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common occurrence incidental to business。
“It’s the worst of having to do with women；” said the Jew；
replacing his club； “but they’re clever and we can’t get on； in our
line； without ’em。 Charley； show Oliver to bed。”
“I suppose he’d better not wear his best clothes tomorrow；
Fagin； had he？” inquired Charley Bates。
“Certainly not；” replied the Jew； reciprocating the grin with
which Charley put the question。
Master Bates； apparently much delighted with his commission；
took the cleft stick； and led Oliver into an adjacent kitchen； where
there were two or three of the beds on which he had slept before；
and here； with many uncontrollable bursts of laughter； he
produced the identical old suit of clothes which Oliver had so
much congratulated himself upon leaving off at Mr。 Brownlow’s；
and the accidental display of which； to Fagin； by the Jew who
purchased them； had been the very first clue received of his
whereabouts。
“Pull off the smart ones；” said Charles； “and I’ll give ’em to
Fagin to take care of。 What fun it is！”
Poor Oliver unwillingly complied。 Master Bates； rolling up the
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new clothes under his arm； departed from the room； leaving Oliver
in the dark； and locking the door behind him。
The noise of Charley’s laughter； and the voice of Miss Betsy；
who opportunely arrived to throw water over her friend； and
perform other feminine offices for the promotion of her recovery；
might have kept many people awake under more happy
circumstances than those in which Oliver was placed。 But he was
sick and weary； and he soon fell sound asleep。
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Chapter 17
Oliver’s destiny continuing unpropitious； brings a
great man to London to injure his reputation。
It is the custom on the stage； in all good murderous
melodramas； to present the tragic and the comic scenes in as
regular alternation； as the layers of red and white in a side of
streaky bacon。 The hero sinks upon his straw bed； weighed down
by fetters and misfortunes； in the next scene； his faithful but
unconscious squire regales the audience with a comic song。 We
behold； with throbbing bosoms； the heroine in the grasp of a
proud and ruthless baron； her virtue and her life alike in danger；
drawing forth her dagger to preserve the one at the cost of the
other； and； just as our expectations are wrought up to the highest
pitch； a whistle is heard； and we are straightway transported to
the great hall of the castle； where a grey…headed seneschal sings a
funny chorus with a funnier body of vassals； who are free of all
sorts of places； from church vaults to palaces； and roam about in
company； carolling perpetually。
Such changes appear absurd； but they are not so unnatural as
they would seem at first sight。 The transitions in real life from
well…spread boards to deathbeds； and from mourning weeds to
holiday garments； are not a whit less startling； only； there； we are
busy actors； instead of passive lookers…on； which makes a vast
difference。 The actors in the mimic life of the theatre； are blind to
violent transitions and abrupt impulses of passion or feeling；
which； presented before the eyes of mere spectators； are at once
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condemned as outrageous and preposterous。
As sudden shiftings of the scene； and rapid changes of time and
place； are not only sanctioned in books by long usage； but are by
many considered as the great art of authorship—an author’s skill
in his craft being； by such critics； chiefly estimated with relation to
the dilemmas in which he leaves his characters at the end of every
chapter—this brief introduction to the present one may perhaps
be deemed unnecessary。 If so； let it be considered a delicate
intimation on the part of the historian that he is going back
directly to the town in which Oliver Twist was born； the reader
taking it for granted that there are good and substantial reasons
for making the journey； or he would not be invited to proceed
upon such an expedition。
Mr。 Bumble emerged at early morning from the workhouse
gate； and walked with portly carriage and commanding steps； up
the High Street。 He was in the full bloom and pride of beadlehood；
his cocked hat and coat were dazzling in the morning sun； he
clutched his cane with the vigorous tenacity of health and power。
Mr。 Bumble always carried his head high； but this morning it was
higher than usual。 There was an abstraction in his eye； an
elevation in his air； which might have warned an observant
stranger that thoughts were passing in the beadle’s mind； too
great for utterance。
Mr。 Bumble stopped not to converse with the small shopkeepers and others who spoke to him； deferentially； as he passed
along。 He merely returned their salutations with a wave of his
hand； and relaxed not in his dignified pace； until he reached the
farm where Mrs。 Mann tended the infant paupers with parochial
care。
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“Drat that beadle！” said Mrs。 Mann； hearing the well…known
shaking at the garden gate。 “If it isn’t him at this time in the
morning！ Lauk； Mr。 Bumble； only think of its being you！ Well； dear
me； it is a pleasure； this is！ Come into the parlour； sir； please。”
The first sentence was addressed to Susan； and the
exclamations of delight were uttered to Mr。 Bumble； as the good
lady unlocked the garden gate； and showed him； with great
attention and respect； into the house。
“Mrs。 Mann；” said Mr。 Bumble； not sitting upon； or dropping
himself into a seat； as any common jackanapes would； but letting
himself gradually and slowly down into a chair； “Mrs。 Mann；
ma’am； good…morning。”
“Well； and good…morning to you； sir；” replied Mrs。 Mann with
many smiles； “and hoping you find yourself well； sir！”
“So—so； Mrs。 Mann；” replied the beadle。 “A porochial life is not
a bed of roses； Mrs。 Mann。”
“Ah； that it isn’t indeed； Mr。 Bumble；” rejoined the lady。 And all
the infant paupers might have chorused the rejoinder with great
propriety； if they had heard it。
“A porochial life； ma’am；” continued Mr。 Bumble； striking the
table with his cane； “is a life of worrit； and vexation； and
hardihood； but all public characters； as I may say； must suffer
prosecution。”
Mrs。 Mann； not very well knowing what the beadle meant；
raised her hands with a look of sympathy； and sighed。
“You may well sigh； Mrs。 Mann！” said the beadle。
Finding she had done right； Mrs。 Mann sighed again； evidently
to the satisfaction of the public character； who； repressing a
complacent smile by looking sternly at his cocked hat said：
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“Mrs。 Mann； I am a…going to London。”
“Lauk； Mr。 Bumble！” cried Mrs。 Mann； starting back。
“To London； ma’am；” resumed the inflexible beadle； “by coach。
I and two paupers； Mrs。 Mann！ A legal action is a…coming on；
about a settlement； and the Board has appointed me—me； Mrs。
Mann—to dispose to the matter before the quarter…sessions at
Clerkinwell。 And I very much question；” added Mr。 Bumble；
drawing himself up； “whether the Clerkenwell Sessions will not
find themselves in the wrong box before they have done with me。”
“Oh！ you mustn’t be too hard upon them； sir；” said Mrs。 Mann
coaxingly。
“The Clerkinwell Sessions have brought it upon themselves；
ma’am；” replied Mr。 Bumble； “and if the Clerkinwell Sessions find
that they come off rather worse than they expected； the
Clerkenwell Sessions have only themselves to thank。”
There was so much determination and depth of purpose about
the menacing manner in which Mr。 Bumble delivered himself of
these words； that Mrs。 Mann appeared quite awed by them。 At
length she said：
“You’re going by coach； sir？ I thought it was always usual to
send them paupers in carts。”
“That’s when they’re ill； Mrs。 Mann；” said the beadle。
· “We put the sick paupers into open carts in the rainy weather；
to prevent their taking cold。”
“Oh！” said Mrs。 Mann。
“The opposition coach contracts for these two； and takes them
cheap；” said Mr。 Bumble。 “They are both in a very low state； and
we find it would come two pound cheaper to move ’em than to
bury ’em—that is； if we can throw ’em upon another parish； which
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I think we shall be able to do； if they don’t die upon the road to
spite us。 Ha！ ha！ ha！”
When Mr。 Bumble had laughed a little while； his eyes again
encountered the cocked hat； and he became grave。
“We are forgetting business； ma’am；” said the beadle； “here is
your porochial stipend for the month。”
Mr。 Bumble produced some silver money rolled up in paper；
from his pocket…book； and requested a receipt； which Mrs。 Mann
wrote。
“It’s very much blotted； sir；” said the farmer of infants； “but it’s
formal enough； I dare say。 Thank you； Mr。 Bum