Stranica 67 [67]
OCR
39 * Got any lodgings ?” “ No.” “ Money ?” 66 No.” The strange boy whistled, and put his arms into his pockets as far as the bigcoat 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 ’spectable 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 discourse were playfury ironical, and finished 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 Oliver 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 before 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 dissolute 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 resolved 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 acquaintance. As John Dawkins objected to their entering 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 Exmouth-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 Saffronhill 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 leader, 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 appeared 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 generally 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 doorways, great ill-looking fellows were cautiously 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 reached the bottom of the hill: his conductor, catching him by the arm, pushed open the door of a house near Field-lane, and, drawing 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 balustrade of the old kitchen staircase had oeen broken away. c There ’s two on you,” said the man, thrusting the candle farther out, and shading his eyes with his hand. “ Who’s the tother one?” 6 A new pal,” replied Jack, pulling Oli ver forward.
