Charlotte uttered a scream, and hid her face in her
apron. Mr. Claypole, without making any further
change in his position than suffering his legs to
reach the ground, gazed at the beadle in drunken terror.
‘Say it again, you wile, owdacious fellow!’
said Mr. Bumble. ’How dare you mention
such a thing, sir? And how dare you encourage
him, you insolent minx? Kiss her!’ exclaimed
Mr. Bumble, in strong indignation. ‘Faugh!’
‘I didn’t mean to do it!’ said Noah,
blubbering. ’She’s always a-kissing
of me, whether I like it, or not.’
‘Oh, Noah,’ cried Charlotte, reproachfully.
‘Yer are; yer know yer are!’ retorted
Noah. ’She’s always a-doin’
of it, Mr. Bumble, sir; she chucks me under the chin,
please, sir; and makes all manner of love!’
‘Silence!’ cried Mr. Bumble, sternly.
’Take yourself downstairs, ma’am.
Noah, you shut up the shop; say another word till
your master comes home, at your peril; and, when he
does come home, tell him that Mr. Bumble said he was
to send a old woman’s shell after breakfast
to-morrow morning. Do you hear sir? Kissing!’
cried Mr. Bumble, holding up his hands. ’The
sin and wickedness of the lower orders in this porochial
district is frightful! If Parliament don’t
take their abominable courses under consideration,
this country’s ruined, and the character of the
peasantry gone for ever!’ With these words,
the beadle strode, with a lofty and gloomy air, from
the undertaker’s premises.
And now that we have accompanied him so far on his
road home, and have made all necessary preparations
for the old woman’s funeral, let us set on foot
a few inquires after young Oliver Twist, and ascertain
whether he be still lying in the ditch where Toby
Crackit left him.
LOOKS AFTER OLIVER, AND PROCEEDS WITH HIS ADVENTURES
‘Wolves tear your throats!’ muttered Sikes,
grinding his teeth. ‘I wish I was among
some of you; you’d howl the hoarser for it.’
As Sikes growled forth this imprecation, with the
most desperate ferocity that his desperate nature
was capable of, he rested the body of the wounded
boy across his bended knee; and turned his head, for
an instant, to look back at his pursuers.
There was little to be made out, in the mist and darkness;
but the loud shouting of men vibrated through the
air, and the barking of the neighbouring dogs, roused
by the sound of the alarm bell, resounded in every
direction.
‘Stop, you white-livered hound!’ cried
the robber, shouting after Toby Crackit, who, making
the best use of his long legs, was already ahead.
‘Stop!’
The repetition of the word, brought Toby to a dead
stand-still. For he was not quite satisfied that
he was beyond the range of pistol-shot; and Sikes
was in no mood to be played with.
‘Bear a hand with the boy,’ cried Sikes,
beckoning furiously to his confederate. ‘Come
back!’
