Chapter XV

Oliver Twist

by Charles Dickens

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 though 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
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
reamining 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 we 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.