Stranica 91 [91]
OCR
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 only 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 utterance 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. Bumble, a peculiarly impatient little doubleknock 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 smallplated shirt-frill stuck out from his waistcoat, 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 manner 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 orangepeel 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 poorsurgeon’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 scientific improvements being ever brought to that pass which will enable a gentleman 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. BrownOw. 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 staircase, [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.
