oliver twist(雾都孤儿(孤星血泪))-第17部分

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back　again；　with　the　greatest　caution　and　circumspection。　

“What’s　the　matter？”　demanded　Oliver。　

“Hush！”　replied　the　Dodger。　“Do　you　see　that　old　cove　at　the　

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Oliver　Twist　

book…stall？”　

“The　old　gentleman　over　the　way？”　said　Oliver。　“Yes；　I　see　
him。”　

“He’ll　do；”　said　the　Dodger。　

“A　prime　plant；”　observed　Master　Charley　Bates。　

Oliver　looked　from　one　to　the　other；　with　the　greatest　surprise；　
but　he　was　not　permitted　to　make　any　inquiries；　for　the　two　boys　
walked　stealthily　across　the　road；　and　slunk　close　behind　the　old　
gentleman　towards　whom　his　attention　had　been　directed。　Oliver　
walked　a　few　paces　after　them；　and；　not　knowing　whether　to　
advance　or　retire；　stood　looking　on　in　silent　amazement。　

The　old　gentleman　was　a　very　respectable…looking　personage；　
with　a　powdered　head　and　gold　spectacles。　He　was　dressed　in　a　
bottle…green　coat　with　a　black　velvet　collar；　wore　white　trousers；　
and　carried　a　smart　bamboo　cane　under　his　arm。　He　had　taken　up　
a　book　from　the　stall；　and　there　he　stood；　reading　away；　as　hard　as　
if　he　were　in　his　elbow…chair；　in　his　own　study。　It　is　very　possible　
that　he　fancied　himself　there；　indeed；　for　it　was　plain；　from　his　
abstraction；　that　he　saw　not　the　bookstall；　nor　the　street；　nor　the　
boys；　nor；　in　short；　anything　but　the　book　itself；　which　he　was　
reading　straight　through；　turning　over　the　leaf　when　he　got　to　the　
bottom　of　a　page；　beginning　at　the　top　line　of　the　next　one；　and　
going　regularly　on；　with　the　greatest　interest　and　eagerness。　

What　was　Oliver’s　horror　and　alarm　as　he　stood　a　few　paces　off；　
looking　on　with　his　eyelids　as　wide　open　as　they　would　possibly　go；　
to　see　the　Dodger　plunge　his　hand　into　the　old　gentleman’s　pocket；　
and　draw　from　thence　a　handkerchief！　To　see　him　hand　the　same　
to　Charley　Bates；　and　finally　to　behold　them；　both；　running　away　
round　the　corner　at　full　speed！　

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In　an　instant　the　whole　mystery　of　the　handkerchiefs；　and　the　
watches；　and　the　jewels；　and　the　Jew；　rushed　upon　the　boy’s　mind。　
He　stood；　for　a　moment；　with　the　blood　so　tingling　through　all　his　
veins　from　terror；　that　he　felt　as　if　he　were　in　a　burning　fire；　then；　
confused　and　frightened；　he　took　to　his　heels；　and；　not　knowing　
what　he　did；　made　off　as　fast　as　he　could　lay　his　feet　to　the　ground。　

This　was　all　done　in　a　minute’s　space。　In　the　very　instant　when　
Oliver　began　to　run；　the　old　gentleman；　putting　his　hand　to　his　
pocket；　and　missing　his　handkerchief；　turned　sharp　round。　Seeing　
the　boy　scudding　away　at　such　a　rapid　pace；　he　very　naturally　
concluded　him　to　be　the　depredator；　and；　shouting　“Stop　thief！”　
with　all　his　might；　made　off　after　him；　book　in　hand。　

But　the　old　gentleman　was　not　the　only　person　who　raised　the　
hue…and…cry。　The　Dodger　and　Master　Bates；　unwilling　to　attract　
public　attention　by　running　down　the　open　street；　had　merely　
retired　into　the　very　first　doorway　round　the　corner。　They　no　
sooner　heard　the　cry；　and　saw　Oliver　running；　than；　guessing　
exactly　how　the　matter　stood；　they　issued　forth　with　great　
promptitude；　and；　shouting　“Stop　thief！”　too；　joined　in　the　pursuit　
like　good　citizens。　

Although　Oliver　had　been　brought　up　by　philosophers；　he　was　
not　theoretically　acquainted　with　the　beautiful　axiom　that　self…
preservation　is　the　first　law　of　nature。　If　he　had　been；　perhaps　he　
would　have　been　prepared　for　this。　Not　being　prepared；　however；　
it　alarmed　him　the　more；　so　away　he　went　like　the　wind；　with　the　
old　gentleman　and　the　two　boys　roaring　and　shouting　behind　him。　

“Stop　thief！　Stop　thief！”　There　is　magic　in　the　sound。　The　
tradesman　leaves　his　counter；　and　the　carman　his　wagon；　the　
butcher　throws　down　his　tray；　the　baker　his　basket；　the　milkman　

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his　pail；　the　errand…boy　his　parcels；　the　schoolboy　his　marbles；　the　
pavior　his　pickaxe；　the　child　his　battledore。　Away　they　run；　pellmell；　helter…skelter；　slap…dash；　tearing；　yelling；　screaming；　
knocking　down　the　passengers；　as　they　turn　the　corners；　rousing　
up　the　dogs；　and　astonishing　the　fowls；　and　streets；　squares；　and　
courts　re…echo　with　the　sound。　

“Stop　thief！　Stop　thief！”　The　cry　is　taken　up　by　a　hundred　
voices；　and　the　crowd　accumulate　at　every　turning。　Away　they　fly；　
splashing　through　the　mud；　and　rattling　along　the　pavements；　up　
go　the　windows；　out　run　the　people；　onward　bear　the　mob；　a　whole　
audience　desert　Punch　in　the　very　thickest　of　the　plot；　and；　joining　
the　rushing　throng；　swell　the　shout；　and　lend　fresh　vigour　to　the　
cry；　“Stop　thief！　Stop　thief！”　

“Stop　thief！　Stop　thief！”　There　is　a　passion　for　hunting　
something　deeply　implanted　in　the　human　breast。　One　wretched　
breathless　child；　panting　with　exhaustion；　terror　in　his　looks；　
agony　in　his　eyes；　large　drops　of　perspiration　streaming　down　his　
face；　strains　every　nerve　to　make　head　upon　his　pursuers；　and　as　
they　follow　on　his　track；　and　gain　upon　him　every　instant；　they　hail　
his　decreasing　strength　with　still　louder　shouts；　and　whoop　and　
scream　for　joy。　“Stop　thief！”　Ay；　stop　him　for　God’s　sake；　were　it　
only　in　mercy！　

Stopped　at　last！　A　clever　blow！　He　is　down　upon　the　pavement；　
and　the　crowd　eagerly　gather　round　him：　each　newcomer；　jostling　
and　struggling　with　the　others　to　catch　a　glimpse。　“Stand　aside！”　
“Give　him　a　little　air！”　“Nonsense！　he　doesn’t　deserve　it。”　“Where’s　
the　gentleman？”　“Here　he　is；　coming　down　the　street。”　“Make　
room　there　for　the　gentleman！”　“Is　this　the　boy；　sir？”　“Yes。”　

Oliver　lay；　covered　with　mud　and　dust；　and　bleeding　from　the　

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mouth；　looking　wildly　round　the　heap　of　faces　that　surrounded　
him；　when　the　old　gentleman　was　officiously　dragged　and　pushed　
into　the　circle　by　the　foremost　of　the　pursuers。　

“Yes；”　said　the　gentleman；　“I　am　afraid　it　is　the　boy。”　

“Afraid！”　murmured　the　crowd。　“That’s　a　good　’un！”　

“Poor　fellow！”　said　the　gentleman；　“he　has　hurt　himself。”　

“I　did　that；　sir；”　said　a　great；　lubberly　fellow；　stepping　forward；　
“and　preciously　I　cut　my　knuckle　agin’　his　mouth。　I　stopped　him；　
sir。”　

The　fellow　touched　his　hat　with　a　grin；　expecting　something　for　
his　pains；　but　the　old　gentleman；　eyeing　him　with　an　expression　of　
dislike；　looked　anxiously　round；　as　if　he　contemplated　running　
away　himself；　which　it　is　very　possible　he　might　have　attempted　to　
do；　and　thus　have　afforded　another　chase；　had　not　a　police…officer　
（who　is　generally　the　last　person　to　arrive　in　such　cases）　at　that　
moment　made　his　way　through　the　crowd；　and　seized　Oliver　by　
the　collar。　

“Come；　get　up；”　said　the　man　roughly。　

“It　wasn’t　me；　indeed；　sir。　Indeed；　indeed；　it　was　two　other　
boys；”　said　Oliver；　clasping　his　hands　passionately；　and　looking　
round。　“They　are　here　somewhere。”　

“Oh；　no；　they　ain’t；”　said　the　officer。　He　meant　this　to　be　
ironical；　but　it　was　true　besides；　for　the　Dodger　and　Charley　Bates　
had　filed　off　down　the　first　convenient　court　they　came　to。　“Come；　
get　up！”　

“Don’t　hurt　him；”　said　the　old　gentleman　compassionately。　

“Oh；　no；　I　won’t　hurt　him；”　replied　the　officer；　tearing　his　jacket　
half　off　his　back；　in　proof　thereof。　“Come；　I　know　you；　it　won’t　do。　
Will　you　stand　upon　your　legs；　you　young　devil？”　

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Oliver；　who　could　hardly　stand；　made　a　shift　to　raise　himself　on　
his　feet；　and　was　at　once　lugged　along　the　streets　by　the　jacket　
collar；　at　a　rapid　pace。　The　gentleman　walked　on　with　them　by　the　
officer’s　side；　and　as　many　of　the　crowd　as　could　achieve　the　feat；　
got　a　little　ahead；　and　stared　back　at　Oliver　from　time　to　time。　The　
boys　shouted　in　triumph；　and　on　they　went。　

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Chapter　11　

Treats　Of　Mr。　Fang　The　Police　Magistrate；　And
Furnishes　A　Slight　Specimen　Of　His　Mode　Of
Administering　Justice。


The　offence　had　been　committed　within　the　district；　and　
indeed　in　the　immediate　neighbourhood　of；　a　very　
notorious　metropolitan　police…office。　The　crowd　had　only　
the　satisfaction　of　accompanying　Oliver　through　two　or　three　
streets；　and　down　a　place　called　Mutton　Hill；　when　he　was　led　
beneath　a　low　archway；　and　up　a　dirty　court；　into　this　dispensary　
of　summary　justice；　by　the　back　way。　It　was　a　small　paved　yard　
into　which　they　turned；　and　here　they　encountered　a　stout　man　
with　a　bunch　of　whiskers　on　his　face；　and　a　bunch　of　keys　in　his　
hand。　

“What’s　the　matter　now？”　said　the　man　carelessly。　

“A　young　fogle…hunter；”　replied　the　man　who　had　Oliver　in　
charge。　

“Are　you　the　party　that’s　been　robbed；　sir？”　inquired　the　man　
with　the　keys。　

“Yes；　I　am；”　replied　the　old　gentleman；　“but　I　am　not　sure　that　
this　boy　actually　took　the　handkerchief。　I—I　would　rather　not　
press　the　case。”　

“Must　go　before　the　magistrate　now；　sir；”　replied　the　man。　“His　
Worship　will　be　disengaged　in　half　a　minute。　Now；　young　gallows！”　

This　was　an　invitation　for　Oliver　to　enter　through　a　door　which　
he　unlocked　as　he　spoke；　and　which　led　into　a　stone　cell。　Here　he　

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was　searched；　and　nothing　being　found　upon　him；　locked　up。　

This　cell　was　in　shape　and　size　something　like　an　area　cellar；　
only　not　so　light。　It　was　most　intolerably　dirty；　for　it　was　Monday　
morning；　and　it　had　been　tenanted　by　six　drunken　people；　who　
had　been　locked　up；　elsewhere；　since　Saturday　night。　But　this　is　
little。　In　our　station…houses；　men　and　women　are　every　night　
confined　on　the　most　trivial　charges—the　word　is　worth　noting—in　
dungeons；　compared　with　which　those　in　Newgate；　occupied　by　
the　most　atrocious　felons；　tried；　found　guilty；　and　under　sentence　
of　death；　are　palaces。　Let　any　one　who　doubts　this；　compare　the　
two。　

The　old　gentleman　looked　almost　as　rueful　as　Oliver　when　the　
key　grated　in　the　lock。　He　turned　with　a　sigh　to　the　book　which　
had　been　the　innocent　c