oliver twist(雾都孤儿(孤星血泪))-第17章

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“Are　there　any　witnesses？”　inquired　Mr。　Fang。　

“None；　your　Worship；”　replied　the　policeman。　

Mr。　Fang　sat　silent　for　some　minutes；　and　then；　turning　round　
to　the　prosecutor；　said　in　a　towering　passion：　

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“Do　you　mean　to　state　what　your　complaint　against　this　boy　is；　
or　do　you　not？　You　have　been　sworn。　Now；　if　you　stand　there；　
refusing　to　give　evidence；　I’ll　punish　you　for　disrespect　to　the　
bench；　I　will；　by—”　By　what；　or　by　whom；　nobody　knows；　for　the　
clerk　and　jailer　coughed　very　loud；　just　at　the　right　moment；　and　
the　former　dropped　a　heavy　book　upon　the　floor；　thus　preventing　
the　word　from　being　heard—accidentally；　of　course。　

With　many　interruptions；　and　repeated　insults；　Mr。　Brownlow　
contrived　to　state　his　case；　observing　that；　in　the　surprise　of　the　
moment；　he　had　run　after　the　boy　because　he　saw　him　running　
away；　and　expressing　his　hope　that；　if　the　magistrate　should　
believe　him；　although　not　actually　the　thief；　to　be　connected　with　
thieves；　he　would　deal　as　leniently　with　him　as　justice　would　allow。　

“He　has　been　hurt　already；”　said　the　old　gentleman　in　
conclusion。　“And　I　fear；”　he　added；　with　great　energy；　looking　
towards　the　bar；　“I　really　fear　that　he　is　ill。”　

“Oh！　yes；　I　dare　say！”　said　Mr。　Fang；　with　a　sneer。　“Come；　none　
of　your　tricks　here；　you　young　vagabond；　they　won’t　do。　What’s　
your　name？”　

Oliver　tried　to　reply；　but　his　tongue　failed　him。　He　was　deadly　
pale；　and　the　whole　place　seemed　turning　round　and　round。　

“What’s　your　name；　you　hardened　scoundrel？”　demanded　Mr。　
Fang。　“Officer；　what’s　his　name？”　

This　was　addressed　to　a　bluff　old　fellow；　in　a　striped　waistcoat；　
who　was　standing　by　the　bar。　He　bent　over　Oliver；　and　repeated　
the　inquiry；　but　finding　him　really　incapable　of　understanding　the　
question；　and　knowing　that　his　not　replying　would　only　infuriate　
the　magistrate　the　more；　and　add　to　the　severity　of　his　sentence；　
he　hazarded　a　guess。　

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“He　says　his　name’s　Tom　White；　your　Worship；”　said　the　kindhearted　thief…taker。　

“Oh；　he　won’t　speak　out；　won’t　he？”　said　Fang。　“Very　well；　very　
well。　Where　does　he　live？”　

“Where　he　can；　your　Worship；”　replied　the　officer；　again　
pretending　to　receive　Oliver’s　answer。　

“Has　he　any　parents？”　inquired　Mr。　Fang。　

“He　says　they　died　in　his　infancy；　your　Worship；”　hazarding　the　
usual　reply。　

At　this　point　of　the　inquiry；　Oliver　raised　his　head；　and；　looking　
round　with　imploring　eyes；　murmured　a　feeble　prayer　for　a　
draught　of　water。　

“Stuff　and　nonsense！”　said　Mr。　Fang；　“don’t　try　to　make　a　fool　
of　me。”　

“I　think　he　really　is　ill；　your　Worship；”　remonstrated　the　officer。　

“I　know　better；”　said　Mr。　Fang。　

“Take　care　of　him；　officer；”　said　the　old　gentleman；　raising　his　
hands　instinctively；　“he’ll　fall　down。”　

“Stand　away；　officer；”　cried　Fang；　“let　him；　if　he　likes。”　

Oliver　availed　himself　of　the　kind　permission；　and　fell　to　the　
floor　in　a　fainting　fit。　The　men　in　the　office　looked　at　each　other；　
but　no　one　dared　to　stir。　

“I　knew　he　was　shamming；”　said　Fang；　as　if　this　were　
incontestable　proof　of　the　fact。　“Let　him　lie　there；　he’ll　soon　be　
tired　of　that。”　

“How　do　you　propose　to　deal　with　the　case；　sir？”　inquired　the　
clerk；　in　a　low　voice。　

“Summarily；”　replied　Mr。　Fang。　“He　stands　committed　for　
three　months—hard　labour；　of　course。　Clear　the　office。”　

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The　door　was　opened　for　this　purpose；　and　a　couple　of　men　
were　preparing　to　carry　the　insensible　boy　to　his　cell；　when　an　
elderly　man　of　decent　but　poor　appearance；　clad　in　an　old　suit　of　
black；　rushed　hastily　into　the　office；　and　advanced　towards　the　
bench。　

“Stop；　stop！　Don’t　take　him　away！　For　Heaven’s　sake　stop　a　
moment！”　cried　the　newcomer；　breathless　with　haste。　

Although　the　presiding　Genii　in　such　an　office　as　this；　exercise　a　
summary　and　arbitrary　power　over　the　liberties；　the　good　name；　
the　character；　almost　the　lives；　of　her　Majesty’s　subjects；　especially　
of　the　poorer　class；　and　although；　within　such　walls；　enough　
fantastic　tricks　are　daily　played　to　make　the　angels　blind　with　
weeping；　they　are　closed　to　the　public；　save　through　the　medium　
of　the　daily　press。　Mr。　Fang　was　consequently　not　a　little　indignant　
to　see　an　unbidden　guest　enter　in　such　irreverent　disorder。　

“What　is　this？　Who　is　this？　Turn　this　man　out。　Clear　the　office！”　
cried　Mr。　Fang。　

“I　will　speak；”　cried　the　man；　“I　will　not　be　turned　out。　I　saw　it　
all。　I　keep　the　bookstall。　I　demand　to　be　sworn。　I　will　not　be　put　
down。　Mr。　Fang；　you　must　hear　me。　You　must　not　refuse；　sir。”　

The　man　was　right。　His　manner　was　determined；　and　the　
matter　was　growing　rather　too　serious　to　be　hushed　up。　

“Swear　the　man；”　growled　Mr。　Fang；　with　a　very　ill　grace。　
“Now；　man；　what　have　you　got　to　say？”　

“This；”　said　the　man；　“I　saw　three　boys—two　others　and　the　
prisoner　here—loitering　on　the　opposite　side　of　the　way；　when　this　
gentleman　was　reading。　The　robbery　was　committed　by　another　
boy。　I　saw　it　done；　and　I　saw　that　this　boy　was　perfectly　amazed　
and　stupefied　by　it。”　Having　by　this　time　recovered　a　little　breath；　

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the　worthy　bookstall　keeper　proceeded　to　relate；　in　a　more　

coherent　manner；　the　exact　circumstances　of　the　robbery。　

“Why　didn’t　you　come　here　before？”　said　Fang；　after　a　pause。　

“I　hadn’t　a　soul　to　mind　the　shop；”　replied　the　man。　“Everybody　
who　could　have　helped　me；　had　joined　in　the　pursuit。　I　could　get　
nobody　till　five　minutes　ago；　and　I’ve　run　here　all　the　way。”　

“The　prosecutor　was　reading；　was　he？”　inquired　Fang；　after　
another　pause。　

“Yes；”　replied　the　man。　“The　very　book　he　has　in　his　hand。”　

“Oh；　that　book；　eh？”　said　Fang。　“Is　it　paid　for？”　

“No；　it　is　not；”　replied　the　man；　with　a　smile。　

“Dear　me；　I　forgot　all　about　it！”　exclaimed　the　absentminded　
old　gentleman　innocently。　

“A　nice　person　to　prefer　a　charge　against　a　poor　boy！”　said　
Fang；　with　a　comical　effort　to　look　humane。　“I　consider；　sir；　that　
you　have　obtained　possession　of　that　book；　under　very　suspicious　
and　disreputable　circumstances；　and　you　may　think　yourself　very　
fortunate　that　the　owner　of　the　property　declines　to　prosecute。　Let　
this　be　a　lesson　to　you；　my　man；　or　the　law　will　overtake　you　yet。　
The　boy　is　discharged。　Clear　the　office。”　

“D—n　me！”　cried　the　old　gentleman；　bursting　out　with　the　rage　
he　had　kept　down　so　long；　“d—n　me！　I’ll—”　

“Clear　the　office！”　said　the　magistrate。　“Officers；　do　you　hear？　
Clear　the　office！”　

The　mandate　was　obeyed；　and　the　indignant　Mr。　Brownlow　was　
conveyed　out；　with　the　book　in　one　hand；　and　the　bamboo　cane　in　
the　other；　in　a　perfect　frenzy　of　rage　and　defiance。　He　reached　the　
yard；　and　his　passion　vanished　for　a　moment。　Little　Oliver　Twist　
lay　on　his　back　on　the　pavement；　with　his　shirt　unbuttoned；　and　

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his　temples　bathed　with　water；　his　face　a　deadly　white；　and　a　cold　
tremble　convulsing　his　whole　frame。　

“Poor　boy；　poor　boy！”　said　Mr。　Brownlow；　bending　over　him。　
“Call　a　coach；　somebody；　pray。　Directly！”　。　

A　coach　was　obtained；　and　Oliver；　having　been　carefully　laid　on　
one　seat；　the　old　gentleman　got　in　and　sat　himself　on　the　other。　

“May　I　accompany　you？”　said　the　bookstall　keeper；　looking　in。　

“Bless　me；　yes；　my　dear　sir；”　said　Mr。　Brownlow　quickly。　“I　
forgot　you。　Dear；　dear！　I　have　this　unhappy　book　still！　Jump　in。　
Poor　fellow！　There’s　no　time　to　lose。”　

The　bookstall　keeper　got　into　the　coach；　and　away　they　drove。　

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Chapter　12　

In　Which　Oliver　Is　Taken　Better　Care　Of　Than　He
Ever　Was　Before—And　In　Which　The　Narrative
Reverts　To　The　Merry　Old　Gentleman　And　His
Youthful　Friends。


The　coach　rattled　away；　down　Mount　Pleasant　and　up　
Exmouth　Street；　over　nearly　the　same　ground　as　that　
which　Oliver　had　traversed　when　he　first　entered　London　
in　company　with　the　Dodger；　and；　turning　a　different　way　when　it　
reached　the　Angel　at　Islington；　stopped　at　length　before　a　neat　
house；　in　a　quiet；　shady　street　near　Pentonville。　Here　a　bed　was　
prepared；　without　loss　of　time；　in　which　Mr。　Brownlow　saw　his　
young　charge　carefully　and　comfortably　deposited；　and　here　he　
was　tended　with　a　kindness　and　solicitude　that　knew　no　bounds。　

But；　for　many　days；　Oliver　remained　insensible　to　all　the　
goodness　of　his　new　friends。　The　sun　rose　and　sank；　and　rose　and　
sank　again；　and　many　times　after　that；　and　still　the　boy　lay　
stretched　on　his　uneasy　bed；　dwindling　away　beneath　the　dry　and　
wasting　heat　of　fever。　The　worm　does　not　his　work　more　surely　on　
the　dead　body；　than　does　this　slow…creeping　fire　upon　the　living　
frame。　

Weak；　and　thin；　and　pallid；　he　awoke　at　last　from　what　seemed　
to　have　been　a　long　and　troubled　dream。　Feebly　raising　himself　in　
the　bed；　with　his　head　resting　on　his　trembling　arm；　he　looked　
anxiously　around。　

“What　room　is　this？　Where　have　I　been　brought　to？”　said　

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Oliver。　“This　is　not　the　place　I　went　to　sleep　in。”　

He　uttered　these　words　in　a　feeble　voice；　being　very　faint　and　
weak；　but　they　were　overheard　at　once；　for　the　curtain　at　the　bed’s　
head　was　hastily　drawn　back；　and　a　motherly　old　lady；　very　neatly　
and　precisely　dressed；　rose　as　she　undrew　it；　from　an　arm…chair　
close　by；　in　which　she　had　been　sitting　at　needlework。　

“Hush；　my　dear；”　said　the　old　lady　softly。　“You　must　be　very　
quiet；　or　you　will　be　ill　again；　and　you　have　been　very　bad—as　bad　
as　bad　could　be；　pretty　nigh。　Lie　down　again；　there’s　a　dear！”　With　
those　words；　the　old　lady　very　gently　placed　Oliver’s　head　upon　
the　pillow；　and；　smoothing　back　his　hair　from　his　forehead；　looked　
so　kindly　and　loving　in　his　face；　that　he　could　not　help　placing　his　
little　withered　hand　in　hers；　and　drawing　it　round　his　neck。　

“Save　us！”　said　the　old　lady；　with　tears　in　her　eyes；　“what　a　
grateful　little　dear　it　is。　Pretty　creetur！　What　would　his　mother　feel　
if　she　had　sat　by　him　as　I　have；　and　could　see　him　now！”　

“Perhaps　she　does　see　me；”　whispered　Oliver；　folding　his　hands　
together；　“perhaps　she　has　sat　by　me。　I　almost　feel　as　if　she　had。”　

“That　was　the　fever；　my　dear；”　said　the　old　lady　mildly。　

“I　suppose　it　was；”　replied　Oliver；　“because　heaven　is　a　long　
way　off；　and　they　are　too　happy　there；　to　come　down　to　the　
bedside　of　a　poor　boy。　But　if　she　knew　I　was　ill；　she　must　have　
pitied　me；　even　there；　for　she　was　very　ill　herself　before　she　died。　
She　can’t　know　anything　about　me　though；”　added　Oliver；　after　a　
moment’s　silence。　“If　she　had　seen　me　hurt；　it　would　have　made　
her　sorrowful；　and　her　face　has　always　looked　sweet　and　happy；　
when　I　have　dreamed　of　her。”　

The　old　lady　made　no　reply　to　this；　but　wiping　her