oliver twist(雾都孤儿(孤星血泪))-第26章

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would　be　hopeless　to　affect　any　further　mistake　regarding　the　
reality　of　Miss　Nancy’s　rage；　and；　shrinking　involuntarily　back　a　
few　paces；　cast　a　glance；　half…imploring　and　half…cowardly　at　Sikes；　
as　if　to　hint　that　he　was　the　fittest　person　to　pursue　the　dialogue。　

Mr。　Sikes；　thus　mutely　appealed　to；　and　possibly　feeling　his　
personal　pride　and　influence　interested　in　the　immediate　
reduction　of　Miss　Nancy　to　reason；　gave　utterance　to　about　a　
couple　of　score　of　curses　and　threats；　the　rapid　production　of　
which　reflected　great　credit　on　the　fertility　of　his　invention。　As　
they　produced　no　visible　effect　on　the　object　against　whom　they　
were　discharged；　however；　he　resorted　to　more　tangible　
arguments。　

“What　do　you　mean　by　this？”　said　Sikes；　backing　the　inquiry　
with　a　very　common　imprecation　concerning　the　most　beautiful　of　
human　features；　which；　if　it　were　heard　above；　only　once　out　of　
every　fifty　thousand　times　that　it　is　uttered　below；　would　render　
blindness　as　common　a　disorder　as　measles：　“what　do　you　mean　
by　it？　Burn　my　body！　Do　you　know　who　you　are；　and　what　you　
are？”　

“Oh；　yes；　I　know　all　about　it；”　replied　the　girl；　laughing　
hysterically；　and　shaking　her　head　from　side　to　side；　with　a　poor　
assumption　of　indifference。　

“Well；　then；　keep　quiet；”　rejoined　Sikes；　with　a　growl　like　that　
he　was　accustomed　to　use　when　addressing　his　dog；　“or　I’ll　quiet　
you　for　a　good　long　time　to　come。”　

The　girl　laughed　again；　even　less　composedly　than　before；　and；　
darting　a　hasty　look　at　Sikes；　turned　her　face　aside；　and　bit　her　lip　
till　the　blood　came。　

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“You’re　a　nice　one；”　added　Sikes；　as　he　surveyed　her　with　a　
contemptuous　air；　“to　take　up　the　humane　and　genteel　side！　A　
pretty　subject　for　the　child；　as　you　call　him；　to　make　a　friend　of！”　

“God　Almighty　help　me；　I　am！”　cried　the　girl　passionately；　“and　
I　wish　I　had　been　struck　dead　in　the　street　or　had　changed　places　
with　them　we　passed　so　near　tonight；　before　I　had　lent　a　hand　in　
bringing　him　here。　He’s　a　thief；　a　liar；　a　devil；　all　that’s　bad；　from　
this　night　forth。　Isn’t　that　enough　for　the　old　wretch；　without　
blows？”　

“Come；　come；　Sikes；”　said　the　Jew；　appealing　to　him　in　a　
remonstratory　tone；　and　motioning　towards　the　boys；　who　were　
eagerly　attentive　to　all　that　passed；　“we　must　have　civil　words—　
civil　words；　Bill。”　

“Civil　words！”　cried　the　girl；　whose　passion　was　frightful　to　see。　
“Civil　words；　you　villain！　Yes；　you　deserve　’em　from　me。　I　thieved　
for　you　when　I　was　a　child　not　half　as　old　as　this！”　pointing　to　
Oliver。　“I　have　been　in　the　same　trade；　and　in　the　same　service；　for　
twelve　years　since。　Don’t　you　know　it？　Speak　out！　Don’t　you　know　
it？”　

“Well；　well；”　replied　the　Jew；　with　an　attempt　at　pacification　
“and；　if　you　have；　it’s　your　living！”　

“Aye；　it　is！”　returned　the　girl；　not　speaking；　but　pouring　out　the　
words　in　one　continuous　and　vehement　scream。　“It　is　my　living；　
and　the　cold；　wet；　dirty　streets　are　my　home；　and　you’re　the　
wretch　that　drove　me　to　them　long　ago；　and　that’ll　keep　me　there；　
day　and　night；　day　and　night；　till　I　die！”　

“I　shall　do　you　a　mischief！”　interposed　the　Jew；　goaded　by　these　
reproaches；　“a　mischief　worse　than　that；　if　you　say　much　more！”　

The　girl　said　nothing；　but；　tearing　her　hair　and　dress　in　a　

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transport　of　frenzy；　made　such　a　rush　at　the　Jew　as　would　
probably　have　left　signal　marks　of　her　revenge　upon　him；　had　not　
her　wrists　been　seized　by　Sikes　at　the　right　moment；　upon　which；　
she　made　a　few　ineffectual　struggles；　and　fainted。　“She’s　all　right　
now；”　said　Sikes；　laying　her　down　in　a　corner。　“She’s　uncommon　
strong　in　the　arms；　when　she’s　up　in　this　way。”　

The　Jew　wiped　his　forehead　and　smiled；　as　if　it　were　a　relief　to　
have　the　disturbance　over；　but　neither　he；　nor　Sikes　nor　the　dog；　
nor　the　boys；　seemed　to　consider　it　in　any　other　light　than　a　
common　occurrence　incidental　to　business。　

“It’s　the　worst　of　having　to　do　with　women；”　said　the　Jew；　
replacing　his　club；　“but　they’re　clever　and　we　can’t　get　on；　in　our　
line；　without　’em。　Charley；　show　Oliver　to　bed。”　

“I　suppose　he’d　better　not　wear　his　best　clothes　tomorrow；　
Fagin；　had　he？”　inquired　Charley　Bates。　

“Certainly　not；”　replied　the　Jew；　reciprocating　the　grin　with　
which　Charley　put　the　question。　

Master　Bates；　apparently　much　delighted　with　his　commission；　
took　the　cleft　stick；　and　led　Oliver　into　an　adjacent　kitchen；　where　
there　were　two　or　three　of　the　beds　on　which　he　had　slept　before；　
and　here；　with　many　uncontrollable　bursts　of　laughter；　he　
produced　the　identical　old　suit　of　clothes　which　Oliver　had　so　
much　congratulated　himself　upon　leaving　off　at　Mr。　Brownlow’s；　
and　the　accidental　display　of　which；　to　Fagin；　by　the　Jew　who　
purchased　them；　had　been　the　very　first　clue　received　of　his　
whereabouts。　

“Pull　off　the　smart　ones；”　said　Charles；　“and　I’ll　give　’em　to　
Fagin　to　take　care　of。　What　fun　it　is！”　

Poor　Oliver　unwillingly　complied。　Master　Bates；　rolling　up　the　

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new　clothes　under　his　arm；　departed　from　the　room；　leaving　Oliver　
in　the　dark；　and　locking　the　door　behind　him。　

The　noise　of　Charley’s　laughter；　and　the　voice　of　Miss　Betsy；　
who　opportunely　arrived　to　throw　water　over　her　friend；　and　
perform　other　feminine　offices　for　the　promotion　of　her　recovery；　
might　have　kept　many　people　awake　under　more　happy　
circumstances　than　those　in　which　Oliver　was　placed。　But　he　was　
sick　and　weary；　and　he　soon　fell　sound　asleep。　

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Chapter　17　

Oliver’s　destiny　continuing　unpropitious；　brings　a　
great　man　to　London　to　injure　his　reputation。　

It　is　the　custom　on　the　stage；　in　all　good　murderous　
melodramas；　to　present　the　tragic　and　the　comic　scenes　in　as　
regular　alternation；　as　the　layers　of　red　and　white　in　a　side　of　
streaky　bacon。　The　hero　sinks　upon　his　straw　bed；　weighed　down　
by　fetters　and　misfortunes；　in　the　next　scene；　his　faithful　but　
unconscious　squire　regales　the　audience　with　a　comic　song。　We　
behold；　with　throbbing　bosoms；　the　heroine　in　the　grasp　of　a　
proud　and　ruthless　baron；　her　virtue　and　her　life　alike　in　danger；　
drawing　forth　her　dagger　to　preserve　the　one　at　the　cost　of　the　
other；　and；　just　as　our　expectations　are　wrought　up　to　the　highest　
pitch；　a　whistle　is　heard；　and　we　are　straightway　transported　to　
the　great　hall　of　the　castle；　where　a　grey…headed　seneschal　sings　a　
funny　chorus　with　a　funnier　body　of　vassals；　who　are　free　of　all　
sorts　of　places；　from　church　vaults　to　palaces；　and　roam　about　in　
company；　carolling　perpetually。　

Such　changes　appear　absurd；　but　they　are　not　so　unnatural　as　
they　would　seem　at　first　sight。　The　transitions　in　real　life　from　
well…spread　boards　to　deathbeds；　and　from　mourning　weeds　to　
holiday　garments；　are　not　a　whit　less　startling；　only；　there；　we　are　
busy　actors；　instead　of　passive　lookers…on；　which　makes　a　vast　
difference。　The　actors　in　the　mimic　life　of　the　theatre；　are　blind　to　
violent　transitions　and　abrupt　impulses　of　passion　or　feeling；　
which；　presented　before　the　eyes　of　mere　spectators；　are　at　once　

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condemned　as　outrageous　and　preposterous。　

As　sudden　shiftings　of　the　scene；　and　rapid　changes　of　time　and　
place；　are　not　only　sanctioned　in　books　by　long　usage；　but　are　by　
many　considered　as　the　great　art　of　authorship—an　author’s　skill　
in　his　craft　being；　by　such　critics；　chiefly　estimated　with　relation　to　
the　dilemmas　in　which　he　leaves　his　characters　at　the　end　of　every　
chapter—this　brief　introduction　to　the　present　one　may　perhaps　
be　deemed　unnecessary。　If　so；　let　it　be　considered　a　delicate　
intimation　on　the　part　of　the　historian　that　he　is　going　back　
directly　to　the　town　in　which　Oliver　Twist　was　born；　the　reader　
taking　it　for　granted　that　there　are　good　and　substantial　reasons　
for　making　the　journey；　or　he　would　not　be　invited　to　proceed　
upon　such　an　expedition。　

Mr。　Bumble　emerged　at　early　morning　from　the　workhouse　
gate；　and　walked　with　portly　carriage　and　commanding　steps；　up　
the　High　Street。　He　was　in　the　full　bloom　and　pride　of　beadlehood；　
his　cocked　hat　and　coat　were　dazzling　in　the　morning　sun；　he　
clutched　his　cane　with　the　vigorous　tenacity　of　health　and　power。　
Mr。　Bumble　always　carried　his　head　high；　but　this　morning　it　was　
higher　than　usual。　There　was　an　abstraction　in　his　eye；　an　
elevation　in　his　air；　which　might　have　warned　an　observant　
stranger　that　thoughts　were　passing　in　the　beadle’s　mind；　too　
great　for　utterance。　

Mr。　Bumble　stopped　not　to　converse　with　the　small　shopkeepers　and　others　who　spoke　to　him；　deferentially；　as　he　passed　
along。　He　merely　returned　their　salutations　with　a　wave　of　his　
hand；　and　relaxed　not　in　his　dignified　pace；　until　he　reached　the　
farm　where　Mrs。　Mann　tended　the　infant　paupers　with　parochial　
care。　

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“Drat　that　beadle！”　said　Mrs。　Mann；　hearing　the　well…known　
shaking　at　the　garden　gate。　“If　it　isn’t　him　at　this　time　in　the　
morning！　Lauk；　Mr。　Bumble；　only　think　of　its　being　you！　Well；　dear　
me；　it　is　a　pleasure；　this　is！　Come　into　the　parlour；　sir；　please。”　

The　first　sentence　was　addressed　to　Susan；　and　the　
exclamations　of　delight　were　uttered　to　Mr。　Bumble；　as　the　good　
lady　unlocked　the　garden　gate；　and　showed　him；　with　great　
attention　and　respect；　into　the　house。　

“Mrs。　Mann；”　said　Mr。　Bumble；　not　sitting　upon；　or　dropping　
himself　into　a　seat；　as　any　common　jackanapes　would；　but　letting　
himself　gradually　and　slowly　down　into　a　chair；　“Mrs。　Mann；　
ma’am；　good…morning。”　

“Well；　and　good…morning　to　you；　sir；”　replied　Mrs。　Mann　with　
many　smiles；　“and　hoping　you　find　yourself　well；　sir！”　

“So—so；　Mrs。　Mann；”　replied　the　beadle。　“A　porochial　life　is　not　
a　bed　of　roses；　Mrs。　Mann。”　

“Ah；　that　it　isn’t　indeed；　Mr。　Bumble；”　rejoined　the　lady。　And　all　
the　infant　paupers　might　have　chorused　the　rejoinder　with　great　
propriety；　if　they　had　heard　it。　

“A　porochial　life；　ma’am；”　continued　Mr。　Bumble；　striking　the　
table　with　his　cane；　“is　a　life　of　worrit；　and　vexation；　and　
hardihood；　but　all　public　characters；　as　I　may　say；　must　suffer　
prosecution。”　

Mrs。　Mann；　not　very　well　knowing　what　the　beadle　meant；　
raised　her　hands　with　a　look　of　sympathy；　and　sighed。　

“You　may　well　sigh；　Mrs。　Mann！”　said　the　beadle。　

Finding　she　had　done　right；　Mrs。　Mann　sighed　again；　evidently　
to　the　satisfaction　of　the　public　character；　who；　repressing　a　
complacent　smile　by　looking　sternly　at　his　cocked　hat　said：　

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“Mrs。　Mann；　I　am　a…going　to　London。”　

“Lauk；　Mr。　Bumble！”　cried　Mrs。　Mann；　starting　back。　

“To　London；　ma’am；”　resumed　the　inflexible　beadle；　“by　coach。　
I　and　two　paupers；　Mrs。　Mann！　A　legal　action　is　a…coming　on