oliver twist(雾都孤儿(孤星血泪))-第14部分

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splendid　beauty；　but　the　light　only　served　to　show　the　boy　his　own　
lonesomeness　and　desolation；　as　he　sat　with　bleeding　feet　and　
covered　with　dust；　upon　a　doorstep。　

By　degrees；　the　shutters　were　opened；　the　window…blinds　were　
drawn　up；　and　people　began　passing　to　and　fro。　Some　few　stopped　
to　gaze　at　Oliver　for　a　moment　or　two；　or　turned　round　to　stare　at　
him　as　they　hurried　by；　but　none　relieved　him；　or　troubled　
themselves　to　inquire　how　he　came　there。　He　had　no　heart　to　beg。　
And　there　he　sat。　

He　had　been　crouching　on　the　step　for　some　time；　wondering　at　
the　great　number　of　public　houses　（every　other　house　in　Barnet　
was　a　tavern；　large　or　small）；　gazing　listlessly　at　the　coaches　as　
they　passed　trough；　and　thinking　how　strange　it　seemed　that　they　
could　do；　with　ease；　in　a　few　hours；　what　it　had　taken　him　a　whole　
week　of　courage　and　determination　beyond　his　years　to　
accomplish；　when　he　was　roused　by　observing　that　a　boy；　who　had　
passed　him　carelessly　some　minutes　before；　had　returned；　and　was　
now　surveying　him　most　earnestly　from　the　opposite　side　of　the　
way。　He　took　little　heed　of　this　at　first；　but　the　boy　remained　in　the　
same　attitude　of　close　observation　so　long；　that　Oliver　raised　his　

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Oliver　Twist　

head；　and　returned　his　steady　look。　Upon　this；　the　boy　crossed　

over；　and；　walking　close　up　to　Oliver；　said：　

“Hollo；　my　covey！　What’s　the　row？”　

The　boy　who　addressed　this　inquiry　to　the　young　wayfarer；　was　
about　his　own　age；　but　one　of　the　queerest…looking　boys　that　
Oliver　had　ever　seen。　He　was　a　snub…nosed；　flat…browed；　common…
faced　boy　enough；　and　as　dirty　a　juvenile　as　one　would　wish　to　see；　
but　he　had　about　him　all　the　airs　and　manners　of　a　man。　He　was　
short　for　his　age；　with　rather　bow…legs；　and　little；　sharp；　ugly　eyes。　
His　hat　was　stuck　on　the　top　of　his　head　so　lightly；　that　it　
threatened　to　fall　off　every　moment—and　would　have　done　so；　
very　often；　if　the　wearer　had　not　had　a　knack　of　every　now　and　
then　；giving　his　head　a　sudden　twitch；　which　brought　it　back　to　its　
old　place　again。　He　wore　a　man’s　coat；　which　reached　nearly　to　his　
heels。　He　had　turned　the　cuffs　back；　half…way　up　his　arm；　to　get　his　
hands　out　of　the　sleeves；　apparently　with　the　ultimate　view　of　
thrusting　them　into　the　pockets　of　his　corduroy　trousers；　for　there　
he　kept　them。　He　was；　altogether；　as　roystering　and　swaggering　a　
young　gentleman　as　ever　stood　four　feet　six；　or　something　less；　in　
his　bluchers。　

“Hollo；　my　covey！　What’s　the　row？”　said　this　strange　young　
gentleman　to　Oliver。　

“I　am　very　hungry　and　tired；”　replied　Oliver；　the　tears　standing　
in　his　eyes　as　he　spoke。　“I　have　walked　a　long　way。　I　have　been　
walking　these　seven　days。”　

“Walking　for　sivin　days！”　said　the　young　gentleman。　“Oh；　I　see。　
Beak’s　order；　eh？　But；”　he　added；　noticing　Oliver’s　look　of　
surprise；　“I　suppose　you　don’t　know　what　a　beak　is；　my　flash　compan…i…on。”　

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Oliver　mildly　replied；　that　he　had　always　heard　a　bird’s　mouth　
described　by　the　term　in　question。　

“My　eyes；　how　green！”　exclaimed　the　young　gentleman。　“Why；　
a　beak’s　a　madgst’rate；　and　when　you　walk　by　beak’s　order；　it’s　not　
straight　forerd；　but　always　a…going　up；　and　nivir　a…coming　down　
agin。　Was　you　never　on　the　mill？”　

“What　mill？”　inquired　Oliver。　

“What　mill！　Why；　the　mill—the　mill　as　takes　up　so　little　room　
that　it’ll　work　inside　a　stone　jug；　and　always　goes　better　when　the　
wind’s　low　with　people；　than　when　it’s　high；　a…cos　then　they　can’t　
get　workmen。　But　come；”　said　the　young　gentleman；　“you　want　
grub；　and　you　shall　have　it。　I’m　at　low…water　mark　myself—only　
one　bob　and　a　magpie；　but；　as　far　as　it　goes；　I’ll　fork　out　and　
stump。　Up　with　you　on　your　pins。　There！　Now　then！　Morrice！”　

Assisting　Oliver　to　rise；　the　young　gentleman　took　him　to　an　
adjacent　chandler’s　shop；　where　he　purchased　a　sufficiency　of　
ready…dressed　ham　and　a　half…quartern　loaf；　or；　as　he　himself　
expressed　it；　“a　fourpenny　bran；”　the　ham　being　kept　clean　and　
preserved　from　dust；　by　the　ingenious　expedience　of　making　a　
hole　in　the　loaf　by　pulling　out　a　portion　of　the　crumb；　and　stuffing　
it　therein。　Taking　the　bread　under　his　arm；　the　young　gentleman　
turned　into　a　small　public…house；　and　led　the　way　to　a　tap…room　in　
the　rear　of　the　premises。　Here；　a　pot　of　beer　was　brought　in；　by　
direction　of　the　mysterious　youth；　and　Oliver；　falling　to；　at　his　new　
friend’s　bidding；　made　a　long　and　hearty　meal；　during　the　progress　
of　which；　the　strange　boy　eyed　him　from　time　to　time　with　great　
attention。　

“Going　to　London？”　said　the　strange　boy；　when　Oliver　had　at　
length　concluded。　

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“Yes。”　

“Got　any　lodgings？”　

“No。”　

“Money？”　

“No。”　

The　strange　boy　whistled；　and　put　his　arms　into　his　pockets；　as　
far　as　the　big　coat　sleeves　would　let　them　go。　

“Do　you　live　in　London？”　inquired　Oliver。　

“Yes。　I　do；　when　I’m　at　home；”　replied　the　boy。　“I　suppose　you　
want　some　place　to　sleep　in　tonight；　don’t　you？”　

“I　do；　indeed；”　answered　Oliver。　“I　have　not　slept　under　a　roof　
since　I　left　the　country。”　

“Don’t　fret　your　eyelids　on　that　score；”　said　the　young　
gentleman。　“I’ve　got　to　be　in　London　tonight；　and　I　know　a　
’spectable　old　gentleman　as　lives　there；　wot’ll　give　you　lodgings　for　
nothink；　and　never　ask　for　the　change—that　is；　if　any　gentleman　
he　knows　interduces　you。　And　don’t　he　know　me？　Oh；　no！　Not　in　
the　least！　By　no　means。　Certainly　not！”　The　young　gentleman　
smiled；　as　if　to　intimate　that　the　latter　fragments　of　discourse　were　
playfully　ironical；　and　finished　the　beer　as　he　did　so。　

This　unexpected　offer　of　shelter　was　too　tempting　to　be　
resisted；　especially　as　it　was　immediately　followed　up；　by　the　
assurance　that　the　old　gentleman　referred　to；　would　doubtless　
provide　Oliver　with　a　comfortable　place；　without　loss　of　time　This　
led　to　a　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　protégé　of　the　elderly　gentleman　before　
mentioned。　

Mr。　Dawkins’　appearance　did　not　say　a　vast　deal　in　favour　of　the　

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Oliver　Twist　

comforts　which　his　patron’s　interest　obtained　for　those　whom　he　
took　under　his　protection；　but；　as　he　had　a　rather　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　precept　of　his　benefactor　
had　hitherto　been　thrown　away　upon　him。　Under　this　impression；　
he　secretly　resolved　to　cultivate　the　good　opinion　of　the　old　
gentleman　as　quickly　as　possible；　and；　if　he　found　the　Dodger　
incorrigible；　as　he　more　than　half…suspected　he　should；　to　decline　
the　honour　of　his　further　acquaintance。　

As　John　Dawkins　objected　to　their　entering　London　before　
nightfall；　it　was　nearly　seven　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　Hockley…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　occupy　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　passed　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　

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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　were　wrangling　with　might　and　main。　Covered　
ways　and　yards；　where　here　and　there　diverged　from　the　main　
street；　disclosed　little　knots　of　houses；　where　drunken　men　and　
women　were　positively　wallowing　in　filth；　and　from　several　of　the　
doorways；　great　ill…looking　fellows　were　cautiously　emerging；　
bound；　to　all　appearance；　on　no　very　well…disposed　or　harmless　
errands。　

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。　

“Plummy　and　slam！”　was　the　reply。　

This　seemed　to　be　some　watchword　or　signal　that　all　was　right；　
for　the　light　of　a　feeble　candle　gleamed　on　the　wall　at　the　remote　
end　of　the　passage；　and　a　man’s　face　peeped　out；　from　where　a　
balustrade　of　the　old　kitchen　staircase　had　been　broken　away。　

“There’s　two　on　you；”　said　the　man；　thrusting　the　candle　
farther　out；　and　shading　his　eyes　with　his　hand。　“Who’s　the　t’other　
one？”　

“A　new　pal；”　replied　Jack　Dawkins；　pulling　Oliver　forward。　

“Where　did　he　come　from？”　

“Greenland。　Is　Fagin　upstairs？”　

“Yes；　he’s　a…sortin’　the　wipes。　Up　with　you！”　The　candle　was　
drawn　back；　and　the　face　disappeared。　

Oliver；　groping　his　way　with　one　hand；　and　having　the　other　

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firmly　grasped　by　his　companion；　ascended　with　much　difficulty　
the　dark　and　broken　stairs；　which　his　conductor　mounted　with　an　
ease　and　expedition　that　showed　that　he　was　well　acquainted　with　
them。　He　threw　open　the　door　of　a　ba