Oldal 67 [67]
39
* Got any lodgings ?”
“ No.”
“ Money ?”
66 No.”
The strange boy whistled, and put his
arms into his pockets as far as the big¬
coat sleeves would let them go.
6 Do you live in London?’ inquired
Oliver.
“ Yes Ido, when I’m at home,” replied
the boy. “I suppose you want some place
to sleep to-night, don’t you?"
“7 do indeed,” answered Oliver. “I
have not slept under a roof since I left
the country.”
6 Don’t fret your eyelids on that score,”
said the young gentleman. “I’ve got to
be in London to-night, and I know a ’spec¬
table old genelman as lives there, wot ’ll
give you lodgings for nothink, and never
ask for the change; that is, if any | es
man he knows interduces you. And don’t
he know me t—Oh, no,—not in the least,
vö : no means,—certainly not."
he young gentleman smiled, as if to
intimate that the latter fragments of dis¬
course were playfury ironical, and finish¬
ed the beer as he did so.
This unexpected offer of a shelter was
too tempting to be resisted, especially as
it was immediately followed up, by the
assurance that the old gentleman already
referred to, would doubtless provide Oli¬
ver with a comfortable place without loss
of time. ‘This led toa more friendly and
confidential dialogue, from which Oliver
discovered that his friend’s name was Jack
Dawkins, and that he was a peculiar pet
and protegé of the elderly gentleman be¬
fore mentioned.
Mr. Dawkins’s appearance did not say a
vast deal in favour of the comforts which
his patron’s interest obtained for those
whom he took under his protection; but
as he had a somewhat flighty and disso¬
lute mode of conversing, and furthermore
avowed that among his intimate friends
he was better known by the sobriquet of
“The artful Dodger,” Oliver concluded
that, being of a dissipated and careless
turn, the moral precepts of his benefactor
had hitherto been thrown away upon him.
Under this impression, he secretly resolv¬
ed to cultivate the good opinion of the old
Sig orey as quickly as possible ; and, if
e found the ger incorrigible, as he
more than half suspected he should, to
decline the honour of his farther acquaint¬
ance.
As John Dawkins objected to their en¬
tering London before nightfall, it was
nearly eleven o’clock when they reached
the turnpike at Islington. They crossed
from the Angel into St. John’s road, struck
down the small street which terminates
at Sadler’s Wells theatre, through Ex¬
mouth-street and Coppice-row, down the
little court by the side of the workhouse,
across the classic ground which once bore
the name of Hocksey-in-the-hole, thence.
into Little Saffron-hill, and so into Saffron¬
hill the Great, along which, the Dodger
scudded at a rapid pace, directing Oliver
to follow close at his heels.
Although Oliver had enough to a
his attention in keeping sight of his lead¬
er, he could not help bestowing a few
hasty glances on either side of the way
as he along. A dirtier or more
wretched place he had never seen. The
street was very narrow and muddy, and
the air was impregnated with filthy
odours. ‘There were a good many small
shops; but the only stock in trade appear¬
ed to be heaps of children, who, even at
that time of night, were crawling in and
out at the doors, or screaming from the
inside. ‘The sole places that seemed to
prosper amid the general blight of the
place were the public-houses, and in them,
the lowest orders of Irish (who are gene¬
rally the lowest orders of ag : were
wrangling with might and main. Covered
ways and yards, which here and there
diverged from the main street, disclosed
little knots of houses where drunken men
and women were positively wallowing in
the filth; and from several of the door¬
ways, great ill-looking fellows were cau¬
tiously emerging, bound, to all appearance,
upon no well-disposed or harmless errand,
Oliver was just considering whether he
hadn’t better run away, when they reach¬
ed the bottom of the hill: his conductor,
catching him by the arm, pushed open the
door of a house near Field-lane, and, draw¬
ing him into the passage, closed it behind
them.
Now, then,” cried a voice from below,
in reply to a whistle from the Dodger.
6 Plummy and slam!” was the reply.
This seemed to be some watchword or
sional that it was all right; for the light
of a feeble candle gleamed upon the wall
at the farther end of the e, and a
man’s face peeped out from where a balus¬
trade of the old kitchen staircase had oeen
broken away.
c There ’s two on you,” said the man,
thrusting the candle farther out, and sha¬
ding his eyes with his hand. “ Who’s
the tother one?”
6 A new pal,” replied Jack, pulling Oli
ver forward.