10. Oliver becomes better
acquainted with the characters of his new associates; and purchases
experience at a high price, Being a short, but very important chapter,
in this history.
For many days, Oliver remained in the Jew's room, picking
the marks out of the pocket-handkerchiefs, (of which a great
number were brought home,) and sometimes taking part in
the game already described: which the two boys and the
Jew played, regularly, every morning. At length, he began
to languish for fresh air, and took many occasions of earnestly
entreating the old gentleman to allow him to go out to
work, with his two companions.
Oliver was rendered the more anxious to be actively
employed, by what he had seen of the stern morality of the
old gentleman's character. Whenever the Dodger or Charley
Bates came home at night, empty-handed, he would expatiate
with great vehemence on the misery of idle and lazy habits;
and would enforce upon them the necessity of an active life,
by sending them supperless to bed. On one occasion, indeed,
he even went so far as to knock them both down a flight of
stairs; but this was carrying out his virtuous precepts to an
unusual extent.
At length, one morning, Oliver obtained the permission
he had so eagerly sought. There had been no handkerchiefs
to work upon, for two or three days, and the dinners had
been rather meagre. Perhaps these were reasons for the old
gentleman's giving his assent; but, whether they were or no,
he told Oliver he might go, and placed him under the joint
guardianship of Charley Bates, and his friend the Dodger.
The three boys sallied out; the Dodger with his coat-sleeves
tucked up, and his hat cocked, as usual; Master Bates sauntering
along with his hands in his pockets; and Oliver between
them, wondering where they were going, and what branch
of manufacture he would be instructed in, first.
The pace at which they went, was such a very lazy, ill-looking
saunter, that Oliver soon began to think his companions
were going to deceive the old gentleman, by not
going to work at all. The Dodger had a vicious propensity,
too, of pulling the caps from the heads of small boys and
tossing them down areas; while Charley Bates exhibited some
very loose notions concerning the rights of property, by
pilfering divers apples and onions from the stalls at the
kennel sides, and thrusting them into pockets which were so
surprisingly capacious, that they seemed to undermine his
whole suit of clothes in every direction. These things looked
so bad, that Oliver was on the point of declaring his intention
of seeking his way back, in the best way he could;
when his thoughts were suddenly directed into another
channel, by a very mysterious change of behaviour on the
part of the Dodger.
They were just emerging from a narrow court not far
from the open square in Clerkenwell, which is yet called, by
some strange perversion of terms, “The Green:” when the
Dodger made a sudden stop; and, laying his finger on his
lip, drew his companions back again, with the greatest caution
and circumspection.
“What's the matter?” demanded Oliver.
“Hush!” replied the Dodger. “Do you see that old cove
at the book-stall?”
“The old gentleman over the way?” said Oliver. “Yes,
I see him.”
“He'll do,” said the Dodger.
“A prime plant,” observed Master Charley Bates.
Oliver looked from one to the other, with the greatest
surprise; but he was not permitted to make any inquiries;
for the two boys walked stealthily across the road, and slunk
close behind the old gentleman towards whom his attention
had been directed. Oliver walked a few paces after them;
and, not knowing whether to advance or retire, stood looking
on in silent amazement.
The old gentleman was a very respectable-looking personage,
with a powdered head and gold spectacles. He was dressed
in a bottle-green coat with a black velvet collar; wore white
trousers; and carried a smart bamboo cane under his arm.
He had taken up a book from the stall, and there he stood,
reading away, as hard as if he were in his elbow-chair, in his
own study. It is very possible that he fancied himself there,
indeed; for it was plain, from is abstraction, that he saw
not the book-stall, nor the street, nor the boys, nor, in short,
anything but the book itself: which he was reading straight
through: turning over the leaf when he got to the bottom
of a page, beginning at the top line of the next one, and
going regularly on, with the greatest interest and eagerness.
What was Oliver's horror and alarm as he stood a few
paces off, looking on with his eyelids as wide open as they
would possibly go, to see the Dodger plunge his hand into
the old gentleman's pocket, and draw from thence a handkerchief!
To see him hand the same to Charley Bates; and
finally to behold them, both, running away round the corner
at full speed.
In an instant the whole mystery of the handkerchiefs, and
the watches, and the jewels, and the Jew, rushed upon the
boy's mind. He stood, for a moment, with the blood so
tingling through all his veins from terror, that he felt as if
he were in a burning fire; then, confused and frightened, he
took to his heels; and, not knowing what he did, made off
as fast as he could lay his feet to the ground.
This was all done in a minute's space. In the very instant
when Oliver began to run, the old gentleman, putting his
hand to his pocket, and missing his handkerchief, turned
sharp round. Seeing the boy scudding away at such a rapid
pace, he very naturally concluded him to be the depredator;
and, shouting “Stop thief!” with all his might, made off
after him, book in hand.
But the old gentleman was not the only person who raised
the hue-and-cry. The Dodger and Master Bates, unwilling
to attract public attention by running down the open street,
had merely retired into the very first doorway round the corner.
They no sooner heard the cry, and saw Oliver running, than,
guessing exactly how the matter stood, they issued forth with
great promptitude; and, shouting “Stop thief!” too, joined
in the pursuit like good citizens.
Although Oliver had been brought up by philosophers, he
was not theoretically acquainted with the beautiful axiom
that self-preservation is the first law of nature. If he had
been, perhaps he would have been prepared for this. Not
being prepared, however, it alarmed him the more; so away
he went like the wind, with the old gentleman and the two
boys roaring and shouting behind him.
“Stop thief! Stop thief!” There is a magic in the sound.
The tradesman leaves his counter, and the carman his waggon;
the butcher throws down his tray; the baker his basket;
the milkman his pail; the errand-boy his parcels; the schoolboy
his marbles; the paviour his pickaxe; the child his
battledore. Away they run, pell-mell, helter-skelter, slap-dash:
tearing, yelling, screaming, knocking down the passengers
as they turn the corners, rousing up the dogs, and astonishing
the fowls: and streets, squares, and courts, re-echo with the
sound.
“Stop thief! Stop thief!” The cry is taken up by a
hundred voices, and the crowd accumulate at every turning.
Away they fly, splashing through the mud, and rattling along
the pavements: up go the windows, out run the people,
onward bear the mob, a whole audience desert Punch in the
very thickest of the plot, and, joining the rushing throng,
swell the shout, and lend fresh vigour to the cry, “Stop
thief! Stop thief!”
“Stop thief! Stop thief!” There is a passion for
hunting
something deeply implanted in the human breast. One
wretched breathless child, panting with exhaustion; terror
in his looks; agony in his eyes; large drops of perspiration
streaming down his face; strains every nerve to make head
upon his pursuers; and as they follow on his track, and gain
upon him every instant, they hail his decreasing strength
with still louder shouts, and whoop and scream with joy.
“Stop thief!” Ay, stop him for God's sake, were it only in
mercy!
Stopped at last! A clever blow. He is down upon the
pavement; and the crowd eagerly gather round him: each
new comer, jostling and struggling with the others to catch
a glimpse. “Stand aside!” “Give him a little air!”
“Nonsense! he don't deserve it!” “Where's the gentleman?”
“Here he is, coming down the street.” “Make room there
for the gentleman!” “Is this the boy, sir!” “Yes.”
Oliver lay, covered with mud and dust, and bleeding from
the mouth, looking wildly round upon the heap of faces that
surrounded him, when the old gentleman was officiously
dragged and pushed into the circle by the foremost of the
pursuers.
“Yes,” said the gentleman, “I am afraid it is the boy.”
“Afraid!” murmured the crowd. “That's a good un!”
“Poor fellow!” said the gentleman, “he has hurt himself.”
“I did that, sir,” said a great lubberly fellow, stepping
forward; “and preciously I cut my knuckle agin' his mouth.
I stopped him, sir.”
The fellow touched his hat with a grin, expecting something
for his pains; but, the old gentleman, eyeing him
with an expression of dislike, looked anxiously round, as if he
contemplated running away himself: which it is very possible
he might have attempted to do, and thus have afforded
another chase, had not a police officer (who is generally the
last person to arrive in such cases) at that moment made
his way through the crowd, and seized Oliver by the collar.
“Come, get up,” said the man, roughly.
“It wasn't me indeed, sir. Indeed, indeed, it was two
other boys,” said Oliver, clasping his hands passionately, and
looking round. “They are here somewhere.”
“Oh no, they ain't,” said the officer. He meant this to
be ironical, but it was true besides; for the Dodger and
Charley Bates had filed off down the first convenient court
they came to. “Come, get up!”
“Don't hurt him,” said the old gentleman, compassionately.
“Oh no, I won't hurt him,” replied the officer, tearing his
jacket half off his back, in proof thereof. “Come, I know
you; it won't do. Will you stand upon your legs, you young
devil?”
Oliver, who could hardly stand, made a shift to raise himself
on his feet, and was at once lugged along the streets by
the jacket-collar, at a rapid pace. The gentleman walked
on with them by the officer's side; and as many of the crowd
as could achieve the feat, got a little a-head, and stared back
at Oliver from time to time. The boys shouted in triumph;
and on they went.