CHAPTER XV

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.
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