Stranica 91 [91]
OLIVER
TWIST. 59
afterwards, Oliver sat guite still, almost
afraid to breathe.
. © Well, well," said the old gentleman
at length in a more cheerful voice, “I on¬
ly say this because you have a youn
heart ; and knowing that I have suflere
great pain and sorrow, you will be more
careful, perhaps, not to wound me again.
You say you are an orphan, without a
friend in the world; and all the inquiries
I have been able to make confirm the
statement. Let me hear your story;
where you came from, who brought you
up, and how you got into the company in
which I found ou. Speak the truth; and
if I find you have committed no crime,
you will never be friendless while I live.”
Oliver’s sobs quite checked his utter¬
ance for some minutes; and just when he
was on the point of beginning to relate
how he had been brought up at the farm,
and carried to the workhouse by Mr. Bum¬
ble, a peculiarly impatient little double¬
knock was heard at the street-door, and
the servant running up stairs, announced
Mr. Grimwig.
“Is he coming up?” inquired Mr.
Brownlow.
“Yes, sir," replied the servant. “He
asked if there were any muffins in the
house, and, when [ told him yes, he said
he had come to tea.”
Mr. Brownlow smiled, and, turning to
Oliver, said Mr. Grimwig was an old
friend of his, and he must not mind his
being a little rough in his manners, for he
was a worthy creature at bottom, as he
had reason to know.
“Shall I go down stairs, sir?” inquired
Oliver.
6 No,” replied Mr. Brownlow ; “I would
rather you stopped here."
At this moment there walked into the
room, supporting himself by a thick stick,
a stout old gentleman, rather lame in one
leg, who was dressed in a blue coat, striped
waistcoat, nankeen breeches and gaiters,
and a broad-brimmed. white hat, with the
sides turned up with green. A very small¬
plated shirt-frill stuck out from his waist¬
coat, and a very long steel watch-chain,
with nothing but a key at the end, daroled
loosely below it. The ends of his" white
the size of an orange;—the variety of
shapes into which his countenance was
twisted defy description. He had a man¬
ner of screwing his head round on one
side when he spoke, and looking out of the
corners of his eyes at the same time,
which irresistibly reminded the beholder
of a parrot, In this attitude he fixed him¬
self the moment he made his appearance ;
and, holding out a small piece of orange¬
peel at arm’s length, exclaimed in a grow!
ing, epites arasz ) voice,
“Took here! do you see this? Isn't
it a most wonderful and extraordinary
thing that I can’t call at a man’s house
but I find a piece of this cursed poor¬
surgeon’s-friend on the staircase? I’ve
been lamed with orange-peel once, and I
know orange-peel will be my death at
last. It will, sir; orange-peel will be my
death, or Ill be content to eat my own
head, sir!” This was the handsome offer
with which Mr. Grimwig backed and
confirmed nearly every assertion that he
made; and it was the more singular in
his case, because, even admitting, for the
sake of argument, the possibility of sci¬
entific improvements being ever brought
to that pass which will enable a gentle¬
man to eat his own head in the event of
his being so disposed, Mr. Grimwig’s head
was such a particularly large one, that
the most sanguine man alive could hardly
entertain a hope of being able to get
through it at a sitting, to put entirely out
of the question a very thick coating of
powder.
6 [Il eat my head, sir,” repeated Mr.
Grimwig, striking his stick upon the
ound. “ Hallo! what s that ?"? he added
ooking at Oliver, and retreating a pace
or two.
“This is young Oliver Twist, whom
me were speaking about," said Mr. Brown¬
Ow.
Oliver bowed.
“ You don’t mean to say that’s the boy
that had the fever, I hope?” said Mr.
Grimwig, recoiling a little further. “ Wait
a minute, don’t speak: stop—” continued
Mr. Grimwig abruptly, losing all dread of
the fever in his triumph at the discovery.
“that’s the boy that had the orange! If
that ’s not the boy, sir, that had the orange,
and threw this bit of peel upon the stair¬
case, [711 eat my ead a and his too.”
“No, no, he has not had one,” said
Mr. Brownlow, laughing. “Come, put
down your hat, ret speak to my young
friend."
6] feel strongly on this subject, sir,”
said the irritable old gentleman, drawing
off his gloves. ‘“'There’s always more
or less orange-peel on the pavement in
our street, and I know it’s put there by
the surgeon’s boy at the corner. A youn
woman stumbled over a bit last night, an
fell against my garden railings ; directly
she got up I saw her look towards his
infernal red lamp with the pantomime.