Chapter III

Oliver Twist

by Charles Dickens

Relates How Oliver Twist Was Very Near Getting a Place Which
Would Not Have Been A Sinecure

For a week after the commission of the impious and profane
offence of asking for more, Oliver remained a close prisoner in the
dark and solitary room to which he had been consigned by the wisdom
and mercy of the board. It appears, at first sight not unreasonable
to suppose, that, if he had entertained a becoming feeling of respect
for the prediction of the gentleman in the white waistcoat, he would
have established that sage individual's prophetic character, once and
for ever, by tying one end of his pocket-handkerchief to a hook in
the wall, and attaching himself to the other. To the performance of
this feat, however, there was one obstacle: namely, that
pocket-handkerchiefs being decided articles of luxury, had been, for
all future times and ages, removed from the noses of paupers by the
express order of the board, in council assembled: solemnly given and
pronounced under their hands and seals. There was a still greater
obstacle in Oliver's youth and childishness. He only cried bitterly
all day; and, when the long, dismal night came on, spread his little
hands before his eyes to shut out the darkness, and crouching in the
corner, tried to sleep: ever and anon waking with a start and
tremble, and drawing himself closer and closer to the wall, as if to
feel even its cold hard surface were a protection in the gloom and
loneliness which surrounded him.

Let it not be supposed by the enemies of 'the system,' that,
during the period of his solitary incarceration, Oliver was denied
the benefit of exercise, the pleasure of society, or the advantages
of religious consolation. As for exercise, it was nice cold weather,
and he was allowed to perform his ablutions every morning under the
pump, in a stone yard, in the presence of Mr. Bumble, who prevented
his catching cold, and caused a tingling sensation to pervade his
frame, by repeated applications of the cane. As for society, he was
carried every other day into the hall where the boys dined, and there
sociably flogged as a public warning and example. And so for from
being denied the advantages of religious consolation, he was kicked
into the same apartment every evening at prayer-time, and there
permitted to listen to, and console his mind with, a general
supplication of the boys, containing a special clause, therein
inserted by authority of the board, in which they entreated to be
made good, virtuous, contented, and obedient, and to be guarded from
the sins and vices of Oliver Twist: whom the supplication distinctly
set forth to be under the exclusive patronage and protection of the
powers of wickedness, and an article direct from the manufactory of
the very Devil himself.

It chanced one morning, while Oliver's affairs were in this
auspicious and confortable state, that Mr. Gamfield, chimney-sweep,
went his way down the High Street, deeply cogitating in his mind his
ways and means of paying certain arrears of rent, for which his
landlord had become rather pressing. Mr. Gamfield's most sanguine
estimate of his finances could not raise them within full five pounds
of the desired amount; and, in a species of arthimetical desperation,
he was alternately cudgelling his brains and his donkey, when passing
the workhouse, his eyes encountered the bill on the gate.

'Wo--o!' said Mr. Gamfield to the donkey.

The donkey was in a state of profound abstraction: wondering,
probably, whether he was destined to be regaled with a cabbage-stalk
or two when he had disposed of the two sacks of soot with which the
little cart was laden; so, without noticing the word of command, he
jogged onward.

Mr. Gamfield growled a fierce imprecation on the donkey
generally, but more particularly on his eyes; and, running after him,
bestowed a blow on his head, which would inevitably have beaten in
any skull but a donkey's. Then, catching hold of the bridle, he gave
his jaw a sharp wrench, by way of gentle reminder that he was not his
own master; and by these means turned him round. He then gave him
another blow on the head, just to stun him till he came back again.
Having completed these arrangements, he walked up to the gate, to
read the bill.

The gentleman with the white waistcoat was standing at the gate
with his hands behind him, after having delivered himself of some
profound sentiments in the board-room. Having witnessed the little
dispute between Mr. Gamfield and the donkey, he smiled joyously when
that person came up to read the bill, for he saw at once that Mr.
Gamfield was exactly the sort of master Oliver Twist wanted. Mr.
Gamfield smiled, too, as he perused the document; for five pounds was
just the sum he had been wishing for; and, as to the boy with which
it was encumbered, Mr. Gamfield, knowing what the dietary of the
workhouse was, well knew he would be a nice small pattern, just the
very thing for register stoves. So, he spelt the bill through again,
from beginning to end; and then, touching his fur cap in token of
humility, accosted the gentleman in the white waistcoat.

'This here boy, sir, wot the parish wants to 'prentis,' said Mr.
Gamfield.

'Ay, my man,' said the gentleman in the white waistcoat, with a
condescending smile. 'What of him?'

'If the parish vould like him to learn a right pleasant trade,
in a good 'spectable chimbley-sweepin' bisness,' said Mr. Gamfield,
'I wants a 'prentis, and I am ready to take him.'

'Walk in,' said the gentleman in the white waistcoat. Mr.
Gamfield having lingered behind, to give the donkey another blow on
the head, and another wrench of the jaw, as a caution not to run away
in his absence, followed the gentleman with the white waistcoat into
the room where Oliver had first seen him.

'It's a nasty trade,' said Mr. Limbkins, when Gamfield had again
stated his wish.

'Young boys have been smothered in chimneys before now,' said
another gentleman.

'That's acause they damped the straw afore they lit it in the
chimbley to make 'em come down again,' said Gamfield; 'that's all
smoke, and no blaze; vereas smoke ain't o' no use at all in making a
boy come down, for it only sinds him to sleep, and that's wot he
likes. Boys is wery obstinit, and wery lazy, Gen'l'men, and there's
nothink like a good hot blaze to make 'em come down vith a run. It's
humane too, gen'l'men, acause, even if they've stuck in the chimbley,
roasting their feet makes 'em struggle to hextricate theirselves.'

The gentleman in the white waistcoat appeared very much amused
by this explanation; but his mirth was speedily checked by a look
from Mr. Limbkins. The board then procedded to converse among
themselves for a few minutes, but in so low a tone, that the words
'saving of expenditure,' 'looked well in the accounts,' 'have a
printed report published,' were alone audible. These only chanced to
be heard, indeed, or account of their being very frequently repeated
with great emphasis.

At length the whispering ceased; and the members of the board,
having resumed their seats and their solemnity, Mr. Limbkins said:

'We have considered your proposition, and we don't approve of
it.'

'Not at all,' said the gentleman in the white waistcoat.

'Decidedly not,' added the other members.

As Mr. Gamfield did happen to labour under the slight imputation
of having bruised three or four boys to death already, it occurred to
him that the board had, perhaps, in some unaccountable freak, taken
it into their heads that this extraneous circumstance ought to
influence their proceedings. It was very unlike their general mode of
doing business, if they had; but still, as he had no particular wish
to revive the rumour, he twisted his cap in his hands, and walked
slowly from the table.

'So you won't let me have him, gen'l'men?' said Mr. Gamfield,
pausing near the door.

'No,' replied Mr. Limbkins; 'at least, as it's a nasty business,
we think you ought to take something less than the premium we
offered.'

Mr. Gamfield's countenance brightened, as, with a quick step, he
returned to the table, and said,

'What'll you give, gen'l'men? Come! Don't be too hard on a
poor man. What'll you give?'

'I should say, three pound ten was plenty,' said Mr.
Limbkins.

'Ten shillings too much,' said the gentleman in the white
waistcoat.

'Come!' said Gamfield; 'say four pound, gen'l'men. Say four
pound, and you've got rid of him for good and all. There!'

'Three pound ten,' repeated Mr. Limbkins, firmly.

'Come! I'll split the diff'erence, gen'l'men, urged Gamfield.
'Three pound fifteen.'

'Not a farthing more,' was the firm reply of Mr. Limbkins.

'You're desperate hard upon me, gen'l'men, said Gamfield,
wavering.

'Pooh! pooh! nonsense!' said the gentleman in the white
waistcoat. 'He'd be cheap with nothing at all, as a premium. Take
him, you silly fellow! He's just the boy for you. He wants the
stick, now and then: it'll do him good; and his board needn't come
very expensive, for he hasn't been overfed since he was born. Ha!
ha! ha!'

Mr. Gamfield gave an arch look at the faces round the table,
and, observing a smile on all of them, gradually broke into a smile
himself. The bargain was made. Mr. Bumble, was at once instructed
that Oliver Twist and his indentures were to be conveyed before the
magistrate, for signature and approval, that very afternoon.

In pursuance of this determination, little Oliver, to his
excessive astonishment, was released from bondage, and ordered to put
himself into a clean shirt. He had hardly achieved this very unusual
gymnastic performance, when Mr. Bumble brought him, with his own
hands, a basin of gruel, and the holiday allowance of two ounces and
a quarter of bread. At this tremendous sight, Oliver began to cry
very piteously: thinking, not unaturally, that the board must have
determined to kill him for some useful purpose, or they never would
have begun to fatten him up in that way.

'Don't make your eyes red, Oliver, but eat your food and be
thankful,' said Mr. Bumble, in a tone of impressive pomposity.
'You're a going to be made a 'prentice of, Oliver.'

'A prentice, sir!' said the child, trembling.

'Yes, Oliver,' said Mr. Bumble. 'The kind and blessed gentleman
which is so amny parents to you, Oliver, when you have none of your
own: are a going to 'prentice you: and to set you up in life, and
make a man of you: although the expense to the parish is three pound
ten!--three pound ten, Oliver!--seventy shillins--one hundred and
forty sixpences!--and all for a naughty orphan which noboday can't
love.'

As Mr. Bumble paused to take breath, after delivering this
address in an awful voice, the tears rolled down the poor child's
face, and he sobbed bitterly.

'Come,' said Mr. Bumble, somewhat less pompously, for it was
gratifying to his feelings to observe the effect his eloquence had
produced; 'Come, Oliver! Wipe your eyes with the cuffs of your
jacket, and don't cry into your gruel; that's a very foolish action,
Oliver.' It certainly was, for there was quite enough water in it
already.

On their way to the magistrate, Mr. Bumble instructed Oliver
that all he would have to do, would be to look very happy, and say,
when the gentleman asked him if he wanted to be apprenticed, that he
should like it very much indeed; both of which injunctions Oliver
promised to obey: the rather as Mr. Bumble threw in a gentle hint,
that if he failed in either particular, there was no telling what
would be done to him. When they arrived at the office, he was shut up
in a little room by himself, and admonished by Mr. Bumble to stay
there, until he came back to fetch him.

There the boy remained, with a palpitating heart, for half an
hour. At the expiration of which time Mr. Bumble thrust in his head,
unadorned with the cocked hat, and said aloud:

'Now, Oliver, my dear, come to the gentleman.' As Mr. Bumble
said this, he put on a grim and threatening look, and added, in a low
voice, 'Mind what I told you, you young rascal!'

Oliver stared innocently in Mr. Bumble's face at this somewhat
contradictory style of address; but that gentleman prevented his
offering any remark thereupon, by leading him at once into an
adjoining room: the door of which was open. It was a large room,
with a great window. Behind a desk, sat two old gentleman with
powdered heads: one of whom was reading the newspaper; while the
other was perusing, with the aid of a pair of tortoise-shell
spectacles, a small piece of parchment which lay before him. Mr.
Limbkins was standing in front of the desk on one side; and Mr.
Gamfield, with a partially washed face, on the other; while two or
three bluff-looking men, in top-boots, were lounging about.

The old gentleman with the spectacles gradually dozed off, over
the little bit of parchment; and there was a short pause, after
Oliver had been stationed by Mr. Bumble in front of the desk.

'This is the boy, your worship,' said Mr. Bumble.

The old gentleman who was reading the newspaper raised his head
for a moment, and pulled the other old gentleman by the sleeve;
whereupon, the last-mentioned old gentleman woke up.

'Oh, is this the boy?' said the old gentleman.

'This is him, sir,' replied Mr. Bumble. 'Bow to the magistrate,
my dear.'

Oliver roused himself, and made his best obeisance. He had been
wondering, with his eyes fixed on the magistrates' powder, whether
all boards were born with that white stuff on their heads, and were
boards from thenceforth on that account.

'Well,' said the old gentleman, 'I suppose he's fond of
chimney-sweeping?'

'He doats on it, your worship,' replied Bumble; giving Oliver a
sly pinch, to intimate that he had better not say he didn't.

'And he will be a sweep, will he?' inquired the old
gentleman.

'If we was to bind him to any other trade to-morrow, he'd run
away simultaneous, your worship,' replied Bumble.

'And this man that's to be his master--you, sir--you'll treat
him well, and feed him, and do all that sort of thing, will you?'
said the old gentleman.

'When I says I will, I means I will,' replied Mr. Gamfield
doggedly.

'You're a rough speaker, my friend, but you look an honest,
open-hearted man,' said the old gentleman: turning his spectacles in
the direction of the candidate for Oliver's premium, whose villainous
countenance was a regular stamped receipt for cruelty. But the
magistrate was half blind and half childish, so he couldn't
reasonably be expected to discern what other people did.

'I hope I am, sir,' said Mr. Gamfield, with an ugly leer.

'I have no doubt you are, my friend,' replied the old gentleman:
fixing his spectacles more firmly on his nose, and looking about him
for the inkstand.

It was the critical moment of Oliver's fate. If the inkstand
had been where the old gentleman though it was, he would have dipped
his pen into it, and signed the indentures, and Oliver would have
been straightway hurried off. But, as it chanced to be immediately
under his nose, it followed, as a matter of course, that he looked
all over his desk for it, without finding it; and happening in the
course of his search to look straight before him, his gaze
encountered the pale and terrified face of Oliver Twist: who,
despite all the admonitory looks and pinches of Bumble, was regarding
the repulsive countenance of his future master, with a mingled
expression of horror and fear, too palpable to be mistaken, even by a
half-blind magistrate.

The old gentleman stopped, laid down his pen, and looked from
Oliver to Mr. Limbkins; who attempted to take snuff with a cheerful
and unconcerned aspect.

'My boy!' said the old gentleman, 'you look pale and alarmed.
What is the matter?'

'Stand a little away from him, Beadle,' said the other
magistrate: laying aside the paper, and leaning forward with an
expression of interest. 'Now, boy, tell us what's the matter: don't
be afraid.'

Oliver fell on his knees, and clasping his hands together,
prayed that they would order him back to the dark room-- that they
would starve him--beat him--kill him if they pleased--rather than
send him away with that dreadful man.

'Well!' said Mr. Bumble, raising his hands and eyes with most
impressive solemnite. 'Well! of all the artful and designing orphans
that ever I see, Oliver, you are one of the most bare-facedest.'

'Hold your tongue, Beadle,' said the second old gentleman, when
Mr. Bumble had given vent to this compound adjective.

'I beg your worship's pardon,' said Mr. Bumble, incredulous of
having heard aright. 'Did your worship speak to me?'

'Yes. Hold your tongue.'

Mr. Bumble was stupefied with astonishment. A beadle ordered to
hold his tongue! A moral revolution!

The old gentleman in the tortoise-shell spectacles looked at his
companion, he nodded significantly.

'We refuse to sanction these indentures,' said the old
gentleman:

tossing aside the piece of parchment as he spoke.

'I hope,' stammered Mr. Limbkins: 'I hope the magistrates will
not form the opinion that the authorities have been guilty of any
improper conduct, on the unsupported testimony of a child.'

'The magistrates are not called upon to pronounce any opinion on
the matter,' said the second old gentleman sharply. 'Take the boy
back to the workhouse, and treat him kindly. He seems to want
it.'

That same evening, the gentleman in the white waistcoat most
positively and decidedly affirmed, not only that Oliver would be
hung, but that he would be drawn and quartered into the bargain. Mr.
Bumble shook his head with gloomy mystery, and said he wished he
might come to good; whereunto Mr. Gamfield replied, that he wished he
might come to him; which, although he agreed with the beadle in most
matters, would seem to be a wish of a totaly opposite description.

The next morning, the public were once informed that Oliver
Twist was again To Let, and that five pounds would be paid to anybody
who would take possession of him.