The room in which the boys were fed, was a large stone hall,
with a copper at one end: out of which the master, dressed in an apron for the
purpose, and assisted by one or two women, ladled the gruel at mealtimes. Of
this festive composition each boy had one porringer, and no more--except on
occasions of great public rejoicing, when he had two ounces and a quarter of
bread besides.
The bowls never wanted washing. The boys polished them with
their spoons till they shone again; and when they had performed this operation
(which never took very long, the spoons being nearly as large as the bowls),
they would sit staring at the copper, with such eager eyes, as if they could
have devoured the very bricks of which it was composed; employing themselves,
meanwhile, in sucking their fingers most assiduously, with the view of catching
up any stray splashes of gruel that might have been cast thereon. Boys have
generally excellent appetites. Oliver Twist and his companions suffered the
tortures of slow starvation for three months: at last they got so voracious and
wild with hunger, that one boy, who was tall for his age, and hadn't been used
to that sort of thing (for his father had kept a small cook-shop), hinted
darkly to his companions, that unless he had another basin of gruel per diem,
he was afraid he might some night happen to eat the boy who slept next him, who
happened to be a weakly youth of tender age. He had a wild, hungry eye; and
they implicitly believed him. A council was held; lots were cast who should
walk up to the master after supper that evening, and ask for more; and it fell
to Oliver Twist.
The evening arrived; the boys took their places. The master,
in his cook's uniform, stationed himself at the copper; his pauper assistants
ranged themselves behind him; the gruel was served out; and a long grace was
said over the short commons. The gruel disappeared; the boys whispered each other,
and winked at Oliver; while his next neighbours nudged him. Child as he was, he
was desperate with hunger, and reckless with misery. He rose from the table;
and advancing to the master, basin and spoon in hand, said: somewhat alarmed at
his own temerity:
'Please, sir, I want some more.'
The master was a fat, healthy man; but he turned very pale.
He gazed in stupified astonishment on the small rebel for some seconds, and
then clung for support to the copper. The assistants were paralysed with
wonder; the boys with fear.
'What!' said the master at length, in a faint voice.
'Please, sir,' replied Oliver, 'I want some more.'
The master aimed a blow at Oliver's head with the ladle;
pinioned him in his arm; and shrieked aloud for the beadle.
The board were sitting in solemn conclave, when Mr. Bumble
rushed into the room in great excitement, and addressing the gentleman in the
high chair, said, 'Mr. Limbkins, I beg your pardon, sir! Oliver Twist has asked
for more!'
There was a general start. Horror was depicted on every
countenance.
'For MORE!' said Mr. Limbkins. 'Compose yourself, Bumble,
and answer me distinctly. Do I understand that he asked for more, after he had
eaten the supper allotted by the dietary?'
'He did, sir,' replied Bumble.
'That boy will be hung,' said the gentleman in the white
waistcoat. 'I know that boy will be hung.'
Nobody controverted the prophetic gentleman's opinion. An
animated discussion took place. Oliver was ordered into instant confinement;
and a bill was next morning pasted on the outside of the gate, offering a
reward of five pounds to anybody who would take Oliver Twist off the hands of
the parish. In other words, five pounds and Oliver Twist were offered to any
man or woman who wanted an apprentice to any trade, business, or calling.
'I never was more convinced of anything in my life,' said
the gentleman in the white waistcoat, as he knocked at the gate and read the
bill next morning: 'I never was more convinced of anything in my life, than I
am that that boy will come to be hung.'
As I purpose to show in the sequel whether the white
waistcoated gentleman was right or not, I should perhaps mar the interest of
this narrative (supposing it to possess any at all), if I ventured to hint just
yet, whether the life of Oliver Twist had this violent termination or no.
First witch: Thrice the brinded cat hath mewed.
Second witch: Thrice,
and once the hedge-pig whined.
Third witch: Harpier
cries, “'Tis time, ’tis time.”
First witch: Round
about the cauldron go,
In the poisoned entrails throw.
Toad, that under cold stone
Days and nights has thirty-one
Sweltered venom sleeping got,
Boil thou first i' th' charmèd pot.
All: Double,
double toil and trouble,
Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.
Second witch: Fillet
of a fenny snake,
In the cauldron boil and bake.
Eye of newt and toe of frog,
Wool of bat and tongue of dog,
Adder’s fork and blind-worm’s sting,
Lizard’s leg and owlet’s wing,
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
All: Double,
double toil and trouble,
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
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