SHOWING HOW VERY FOND OF OLIVER TWIST, THE MERRY OLD JEW AND MISS NANCY
WERE.
IN the obscure parlour of a low public-house, situate in the filthiest
part of Little Saffron-Hill,—a dark and gloomy den, where a flaring
gaslight 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 police would have hesitated
for one instant 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, and, having given it a good hearty shake, retired,
growling, under a form; thereby 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 presence, at once transferred
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 his 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,—obviously very ill at his 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, which Sikes snatching from
him, hastily opened, 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 a 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, and 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 a 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 honor
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, and they went away
together, followed at a little distance 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 re-seated
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
bookstall. When he got into Clerkenwell he accidentally turned down a
by-street which was not exactly in his way; but not discovering his
mistake till he had got halfway 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’ve 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.
[Illustration: _Oliver claimed by his affectionate friends._]
“Oh, no, no, never mind,” said the young woman, grasping Oliver’s hand;
“I’m better now. Come home directly, you cruel boy. Come.”
“What’s the matter, ma’am?” inquired one of the women.
“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
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’m 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.”
“Oh, 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 by-standers. “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 violently 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, and overpowered by the conviction of the
by-standers that he was really the hardened little wretch he was
described to be, what could one poor child do! Darkness had set in; it
was a low neighbourhood; no help was near; resistance was useless. In
another moment he was dragged into a labyrinth of dark narrow courts,
and forced along them at a pace which rendered the few cries he dared
to give utterance to, wholly unintelligible. It was of little moment,
indeed, whether they were intelligible or not, 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.