CONTAINING FURTHER PARTICULARS CONCERNING THE PLEASANT OLD
GENTLEMAN, AND HIS HOPEFUL PUPILS
It was late next morning when Oliver awoke, from a sound, long sleep. There
was no other person in the room but the old Jew, who was boiling some coffee in
a saucepan for breakfast, and whistling softly to himself as he stirred it round
and round, with an iron spoon. He would stop every now and then to listen when
there was the least noise below: and when he had satistified himself, he would
go on whistling and stirring again, as before.
Although Oliver had roused himself from sleep, he was not thoroughly awake.
There is a drowsy state, between sleeping and waking, when you dream more in
five minutes with your eyes half open, and yourself half conscious of everything
that is passing around you, than you would in five nights with your eyes fast
closed, and your senses wrapt in perfect unconsciousness. At such time, a mortal
knows just enough of what his mind is doing, to form some glimmering conception
of its mighty powers, its bounding from earth and spurning time and space, when
freed from the restraint of its corporeal associate.
Oliver was precisely in this condition. He saw the Jew with his half-closed
eyes; heard his low whistling; and recognised the sound of the spoon grating
against the saucepan's sides: and yet the self-same senses were mentally
engaged, at the same time, in busy action with almost everybody he had ever
known.
When the coffee was done, the Jew drew the saucepan to the hob. Standing,
then in an irresolute attitude for a few minutes, as if he did not well know how
to employ himself, he turned round and looked at Oliver, and called him by his
name. He did not answer, and was to all appearances asleep.
After satisfiying himself upon this head, the Jew stepped gently to the door:
which he fastened. He then drew forth: as it seemed to Oliver, from some trap in
the floor: a small box, which he placed carefully on the table. His eyes
glistened as he raised the lid, and looked in. Dragging an old chair to the
table, he sat down; and took from it a magnificent gold watch, sparkling with
jewels.
'Aha!' said the Jew, shrugging up his shoulders, and distorting every feature
with a hideous grin. 'Clever dogs! Clever dogs! Staunch to the last! Never told
the old parson where they were. Never poached upon old Fagin! And why should
they? It wouldn't have loosened the knot, or kept the drop up, a minute longer.
No, no, no! Fine fellows! Fine fellows!'
With these, and other muttered reflections of the like nature, the Jew once
more deposited the watch in its place of safety. At least half a dozen more were
severally drawn forth from the same box, and surveyed with equal pleasure;
besides rings, brooches, bracelet, and other articles of jewellery, of such
magnificent materials, and costly workmanship, that Oliver had no idea, even of
their names.
Having replaced these trinkets, the Jew took out another: so small that it
lay in the palm of his hand. There seemed to be some very minute inscription on
it; for the Jew laid it flat upon the table, and shading it with his hand, pored
over it, long and earnestly. At length he put it down, as if despairing of
success; and, leaning back in his chair, muttered:
'What a fine thing capital punishment is! Dead men never repent; dead men
never bring awkward stories to light. Ah, it's a fine thing for the trade! Five
of 'em strung up in a row, and none left to play booty, or turn white-livered!'
As the Jew uttered these words, his bright dark eyes, which had been staring
vacantly before him, fell on Oliver's face; the boy's eyes were fixed on his in
mute curiousity; and although the recognition was only for an instant--for the
briefest space of time that can possibly be conceived--it was enough to show the
old man that he had been observed.
He closed the lid of the box with a loud crash; and, laying his hand on a
bread knife which was on the table, started furiously up. He trembled very much
though; for, even in his terror, Oliver could see that the knife quivered in the
air.
'What's that?' said the Jew. 'What do you watch me for? Why are you awake?
What have you seen? Speak out, boy! Quick--quick! for your life.
'I wasn't able to sleep any longer, sir,' replied Oliver, meekly.
'I am very sorry if I have disturbed you, sir.'
'You were not awake an hour ago?' said the Jew, scowling fiercely on the boy.
'No! No, indeed!' replied Oliver.
'Are you sure?' cried the Jew: with a still fiercer look than before: and a
threatening attitude.
'Upon my word I was not, sir,' replied Oliver, earnestly. 'I was not, indeed,
sir.'
'Tush, tush, my dear!' said the Jew, abruptly resuming his old manner, and
playing with the knife a little, before he laid it down; as if to induce the
belief that he had caught it up, in mere sport. 'Of course I know that, my dear.
I only tried to frighten you. You're a brave boy. Ha! ha! you're a brave boy,
Oliver.' The Jew rubbed his hands with a chuckle, but glanced uneasily at the
box, notwithstanding.
'Did you see any of these pretty things, my dear?' said the Jew, laying his
hand upon it after a short pause.
'Yes, sir,' replied Oliver.
'Ah!' said the Jew, turning rather pale. 'They--they're mine, Oliver; my
little property. All I have to live upon, in my old age. The folks call me a
miser, my dear. Only a miser; that's all.'
Oliver thought the old gentleman must be a decided miser to live in such a
dirty place, with so many watches; but, thinking that perhaps his fondness for
the Dodger and the other boys, cost him a good deal of money, he only cast a
deferential look at the Jew, and asked if he might get up.
'Certainly, my dear, certainly,' replied the old gentleman. 'Stay. There's a
pitcher of water in the corner by the door. Bring it here; and I'll give you a
basin to wash in, my dear.'
Oliver got up; walked across the room; and stooped for an instant to raise
the pitcher. When he turned his head, the box was gone.
He had scarcely washed himself, and made everything tidy, by emptying the
basin out of the window, agreeably to the Jew's directions, when the Dodger
returned: accompanied by a very sprightly young friend, whom Oliver had seen
smoking on the previous night, and who was now formally introduced to him as
Charley Bates. The four sat down, to breakfast, on the coffee, and some hot
rolls and ham which the Dodger had brought home in the crown of his hat.
'Well,' said the Jew, glancing slyly at Oliver, and addressing himself to the
Dodger, 'I hope you've been at work this morning, my dears?'
'Hard,' replied the Dodger.
'As nails,' added Charley Bates.
'Good boys, good boys!' said the Jew. 'What have you got, Dodger?'
'A couple of pocket-books,' replied that young gentlman.
'Lined?' inquired the Jew, with eagerness.
'Pretty well,' replied the Dodger, producing two pocket-books; one green, and
the other red.
'Not so heavy as they might be,' said the Jew, after looking at the insides
carefully; 'but very neat and nicely made. Ingenious workman, ain't he, Oliver?'
'Very indeed, sir,' said Oliver. At which Mr. Charles Bates laughed
uproariously; very much to the amazement of Oliver, who saw nothing to laugh at,
in anything that had passed.
'And what have you got, my dear?' said Fagin to Charley Bates.
'Wipes,' replied Master Bates; at the same time producing four
pocket-handkerchiefs.
'Well,' said the Jew, inspecting them closely; 'they're very good ones, very.
You haven't marked them well, though, Charley; so the marks shall be picked out
with a needle, and we'll teach Oliver how to do it. Shall us, Oliver, eh? Ha!
ha! ha!'
'If you please, sir,' said Oliver.
'You'd like to be able to make pocket-handkerchiefs as easy as Charley Bates,
wouldn't you, my dear?' said the Jew.
'Very much, indeed, if you'll teach me, sir,' replied Oliver.
Master Bates saw something so exquisitely ludicrous in this reply, that he
burst into another laugh; which laugh, meeting the coffee he was drinking, and
carrying it down some wrong channel, very nearly terminated in his premature
suffocation.
'He is so jolly green!' said Charley when he recovered, as an apology to the
company for his unpolite behaviour.
The Dodger said nothing, but he smoothed Oliver's hair over his eyes, and
said he'd know better, by and by; upon which the old gentleman, observing
Oliver's colour mounting, changed the subject by asking whether there had been
much of a crowd at the execution that morning? This made him wonder more and
more; for it was plain from the replies of the two boys that they had both been
there; and Oliver naturally wondered how they could possibly have found time to
be so very industrious.
When the breakfast was cleared away; the merry old gentlman and the two boys
played at a very curious and uncommon game, which was performed in this way. The
merry old gentleman, placing a snuff-box in one pocket of his trousers, a
note-case in the other, and a watch in his waistcoat pocket, with a guard-chain
round his neck, and sticking a mock diamond pin in his shirt: buttoned his coat
tight round him, and putting his spectacle-case and handkerchief in his pockets,
trotted up and down the room with a stick, in imitation of the manner in which
old gentlmen walk about the streets any hour in the day. Sometimes he stopped at
the fire-place, and sometimes at the door, making believe that he was staring
with all his might into shop-windows. At such times, he would look constantly
round him, for fear of thieves, and would keep slapping all his pockets in turn,
to see that he hadn't lost anything, in such a very funny and natural manner,
that Oliver laughed till the tears ran down his face. All this time, the two
boys followed him closely about: getting out of his sight, so nimbly, every time
he turned round, that it was impossible to follow their motions. At last, the
Dodger trod upon his toes, or ran upon his boot accidently, while Charley Bates
stumbled up against him behind; and in that one moment they took from him, with
the most extraordinary rapidity, snuff-box, note-case, watch-guard, chain,
shirt-pin, pocket-handkerchief, even the spectacle-case. If the old gentlman
felt a hand in any one of his pockets, he cried out where it was; and then the
game began all over again.
When this game had been played a great many times, a couple of young ladies
called to see the young gentleman; one of whom was named Bet, and the other
Nancy. They wore a good deal of hair, not very neatly turned up behind, and were
rather untidy about the shoes and stockings. They were not exactly pretty,
perhaps; but they had a great deal of colour in their faces, and looked quite
stout and hearty. Being remarkably free and agreeable in their manners, Oliver
thought them very nice girls indeed. As there is no doubt they were.
The visitors stopped a long time. Spirits were produced, in consequence of
one of the young ladies complaining of a coldness in her inside; and the
conversation took a very convivial and improving turn. At length, Charley Bates
expressed his opinion that it was time to pad the hoof. This, it occurred to
Oliver, must be French for going out; for directly afterwards, the Dodger, and
Charley, and the two young ladies, went away together, having been kindly
furnished by the amiable old Jew with money to spend.
'There, my dear,' said Fagin. 'That's a pleasant life, isn't it?
They have gone out for the day.'
'Have they done work, sir?' inquired Oliver.
'Yes,' said the Jew; 'that is, unless they should unexpectedly come across
any, when they are out; and they won't neglect it, if they do, my dear, depend
upon it. Make 'em your models, my dear.
Make 'em your models,' tapping the fire-shovel on the hearth to add force to
his words; 'do everything they bid you, and take their advice in all
matters--especially the Dodger's, my dear. He'll be a great man himself, and
will make you one too, if you take pattern by him.--Is my handkerchief hanging
out of my pocket, my dear?' said the Jew, stopping short.
'Yes, sir,' said Oliver.
'See if you can take it out, without my feeling it; as you saw them do, when
we were at play this morning.'
Oliver held up the bottom of the pocket with one hand, as he had seen the
Dodger hold it, and drew the handkerchief lighty out of it with the other.
'Is it gone?' cried the Jew.
'Here it is, sir,' said Oliver, showing it in his hand.
'You're a clever boy, my dear,' said the playful old gentleman, patting
Oliver on the head approvingly. 'I never saw a sharper lad. Here's a shilling
for you. If you go on, in this way, you'll be the greatest man of the time. And
now come here, and I'll show you how to take the marks out of the
handkerchiefs.'
Oliver wondered what picking the old gentleman's pocket in play, had to do
with his chances of being a great man. But, thinking that the Jew, being so much
his senior, must know best, he followed him quietly to the table, and was soon
deeply involved in his new study.
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