Oliver Twist/Source/Chapter 3: Difference between revisions

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===Relates How Oliver Twist Was Very Near Getting A Place Which Would Not Have Been A Sinecure===

For a week after the commission of the impious and profane

offence of asking for more, Oliver remained a close prisoner in

the dark and solitary room to which he had been consigned by the

wisdom and mercy of the board. It appears, at first sight not

unreasonable to suppose, that, if he had entertained a becoming

feeling of respect for the prediction of the gentleman in the

white waistcoat, he would have established that sage individual's

prophetic character, once and for ever, by tying one end of his

pocket-handkerchief to a hook in the wall, and attaching himself

to the other. To the performance of this feat, however, there

was one obstacle: namely, that pocket-handkerchiefs being

decided articles of luxury, had been, for all future times and

</head>

ages, removed from the noses of paupers by the express order of

the board, in council assembled: solemnly given and pronounced

under their hands and seals. There was a still greater obstacle

in Oliver's youth and childishness. He only cried bitterly all

day; and, when the long, dismal night came on, spread his little

hands before his eyes to shut out the darkness, and crouching in

</div>

the corner, tried to sleep: ever and anon waking with a start

<h1 id="firstHeading" class="firstHeading" lang="en">Login required</h1> <div id="bodyContent" class="mw-body-content">

and tremble, and drawing himself closer and closer to the wall,

as if to feel even its cold hard surface were a protection in the

gloom and loneliness which surrounded him.

Jump to: <a href="#mw-head">navigation</a>, <a href="#p-search">search</a>

</div>

Let it not be supposed by the enemies of 'the system,' that,

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during the period of his solitary incarceration, Oliver was

denied the benefit of exercise, the pleasure of society, or the

Retrieved from "<a dir="ltr" href="https://allthetropes.org/wiki/Special:Badtitle">https://allthetropes.org/wiki/Special:Badtitle{{Dead link}}</a>" </div>

advantages of religious consolation. As for exercise, it was

nice cold weather, and he was allowed to perform his ablutions

</div>

every morning under the pump, in a stone yard, in the presence of

</div>

Mr. Bumble, who prevented his catching cold, and caused a

tingling sensation to pervade his frame, by repeated applications

<h2>Navigation menu</h2>

of the cane. As for society, he was carried every other day into

the hall where the boys dined, and there sociably flogged as a

public warning and example. And so for from being denied the

<h3 id="p-personal-label">Personal tools</h3>

advantages of religious consolation, he was kicked into the same

<ul>

apartment every evening at prayer-time, and there permitted to

listen to, and console his mind with, a general supplication of

</div>

the boys, containing a special clause, therein inserted by

authority of the board, in which they entreated to be made good,

virtuous, contented, and obedient, and to be guarded from the

<h3 id="p-namespaces-label">Namespaces</h3>

sins and vices of Oliver Twist: whom the supplication distinctly

<ul>

set forth to be under the exclusive patronage and protection of

<li id="ca-nstab-special" class="selected"><span><a href="/w/index.php?action=raw&title=Oliver+Twist%2FSource%2FChapter+3" title="This is a special page, and it cannot be edited">Special page</a></span></li> </ul>

the powers of wickedness, and an article direct from the

</div>

manufactory of the very Devil himself.

It chanced one morning, while Oliver's affairs were in this

auspicious and comfortable state, that Mr. Gamfield,

<span>Variants</span>

chimney-sweep, went his way down the High Street, deeply

</h3>

cogitating in his mind his ways and means of paying certain

arrears of rent, for which his landlord had become rather

<ul>

pressing. Mr. Gamfield's most sanguine estimate of his finances

</ul>

could not raise them within full five pounds of the desired

</div>

amount; and, in a species of arthimetical desperation, he was

</div>

alternately cudgelling his brains and his donkey, when passing

</div>

the workhouse, his eyes encountered the bill on the gate.

'Wo--o!' said Mr. Gamfield to the donkey.

<h3 id="p-views-label">Views</h3>

<ul>

The donkey was in a state of profound abstraction: wondering,

</ul>

probably, whether he was destined to be regaled with a

</div>

cabbage-stalk or two when he had disposed of the two sacks of

soot with which the little cart was laden; so, without noticing

the word of command, he jogged onward.

Mr. Gamfield growled a fierce imprecation on the donkey

<ul>

generally, but more particularly on his eyes; and, running after

</ul>

him, bestowed a blow on his head, which would inevitably have

</div>

beaten in any skull but a donkey's. Then, catching hold of the

</div>

bridle, he gave his jaw a sharp wrench, by way of gentle reminder

that he was not his own master; and by these means turned him

<h3>

round. He then gave him another blow on the head, just to stun

<label for="searchInput">Search</label>

him till he came back again. Having completed these

</h3>

arrangements, he walked up to the gate, to read the bill.

The gentleman with the white waistcoat was standing at the gate

with his hands behind him, after having delivered himself of some

</form>

profound sentiments in the board-room. Having witnessed the

</div>

little dispute between Mr. Gamfield and the donkey, he smiled

</div>

joyously when that person came up to read the bill, for he saw at

</div>

once that Mr. Gamfield was exactly the sort of master Oliver

Twist wanted. Mr. Gamfield smiled, too, as he perused the

document; for five pounds was just the sum he had been wishing

for; and, as to the boy with which it was encumbered, Mr.

<h3 id="p-navigation-label">Navigation</h3>

Gamfield, knowing what the dietary of the workhouse was, well

knew he would be a nice small pattern, just the very thing for

<ul>

register stoves. So, he spelt the bill through again, from

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beginning to end; and then, touching his fur cap in token of

</div>

humility, accosted the gentleman in the white waistcoat.

</div>

'This here boy, sir, wot the parish wants to 'prentis,' said Mr.

<h3 id="p-Troper_Tools-label">Troper Tools</h3>

Gamfield.

<ul>

'Ay, my man,' said the gentleman in the white waistcoat, with a

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condescending smile. 'What of him?'

</div>

'If the parish vould like him to learn a right pleasant trade, in

a good 'spectable chimbley-sweepin' bisness,' said Mr. Gamfield,

<h3 id="p-Troping_Utilities-label">Troping Utilities</h3>

'I wants a 'prentis, and I am ready to take him.'

<ul>

'Walk in,' said the gentleman in the white waistcoat. Mr.

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Gamfield having lingered behind, to give the donkey another blow

</div>

on the head, and another wrench of the jaw, as a caution not to

</div>

run away in his absence, followed the gentleman with the white

waistcoat into the room where Oliver had first seen him.

<h3 id="p-Troper_Social_Networks-label">Troper Social Networks</h3>

'It's a nasty trade,' said Mr. Limbkins, when Gamfield had again

<ul>

stated his wish.

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</div>

'Young boys have been smothered in chimneys before now,' said

</div>

another gentleman.

<h3 id="p-tb-label">Tools</h3>

'That's acause they damped the straw afore they lit it in the

chimbley to make 'em come down again,' said Gamfield; 'that's all

<ul>

smoke, and no blaze; vereas smoke ain't o' no use at all in

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making a boy come down, for it only sinds him to sleep, and

</div>

that's wot he likes. Boys is wery obstinit, and wery lazy,

</div>

Gen'l'men, and there's nothink like a good hot blaze to make 'em

</div>

come down vith a run. It's humane too, gen'l'men, acause, even

</div>

if they've stuck in the chimbley, roasting their feet makes 'em

struggle to hextricate theirselves.'

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The gentleman in the white waistcoat appeared very much amused by

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this explanation; but his mirth was speedily checked by a look

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from Mr. Limbkins. The board then proceeded to converse among

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themselves for a few minutes, but in so low a tone, that the

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words 'saving of expenditure,' 'looked well in the accounts,'

</ul>

'have a printed report published,' were alone audible. These

only chanced to be heard, indeed, or account of their being very

frequently repeated with great emphasis.

At length the whispering ceased; and the members of the board,

having resumed their seats and their solemnity, Mr. Limbkins

</ul>

said:

</div>

'We have considered your proposition, and we don't approve of

it.'

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'Not at all,' said the gentleman in the white waistcoat.

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_paq.push(["enableLinkTracking"]);

'Decidedly not,' added the other members.

(function() {

var u = "https://matomo.miraheze.org/";

As Mr. Gamfield did happen to labour under the slight imputation

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of having bruised three or four boys to death already, it

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occurred to him that the board had, perhaps, in some

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unaccountable freak, taken it into their heads that this

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extraneous circumstance ought to influence their proceedings. It

_paq.push(["setCustomVariable", 1, "userType", "Anonymous", "visit"]);

was very unlike their general mode of doing business, if they

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had; but still, as he had no particular wish to revive the

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rumour, he twisted his cap in his hands, and walked slowly from

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the table.

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g.defer=true; g.async=true; g.src=u+"piwik.js"; s.parentNode.insertBefore(g,s);

'So you won't let me have him, gen'l'men?' said Mr. Gamfield,

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pausing near the door.

</script>

'No,' replied Mr. Limbkins; 'at least, as it's a nasty business,

we think you ought to take something less than the premium we

offered.'

<script>(window.RLQ=window.RLQ||[]).push(function(){mw.config.set({"wgBackendResponseTime":184,"wgHostname":"mw3"});});</script>

</body>

Mr. Gamfield's countenance brightened, as, with a quick step, he

</html>

returned to the table, and said,

'What'll you give, gen'l'men? Come! Don't be too hard on a poor

man. What'll you give?'

'I should say, three pound ten was plenty,' said Mr. Limbkins.

'Ten shillings too much,' said the gentleman in the white

waistcoat.

'Come!' said Gamfield; 'say four pound, gen'l'men. Say four

pound, and you've got rid of him for good and all. There!'

'Three pound ten,' repeated Mr. Limbkins, firmly.

'Come! I'll split the diff'erence, gen'l'men,' urged Gamfield.

'Three pound fifteen.'

'Not a farthing more,' was the firm reply of Mr. Limbkins.

'You're desperate hard upon me, gen'l'men,' said Gamfield,

wavering.

'Pooh! pooh! nonsense!' said the gentleman in the white

waistcoat. 'He'd be cheap with nothing at all, as a premium.

Take him, you silly fellow! He's just the boy for you. He wants

the stick, now and then: it'll do him good; and his board

needn't come very expensive, for he hasn't been overfed since he

was born. Ha! ha! ha!'

Mr. Gamfield gave an arch look at the faces round the table, and,

observing a smile on all of them, gradually broke into a smile

himself. The bargain was made. Mr. Bumble, was at once

instructed that Oliver Twist and his indentures were to be

conveyed before the magistrate, for signature and approval, that

very afternoon.

In pursuance of this determination, little Oliver, to his

excessive astonishment, was released from bondage, and ordered to

put himself into a clean shirt. He had hardly achieved this very

unusual gymnastic performance, when Mr. Bumble brought him, with

his own hands, a basin of gruel, and the holiday allowance of two

ounces and a quarter of bread. At this tremendous sight, Oliver

began to cry very piteously: thinking, not unnaturally, that the

board must have determined to kill him for some useful purpose,

or they never would have begun to fatten him up in that way.

'Don't make your eyes red, Oliver, but eat your food and be

thankful,' said Mr. Bumble, in a tone of impressive pomposity.

'You're a going to be made a 'prentice of, Oliver.'

'A prentice, sir!' said the child, trembling.

'Yes, Oliver,' said Mr. Bumble. 'The kind and blessed gentleman

which is so many parents to you, Oliver, when you have none of

your own: are a going to 'prentice' you: and to set you up in

life, and make a man of you: although the expense to the parish

is three pound ten!--three pound ten, Oliver!--seventy

shillins--one hundred and forty sixpences!--and all for a naughty

orphan which nobody can't love.'

As Mr. Bumble paused to take breath, after delivering this

address in an awful voice, the tears rolled down the poor child's

face, and he sobbed bitterly.

'Come,' said Mr. Bumble, somewhat less pompously, for it was

gratifying to his feelings to observe the effect his eloquence

had produced; 'Come, Oliver! Wipe your eyes with the cuffs of

your jacket, and don't cry into your gruel; that's a very foolish

action, Oliver.' It certainly was, for there was quite enough

water in it already.

On their way to the magistrate, Mr. Bumble instructed Oliver that

all he would have to do, would be to look very happy, and say,

when the gentleman asked him if he wanted to be apprenticed, that

he should like it very much indeed; both of which injunctions

Oliver promised to obey: the rather as Mr. Bumble threw in a

gentle hint, that if he failed in either particular, there was no

telling what would be done to him. When they arrived at the

office, he was shut up in a little room by himself, and

admonished by Mr. Bumble to stay there, until he came back to

fetch him.

There the boy remained, with a palpitating heart, for half an

hour. At the expiration of which time Mr. Bumble thrust in his

head, unadorned with the cocked hat, and said aloud:

'Now, Oliver, my dear, come to the gentleman.' As Mr. Bumble

said this, he put on a grim and threatening look, and added, in a

low voice, 'Mind what I told you, you young rascal!'

Oliver stared innocently in Mr. Bumble's face at this somewhat

contradictory style of address; but that gentleman prevented his

offering any remark thereupon, by leading him at once into an

adjoining room: the door of which was open. It was a large room,

with a great window. Behind a desk, sat two old gentleman with

powdered heads: one of whom was reading the newspaper; while the

other was perusing, with the aid of a pair of tortoise-shell

spectacles, a small piece of parchment which lay before him. Mr.

Limbkins was standing in front of the desk on one side; and Mr.

Gamfield, with a partially washed face, on the other; while two

or three bluff-looking men, in top-boots, were lounging about.

The old gentleman with the spectacles gradually dozed off, over

the little bit of parchment; and there was a short pause, after

Oliver had been stationed by Mr. Bumble in front of the desk.

'This is the boy, your worship,' said Mr. Bumble.

The old gentleman who was reading the newspaper raised his head

for a moment, and pulled the other old gentleman by the sleeve;

whereupon, the last-mentioned old gentleman woke up.

'Oh, is this the boy?' said the old gentleman.

'This is him, sir,' replied Mr. Bumble. 'Bow to the magistrate,

my dear.'

Oliver roused himself, and made his best obeisance. He had been

wondering, with his eyes fixed on the magistrates' powder,

whether all boards were born with that white stuff on their

heads, and were boards from thenceforth on that account.

'Well,' said the old gentleman, 'I suppose he's fond of

chimney-sweeping?'

'He doats on it, your worship,' replied Bumble; giving Oliver a

sly pinch, to intimate that he had better not say he didn't.

'And he _will_ be a sweep, will he?' inquired the old gentleman.

'If we was to bind him to any other trade to-morrow, he'd run

away simultaneous, your worship,' replied Bumble.

'And this man that's to be his master--you, sir--you'll treat him

well, and feed him, and do all that sort of thing, will you?'

said the old gentleman.

'When I says I will, I means I will,' replied Mr. Gamfield

doggedly.

'You're a rough speaker, my friend, but you look an honest,

open-hearted man,' said the old gentleman: turning his

spectacles in the direction of the candidate for Oliver's

premium, whose villainous countenance was a regular stamped

receipt for cruelty. But the magistrate was half blind and half

childish, so he couldn't reasonably be expected to discern what

other people did.

'I hope I am, sir,' said Mr. Gamfield, with an ugly leer.

'I have no doubt you are, my friend,' replied the old gentleman:

fixing his spectacles more firmly on his nose, and looking about

him for the inkstand.

It was the critical moment of Oliver's fate. If the inkstand had

been where the old gentleman thought it was, he would have dipped

his pen into it, and signed the indentures, and Oliver would have

been straightway hurried off. But, as it chanced to be

immediately under his nose, it followed, as a matter of course,

that he looked all over his desk for it, without finding it; and

happening in the course of his search to look straight before

him, his gaze encountered the pale and terrified face of Oliver

Twist: who, despite all the admonitory looks and pinches of

Bumble, was regarding the repulsive countenance of his future

master, with a mingled expression of horror and fear, too

palpable to be mistaken, even by a half-blind magistrate.

The old gentleman stopped, laid down his pen, and looked from

Oliver to Mr. Limbkins; who attempted to take snuff with a

cheerful and unconcerned aspect.

'My boy!' said the old gentleman, 'you look pale and alarmed.

What is the matter?'

'Stand a little away from him, Beadle,' said the other

magistrate: laying aside the paper, and leaning forward with an

expression of interest. 'Now, boy, tell us what's the matter:

don't be afraid.'

Oliver fell on his knees, and clasping his hands together, prayed

that they would order him back to the dark room--that they would

starve him--beat him--kill him if they pleased--rather than send

him away with that dreadful man.

'Well!' said Mr. Bumble, raising his hands and eyes with most

impressive solemnity. 'Well! of all the artful and designing

orphans that ever I see, Oliver, you are one of the most

bare-facedest.'

'Hold your tongue, Beadle,' said the second old gentleman, when

Mr. Bumble had given vent to this compound adjective.

'I beg your worship's pardon,' said Mr. Bumble, incredulous of

having heard aright. 'Did your worship speak to me?'

'Yes. Hold your tongue.'

Mr. Bumble was stupefied with astonishment. A beadle ordered to

hold his tongue! A moral revolution!

The old gentleman in the tortoise-shell spectacles looked at his

companion, he nodded significantly.

'We refuse to sanction these indentures,' said the old gentleman:

tossing aside the piece of parchment as he spoke.

'I hope,' stammered Mr. Limbkins: 'I hope the magistrates will

not form the opinion that the authorities have been guilty of any

improper conduct, on the unsupported testimony of a child.'

'The magistrates are not called upon to pronounce any opinion on

the matter,' said the second old gentleman sharply. 'Take the

boy back to the workhouse, and treat him kindly. He seems to

want it.'

That same evening, the gentleman in the white waistcoat most

positively and decidedly affirmed, not only that Oliver would be

hung, but that he would be drawn and quartered into the bargain.

Mr. Bumble shook his head with gloomy mystery, and said he wished

he might come to good; whereunto Mr. Gamfield replied, that he

wished he might come to him; which, although he agreed with the

beadle in most matters, would seem to be a wish of a totally

opposite description.

The next morning, the public were once informed that Oliver Twist

was again To Let, and that five pounds would be paid to anybody

who would take possession of him.

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