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Oliver Twist
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 cause of all this disturbance。
“There is something in that boy’s face；” said the old gentleman
to himself as he walked slowly away； tapping his chin with the
cover of the book； in a thoughtful manner； “something that
touches and interests me。 Can he be innocent？ He looked like—By
the bye；” exclaimed the old gentleman； halting very abruptly； and
staring up into the sky。 “Bless my soul！ where have I seen
something like that look before？”
After musing for some minutes； the old gentleman walked； with
the same meditative face； into a back ante…room opening from the
yard； and there； retiring into a corner； called up before his mind’s
eye a vast amphitheatre of faces over which a dusky curtain had
hung for many years。 “No；” said the old gentleman； shaking his
head； “it must be imagination。”
He wandered over them again。 He had called them into view；
and it was not easy to replace the shroud that had so long
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