at night, empty-handed,

he would expatiate with great vehemence on the misery of idle and lazy

habits; and would enforce upon them the necessity of an active life, by

sending them supperless to bed. On one occasion, indeed, he even went

so far as to knock them both down a flight of stairs; but this was

carrying out his virtuous precepts to an unusual extent.

At length, one morning, Oliver obtained the permission he had so

eagerly sought. There had been no handkerchiefs to work upon, for two

or three days, and the dinners had been rather meagre. Perhaps these

were reasons for the old gentleman’s giving his assent; but, whether

they were or no, he told Oliver he might go, and placed him under the

joint guardianship of Charley Bates, and his friend the Dodger.

The three boys sallied out; the Dodger with his coat-sleeves tucked up,

and his hat cocked, as usual; Master Bates sauntering along with his

hands in his pockets; and Oliver between them, wondering where they

were going, and what branch of manufacture he would be instructed in

first.

The pace at which they went, was such a very lazy, ill-looking saunter,

that Oliver soon began to think his companions were going to deceive

the old gentleman, by not going to work at all. The Dodger had a

vicious propensity, too, of pulling the caps from the heads of small

boys and tossing them down areas; while Charley Bates exhibited some

very loose notions concerning the rights of property, by pilfering

divers apples and onions from the stalls at the kennel sides, and

thrusting them into pockets which were so surprisingly capacious, that

they seemed to undermine his whole suit of clothes in every direction.

These things looked so bad, that Oliver was on the point of declaring

his intention of seeking his way back, in the best way he could; when

his thoughts were suddenly directed into another channel, by a very

mysterious change of behaviour on the part of the Dodger.

They were just emerging from a narrow court not far from the open

square in Clerkenwell, which is yet called, by some strange perversion

of terms, “The Green”: when the Dodger made a sudden stop; and, laying

his finger on his lip, drew his companions back again, with the

greatest caution and circumspection.

“What’s the matter?” demanded Oliver.

“Hush!” replied the Dodger. “Do you see that old cove at the

book-stall?”

“The old gentleman over the way?” said Oliver. “Yes, I see him.”

“He’ll do,” said the Dodger.

“A prime plant,” observed Master Charley Bates.

Oliver looked from one to the other, with the greatest surprise; but he

was not permitted to make any inquiries; for the two boys walked

stealthily across the road, and slunk close behind the old gentleman

towards whom his attention had been directed. Oliver walked a few paces

after them; and, not knowing whether to advance or retire, stood

looking on in silent amazement.

The old gentleman was a very respectable-looking personage, 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 had taken up a book from the stall,

and there he stood, reading away, as hard as if he were in his

elbow-chair, in his own study. It is very possible that he fancied

himself there, indeed; for it was plain, from his abstraction, that he

saw not the book-stall, nor the street, nor the boys, nor, in short,

anything but the book itself: which he was reading straight through:

turning over the leaf when he got to the bottom of a page, beginning at

the top line of the next one, and going regularly on, with the greatest

interest and eagerness.

What was Oliver’s horror and alarm as he stood a few paces off, looking

on with his eyelids as wide open as they would possibly go, to see the

Dodger plunge his hand into the old gentleman’s pocket, and draw from

thence a handkerchief! To see him hand the same to Charley Bates; and

finally to behold them, both running away round the corner at full

speed!

In an instant the whole mystery of the hankerchiefs, and the watches,

and the jewels, and the Jew, rushed upon the boy’s mind.

He stood, for a moment, with the blood so tingling through all his

veins from terror, that he felt as if he were in a burning fire; then,

confused and frightened, he took to his heels; and, not knowing what he

did, made off as fast as he could lay his feet to the ground.

This was all done in a minute’s space. In the very instant when Oliver

began to run, the old gentleman, putting his hand to his pocket, and

missing his handkerchief, turned sharp round. Seeing the boy scudding

away at such a rapid pace, he very naturally concluded him to be the

depredator; and shouting “Stop thief!” with all his might, made off

after him, book in hand.

But the old gentleman was not the only person who raised the

hue-and-cry. The Dodger and Master Bates, unwilling to attract public

attention by running down the open street, had merely retired into the

very first doorway round the corner. They no sooner heard the cry, and

saw Oliver running, than, guessing exactly how the matter stood, they

issued forth with great promptitude; and, shouting “Stop thief!” too,

joined in the pursuit like good citizens.

Although Oliver had been brought up by philosophers, he was not

theoretically acquainted with the beautiful axiom that

self-preservation is the first law of nature. If he had been, perhaps

he would have been prepared for this. Not being prepared, however, it

alarmed him the more; so away he went like the wind, with the old

gentleman and the two boys roaring and shouting behind him.

“Stop thief! Stop thief!” There is a magic in the sound. The tradesman

leaves his counter, and the car-man his waggon; the butcher throws down

his tray; the baker his basket; the milkman his pail; the errand-boy

his parcels; the school-boy his marbles; the paviour his pickaxe; the

child his battledore. Away they run, pell-mell, helter-skelter,

slap-dash: tearing, yelling, screaming, knocking down the passengers as

they turn the corners, rousing up the dogs, and astonishing the fowls:

and streets, squares, and courts, re-echo with the sound.

“Stop thief! Stop thief!” The cry is taken up by a hundred voices, and

the crowd accumulate at every turning. Away they fly, splashing through

the mud, and rattling along the pavements: up go the windows, out run

the people, onward bear the mob, a whole audience desert Punch in the

very thickest of the plot, and, joining the rushing throng, swell the

shout, and lend fresh vigour to the cry, “Stop thief! Stop thief!”

“Stop thief! Stop thief!” There is a passion _for hunting something_

deeply implanted in the human breast. One wretched breathless child,

panting with exhaustion; terror in his looks; agony in his eyes; large

drops of perspiration streaming down his face; strains every nerve to

make head upon his pursuers; and as they follow on his track, and gain

upon him every instant, they hail his decreasing strength with joy.

“Stop thief!” Ay, stop him for God’s sake, were it only in mercy!

Stopped at last! A clever blow. He is down upon the pavement; and the

crowd eagerly gather round him: each new comer, jostling and struggling

with the others to catch a glimpse. “Stand aside!” “Give him a little

air!” “Nonsense! he don’t deserve it.” “Where’s the gentleman?” “Here

he is, coming down the street.” “Make room there for the gentleman!”

“Is this the boy, sir!” “Yes.”

Oliver lay, covered with mud and dust, and bleeding from the mouth,

looking wildly round upon the heap of faces that surrounded him, when

the old gentleman was officiously dragged and pushed into the circle by

the foremost of the pursuers.

“Yes,” said the gentleman, “I am afraid it is the boy.”

“Afraid!” murmured the crowd. “That’s a good ’un!”

“Poor fellow!” said the gentleman, “he has hurt himself.”

“_I_ did that, sir,” said a great lubberly fellow, stepping forward;

“and preciously I cut my knuckle agin’ 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 of

dislike, look anxiously round, as if he contemplated running away

himself: which it is very possible he might have attempted to do, and

thus have afforded another chase, had not a police officer (who is

generally the last person to arrive in such cases) at that moment made

his way through the crowd, and seized Oliver by the collar.

“Come, get up,” said the man, roughly.

“It wasn’t me indeed, sir. Indeed, indeed, it was two other boys,” said

Oliver, clasping his hands passionately, and looking round. “They are

here somewhere.”

“Oh no, they ain’t,” said the officer. He meant this to be ironical,

but it was true besides; for the Dodger and Charley Bates had filed off

down the first convenient court they came to.

“Come, get up!”

“Don’t hurt him,” said the old gentleman, compassionately.

“Oh no, I won’t hurt him,” replied the officer, tearing his jacket half

off his back, in proof thereof. “Come, I know you; it won’t do. 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 lugged along the streets by the jacket-collar, at

a rapid pace. The gentleman walked on with them by the officer’s side;

and as many of the crowd as could achieve the feat, got a little ahead,

and stared back at Oliver from time to time. The boys shouted in

triumph; and on they went.