oliver twist(雾都孤儿(孤星血泪))-第8部分

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convey　a　reflection　on　the　honour　of　the　parish；　the　latter　
gentleman　thought　it　advisable　to　change　the　subject。　Oliver　Twist　
being　uppermost　in　his　mind；　he　made　him　his　theme。　

“By　the　bye；　said　Mr。　Bumble；　“you　don’t　know　anybody　who　
wants　a　boy；　do　you？　A　porochial　’prentis；　who　is　at　present　a　
dead…weight；　a　millstone；　as　I　may　say；　round　the　porochial　throat？　
Liberal　terms；　Mr。　Sowerberry；　liberal　terms！”　

As　Mr。　Bumble　spoke；　he　raised　his　cane　to　the　bill　above　him；　
and　gave　three　distinct　raps　upon　the　words　“five　pounds”：　which　
were　printed　thereon　in　Roman　capitals　of　gigantic　size。　

“Gadso！”　said　the　undertaker；　taking　Mr。　Bumble　by　the　gilt…
edged　lapel　of　his　official　coat；　“that’s　just　the　very　thing　I　wanted　
to　speak　to　you　about。　You　know—dear　me；　what　a　very　elegant　
button　this　is；　Mr。　Bumble！　I　never　noticed　it　before。”　

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Oliver　Twist　

“Yes；　I　think　it　is　rather　pretty；”　said　the　beadle；　glancing　
proudly　downwards　at　the　large　brass　buttons　which　embellished　
his　coat。　“The　die　is　the　same　as　the　porochial　seal—the　Good　
Samaritan　healing　the　sick；　and　bruised　man。　The　Board　
presented　it　to　me　on　New　Year　s　morning；　Mr。　Sowerberry。　I　put　
it　on；　I　remember；　for　the　first　time；　to　attend　the　inquest　on　that　
reduced　tradesman；　who　died　in　a　doorway　at　midnight。”　

“I　recollect；”　said　the　undertaker。　“The　jury　brought　it　in；　‘Died　
from　exposure　to　the　cold；　and　want　of　the　common　necessaries　of　
life；　didn’t　they？”　

Mr。　Bumble　nodded。　

“And　they　made　it　a　special　verdict；　I　think；”　said　the　
undertaker；　“by　adding　some　words　to　the　effect；　that　if　the　
relieving　officer　had—”　

“Tush！　Foolery！”　interposed　the　beadle。　“If　the　Board　attended　
to　all　the　nonsense　that　ignorant　jurymen　talk；　they’d　have　enough　
to　do。”　

“Very　true；”　said　the　undertaker；　“they　would　indeed。”　

“Juries；”　said　Mr。　Bumble；　grasping　his　cane　tightly；　as　was　his　
wont　when　working　into　a　passion；　“juries　is　ineddicated；　vulgar；　
grovelling　wretches。”　

“So　they　are；”　said　the　undertaker。　

“They　haven’t　no　more　philosophy　nor　political　economy　about　
’em　than　that；”　said　the　beadle；　snapping　his　fingers　
contemptuously。　

“No　more　they　have；”　acquiesced　the　undertaker。　

“I　despise　’em；”　said　the　beadle；　growing　very　red　in　the　face。　

“So　do　I；”　rejoined　the　undertaker。　

“And　I　only　wish　we’d　a　jury　of　the　independent　sort　in　the　

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Oliver　Twist　

house　for　a　week　or　two；”　said　the　beadle；　“the　rules　and　
regulations　of　the　Board　would　soon　bring　their　spirit　down　for　
’em。”　

“Let　’em　alone　for　that；”　replied　the　undertaker。　So　saying；　he　
smiled　approvingly；　to　calm　the　rising　wrath　of　the　indignant　
parish　officer。　

Mr。　Bumble　lifted　off　his　cocked　hat；　took　a　handkerchief　from　
the　inside　of　the　crown；　wiped　from　his　forehead　the　perspiration　
which　his　rage　had　engendered；　fixed　the　cocked　hat　on　again；　
and；　turning　to　the　undertaker；　said　in　a　calmer　voice：　

“Well；　what　about　the　boy？”　

“Oh！”　replied　the　undertaker；　“why；　you　know　Mr。　Bumble；　I　
pay　a　good　deal　towards　the　poor’s　rates。”　

“Hem！”　said　Mr。　Bumble；　“Well？”　

“Well；”　replied　the　undertaker；　“I　was　thinking　that　if　I　pay　so　
much　towards　’em；　I’ve　a　right　to　get　as　much　out　of　’em　as　I　can；　
Mr。　Bumble；　and　so—and　so—I　think　I’ll　take　the　boy　myself。”　

Mr。　Bumble　grasped　the　undertaker　by　the　arm；　and　led　him　
into　the　building。　Mr。　Sowerberry　was　closeted　with　the　Board　for　
five　minutes；　and　it　was　arranged　that　Oliver　should　go　to　him　that　
evening　“upon　liking”—a　phrase　which　means；　in　the　case　of　a　
parish　apprentice；　that　if　the　master　find；　upon　a　short　trial；　that　
he　can　get　enough　work　out　of　a　boy　without　putting　too　much　
food　into　him；　he　shall　have　him　for　a　term　of　years；　to　do　what　he　
likes　with。　

When　little　Oliver　was　taken　before　“the　gentlemen”　that　
evening；　and　informed　that　he　was　to　go；　that　night；　as　general　
house…lad　to　a　coffin…maker’s；　and　that　if　he　complained　of　his　
situation；　or　ever　came　back　to　the　parish　again；　he　would　be　sent　

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Oliver　Twist　

to　sea；　there　to　be　drowned　or　knocked　on　the　head；　as　the　case　
might　be；　he　evinced　so　little　emotion；　that　they　by　common　
consent　pronounced　him　a　hardened　young　rascal；　and　ordered　
Mr。　Bumble　to　remove　him　forthwith。　

Now；　although　it　was　very　natural　that　the　Board；　of　all　people　
in　the　world；　should　feel　in　a　great　state　of　virtuous　astonishment　
and　horror　at　the　smallest　tokens　of　want　of　feeling　on　the　part　of　
anybody；　they　were　rather　out；　in　this　particular　instance。　The　
simple　fact　was；　that　Oliver；　instead　of　possessing　too　little　feeling；　
possessed　rather　too　much；　and　was　in　a　fair　way　of　being　reduced；　
for　life；　to　a　state　of　brutal　stupidity　and　sullenness　by　the　ill…usage　
he　had　received。　He　heard　the　news　of　his　destination；　in　perfect　
silence；　and；　having　had　his　luggage　put　into　his　hand—which　was　
not　very　difficult　to　carry；　inasmuch　as　it　was　all　comprised　within　
the　limits　of　a　brown…paper　parcel；　about　half　a　foot　square　by　
three　inches　deep—he　pulled　his　cap　over　his　eyes；　and　once　more　
attaching　himself　to　Mr。　Bumble’s　coat　cuff；　was　led　away　by　that　
dignitary　to　a　new　scene　of　suffering。　

For　some　time；　Mr。　Bumble　drew　Oliver　along；　without　notice　
or　remark；　for　the　beadle　carried　his　head　very　erect；　as　a　beadle　
always　should：　and；　it　being　a　windy　day；　little　Oliver　was　
completely　enshrouded　by　the　skirts　of　Mr。　Bumble’s　coat　as　they　
blew　open；　and　disclosed　to　great　advantage　his　flapped　waistcoat　
and　drab　plush　knee…breeches。　As　they　drew　near　to　their　
destination；　however；　Mr。　Bumble　thought　it　expedient　to　look　
down；　and　see　that　the　boy　was　in　good　order　for　inspection　by　his　
new　master；　which　he　accordingly　did；　with　a　fit　and　becoming　air　
of　gracious　patronage。　

“Oliver！”　said　Mr。　Bumble。　

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Oliver　Twist　

“Yes；　sir；”　replied　Oliver；　in　a　low；　tremulous　voice。　

“Pull　that　cap　off　your　eyes；　and　hold　up　your　head；　sir。”　

Although　Oliver　did　as　he　was　desired；　at　once；　and　passed　the　
back　of　his　unoccupied　hand　briskly　across　his　eyes；　he　left　a　tear　
in　them　when　he　looked　up　at　his　conductor。　As　Mr。　Bumble　gazed　
sternly　upon　him；　it　rolled　down　his　cheek。　It　was　followed　by　
another；　and　another。　The　child　made　a　strong　effort；　but　it　was　an　
unsuccessful　one。　Withdrawing　his　other　hand　from　Mr。　Bumble’s；　
he　covered　his　face　with　both；　and　wept　until　the　tears　sprang　out　
from　between　his　chin　and　bony　fingers。　

“Well！”　exclaimed　Mr。　Bumble；　stopping　short；　and　darting　at　
his　little　charge　a　look　of　intense　malignity。　“Well！　Of　all　the　
ungratefullest；　and　worst…disposed　boys　as　ever　I　see；　Oliver；　you　
are　the—”　

“No；　no；　sir；”　sobbed　Oliver；　clinging　to　the　hand　which　held　the　
well…known　cane；　“no；　no；　sir；　I　will　be　good　indeed；　indeed；　
indeed　I　will；　sir！　I　am　a　very　little　boy；　sir；　and　it　is　so—so—”　

“So　what？”　inquired　Mr。　Bumble　in　amazement。　

“So　lonely；　sir！　So　very　lonely！”　cried　the　child。　“Everybody　
hates　me。　Oh！　sir；　don’t；　don’t　pray　be　cross　with　me！”　The　child　
beat　his　hand　upon　his　heart；　and　looked　in　his　companion’s　face；　
with　tears　of　real　agony。　

Mr。　Bumble　regarded　Oliver’s　piteous　and　helpless　look；　with　
some　astonishment；　for　a　few　seconds；　hemmed　three　or　four　
times　in　a　husky　manner；　and；　after　muttering　something　about　
“that　troublesome　cough；”　bade　Oliver　dry　his　eyes　and　be　a　good　
boy。　Then；　once　more　taking　his　hand；　he　walked　on　with　him　in　
silence。　

The　undertaker；　who　had　just　put　up　the　shutters　of　his　shop；　

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Oliver　Twist　

was　making　some　entries　in　his　day…book　by　the　light　of　a　most　
appropriate　dismal　candle；　when　Mr。　Bumble　entered。　

“Aha！”　said　the　undertaker；　looking　up　from　the　book　and　
pausing　in　the　middle　of　a　word；　“is　that　you；　Bumble？”　

“No　one　else；　Mr。　Sowerberry；”　replied　the　beadle。　“Here！　I’ve　
brought　the　boy。”　Oliver　made　a　bow。　

“Oh！　that’s　the　boy；　is　it？”　said　the　undertaker；　raising　the　
candle　above　his　head；　to　get　a　better　view　of　Oliver。　“Mrs。　
Sowerberry！　will　you　have　the　goodness　to　come　here　a　moment；　
my　dear？”　

Mrs。　Sowerberry　emerged　from　a　little　room　behind　the　shop；　
and　presented　the　form　of　a　short；　thin；　squeezed…up　woman；　with　
a　vixenish　countenance。　

“My　dear；”　said　Mr。　Sowerberry　deferentially；　“this　is　the　boy　
from　the　workhouse　that　I　told　you　of。”　Oliver　bowed　again。　

“Dear　me！”　said　the　undertaker’s　wife；　“he’s　very　small。”　

“Why；　he　is　rather　small；”　replied　Mr。　Bumble；　looking　at　Oliver　
as　if　it　were　his　fault　that　he　was　no　bigger；　“he　is　small。　There’s　no　
denying　it。　But　he’ll　grow；　Mrs。　Sowerberry—he’ll　grow。”　

“Ah！　I　dare　say　he　will；”　replied　the　lady　pettishly；　“on　our　
victuals　and　our　drink。　I　see　no　saving　in　parish　children；