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 neighbors 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 stupefied 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.
Relates how Oliver Twist was
very near getting A place which
would not have been A sinecure
