The gruel disappeared, the boys whispered to 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 said, “What!”

“Please, sir,” replied Oliver, “I want some more.”

The master aimed a blow at Oliver’s head with the ladle, pinioned him in his arms, 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 a gentleman in a 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 the chairman.  “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 a gentleman in a white waistcoat.  “I know that boy will be hung.”

Nobody disputed the opinion.  Oliver was ordered into instant confinement, and a bill was next morning pasted on the outside of the workhouse gate, offering a reward of five pounds to anybody who would take Oliver Twist off their hands.  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.

Mr. Gamfield, the chimney sweep, was the first to respond to this offer.

“It’s a nasty trade,” said the chairman of the board.

“Young boys have been smothered in chimneys before now,” said another member.

“That’s because they damped the straw afore they lit it in the chimbley to make ’em come down again,” said Gamfield.  “That’s all smoke, and no blaze; vereas smoke only sinds him to sleep, and that ain’t no use in making a boy come down.  Boys is wery obstinite and wery lazy, gen’l’men, and there’s nothink like a good hot blaze to make ’em come down with a run.  It’s humane, too, gen’l’men, acause, even if they’ve stuck in the chimbley, roasting their feet makes ’em struggle to hextricate theirselves.”

The board consented to hand over Oliver to the chimney-sweep (the premium being reduced to L3 10s.), but the magistrates declined to sanction the indentures, and it was Mr. Sowerberry, the undertaker, who finally relieved the board of their responsibility.

Mrs. Sowerberry’s ill-treatment drove Oliver to flight.  He left the house in the early morning before anyone was stirring, struck across fields, and gained the high road outside the town.  A milestone intimated that it was seventy miles to London.  In London he would be beyond the reach of Mr. Bumble; to London he would trudge.