oliver twist(雾都孤儿(孤星血泪))-第49章

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had　him　by　the　collar　before　the　smoke　had　cleared　away。　He　fired　
his　own　pistol　after　the　men；　who　were　already　retreating；　and　
dragged　the　boy　up。　

“Clasp　your　arm　tighter；”　said　Sikes；　as　he　drew　him　through　
the　window。　“Give　me　a　shawl　here。　They’ve　hit　him。　Quick！　
Damnation；　how　the　boy　bleeds！”　

Then　came　the　loud　ringing　of　a　bell；　mingled　with　the　noise　of　
firearms；　and　the　shouts　of　men；　and　the　sensation　of　being　carried　
over　uneven　ground　at　a　rapid　pace。　And　then；　the　noises　grew　
confused　in　the　distance；　and　a　cold；　deadly　feeling　crept　over　the　
boy’s　heart；　and　he　saw　or　heard　no　more。　

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Chapter　23　

Which　Contains　The　Substance　Of　A　Pleasant
Conversation　Between　Mr。　Bumble　And　A　Lady；
And　Shows　That　Even　A　Beadle　May　Be
Susceptible　On　Some　Points。


The　night　was　bitter　cold。　The　snow　lay　on　the　ground；　
frozen　into　a　hard　thick　crust；　so　that　only　the　heaps　that　
had　drifted　into　byways　and　corners　were　affected　by　the　
sharp　wind　that　howled　abroad；　which；　as　if　expending　increased　
fury　on　such　prey　as　it　found；　caught　it　savagely　up　in　clouds；　and；　
whirling　it　into　a　thousand　misty　eddies；　scattered　it　in　air。　Bleak；　
dark；　and　piercing　cold；　it　was　a　night　for　the　well…housed　and　fed　
to　draw　round　the　bright　fire　and　thank　God　they　were　at　home；　
and　for　the　homeless；　starving　wretch　to　lay　him　down　and　die。　
Many　hunger…worn　outcasts　close　their　eyes　in　our　bare　streets；　at　
such　times；　who；　let　their　crimes　have　been　what　they　may；　can　
hardly　open　them　in　a　more　bitter　world。　

Such　was　the　aspect　of　out…of…doors　affairs；　when　Mrs。　Corney；　
the　matron　of　the　workhouse　to　which　our　readers　have　been　
already　introduced　as　the　birthplace　of　Oliver　Twist；　sat　herself　
down　before　a　cheerful　fire　in　her　own　little　room；　and　glanced；　
with　no　small　degree　of　complacency；　at　a　small；　round　table；　on　
which　stood　a　tray　of　corresponding　size；　furnished　with　all　
necessary　materials　for　the　most　grateful　meal　that　matrons　enjoy。　
In　fact；　Mrs。　Corney　was　about　to　solace　herself　with　a　cup　of　tea。　
As　she　glanced　from　the　table　to　the　fireplace；　where　the　smallest　

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of　all　possible　kettles　was　singing　a　small　song　in　a　small　voice；　her　
inward　satisfaction　evidently　increased—so　much　so；　indeed；　that　
Mrs。　Corney　smiled。　

“Well！”　said　the　matron；　leaning　her　elbow　on　the　table；　and　
looking　reflectively　at　the　fire；　“I’m　sure　we　have　all　on　us　a　great　
deal　to　be　grateful　for！　A　great　deal；　if　we　did　but　know　it。　Ah！”　

Mrs。　Corney　shook　her　head　mournfully；　as　if　deploring　he　
mental　blindness　of　those　paupers　who　did　not　know　it；　and　
thrusting　a　silver　spoon　（private　property）　into　the　inmost　recesses　
of　a　two…ounce　tin　tea…caddy；　proceeded　to　make　the　tea。　

How　slight　a　thing　will　disturb　the　equanimity　of　our　frail　
minds！　The　black　teapot；　being　very　small　and　easily　filled；　ran　
over　while　Mrs。　Corney　was　moralising；　and　the　water　slightly　
scalded　Mrs。　Corney’s　hand。　

“Drat　the　pot！”　said　the　worthy　matron；　setting　it　down　very　
hastily　on　the　hob；　“a　little　stupid　thing；　that　only　holds　a　couple　of　
cups！　What　use　is　it　of；　to　anybody！　Except；”　said　Mrs。　Corney；　
pausing—“except　to　a　poor；　desolate　creature　like　me。　Oh；　dear！”　

With　these　words；　the　matron　dropped　into　her　chair；　and；　once　
more　resting　her　elbow　on　the　table；　thought　of　her　solitary　fate。　
The　small　teapot；　and　the　single　cup；　had　awakened　in　her　mind　
sad　recollections　of　Mr。　Corney　（who　had　not　been　dead　more　than　
five…and…twenty　years）；　and　she　was　overpowered。　

“I　shall　never　get　another！”　said　Mrs。　Corney　pettishly；　“I　shall　
never　get　another—like　him。”　

Whether　this　remark　bore　reference　to　the　husband；　or　the　
teapot；　is　uncertain。　It　might　have　been　the　latter；　for　Mrs。　Corney　
looked　at　it　as　she　spoke；　and　took　it　up　afterwards。　She　had　just　
tasted　her　first　cup；　when　she　was　disturbed　by　a　soft　tap　at　the　

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room　door。　

“Oh；　come　in　with　you！”　said　Mrs。　Corney　sharply。　“Some　of　the　
old　women　dying；　I　suppose。　They　always　die　when　I’m　at　meals。　
Don’t　stand　there；　letting　the　cold　air　in；　don’t。　What’s　amiss　now；　
eh？”　

“Nothing；　ma’am；　nothing；”　replied　a　man’s　voice。　

“Dear　me！”　exclaimed　the　matron；　in　a　much　sweeter　tone；　“is　
that　Mr。　Bumble？”　

“At　your　service；　ma’am；”　said　Mr。　Bumble；　who　had　been　
stopping　outside　to　rub　his　shoes　clean；　and　to　shake　the　snow　off　
his　coat：　and　who　now　made　his　appearance；　bearing　the　cocked　
hat　in　one　hand　and　a　bundle　in　the　other。　“Shall　I　shut　the　door；　
ma’am？”　

The　lady　modestly　hesitated　to　reply；　lest　there　should　be　any　
impropriety　in　holding　an　interview　with　Mr。　Bumble；　with　closed　
doors。　Mr。　Bumble　taking　advantage　of　the　hesitation；　and　being　
very　cold　himself；　shut　it　without　permission。　

“Hard　weather；　Mr。　Bumble；”　said　the　matron。　

“Hard；　indeed；　ma’am；”　replied　the　beadle。　“Anti…parochial　
weather；　this；　ma’am。　We　have　given　away；　Mrs。　Corney；　we　have　
given　away　a　matter　of　twenty　quartern　loaves　and　a　cheese　and　a　
half；　this　very　blessed　afternoon；　and　yet　them　paupers　are　not　
contented。”　

“Of　course　not。　When　would　they　be；　Mr。　Bumble？”　said　the　
matron；　sipping　her　tea。　

“When；　indeed；　ma’am！”　rejoined　Mr。　Bumble。　“Why；　here’s　
one　man　that；　in　consideration　of　his　wife　and　large　family；　has　a　
quartern　loaf　and　a　good　pound　of　cheese；　full　weight。　Is　he　
grateful；　ma’am？　Is　he　grateful？　Not　a　copper　farthing’s　worth　of　

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it！　What　does　he　do；　ma’am；　but　ask　for　a　few　coals；　if　it’s　only　a　
pocket…handkerchief　full；　he　says！　Coals！　What　would　he　do　with　
coals？　Toast　his　cheese　with　’em；　and　then　come　back　for　more。　
That’s　the　way　with　these　people；　ma’am；　give　’em　a　apron　full　of　
coals　today；　and　they’ll　come　back　for　another；　the　day　after　
tomorrow；　as　brazen　as　alabaster。”　

The　matron　expressed　her　entire　concurrence　in　this　
intelligible　simile；　and　the　beadle　went　on。　

“I　never；”　said　Mr。　Bumble；　“see　anything　like　the　pitch　it’s　got　
to。　The　day　afore　yesterday；　a　man—you　have　been　a　married　
woman；　ma’am；　and　I　may　mention　it　to　you—a　man；　with　hardly　a　
rag　upon　his　back　（here　Mrs。　Corney　looked　at　the　floor）；　goes　to　
our　overseer’s　door　when　he　has　got　company　coming　to　dinner；　
and　says；　he　must　be　relieved；　Mrs。　Corney。　As　he　wouldn’t　go　
away；　and　shocked　the　company　very　much；　our　overseer　sent　him　
out　a　pound　of　potatoes　and　half　a　pint　of　oatmeal。　‘My　heart！’　says　
the　ungrateful　villain；　‘what’s　the　use　of　this　to　me？　You　might　as　
well　give　me　a　pair　of　iron　spectacles！’　‘Very　good；’　says　our　
overseer；　taking　’em　away　again；　‘you　won’t　get　anything　else　
here。’　‘Then　I’ll　die　in　the　streets！’　says　the　vagrant。　‘Oh；　no；　you　
won’t；　says　our　overseer。’”　

“Ha！　ha！　That　was　very　good！　So　like　Mr。　Grannett；　wasn’t　it？”　
interposed　the　matron。　“Well；　Mr。　Bumble？”　

“Well；　ma’am；”　rejoined　the　beadle；　“he　went　away；　and　he　did　
die　in　the　streets。　There’s　a　obstinate　pauper　for　you！”　

“It　beats　anything　I　could　have　believed；”　observed　the　matron　
emphatically。　“But　don’t　you　think　out…of…door　relief　a　very　bad　
thing；　anyway；　Mr。　Bumble？　You’re　a　gentleman　of　experience；　
and　ought　to　know。　Come。”　

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“Mrs。　Corney；”　said　the　beadle；　smiling　as　men　smile　who　are　
conscious　of　superior　information；　“out…of…door　relief；　properly　
managed—properly　managed；　ma’am—is　the　parochial　safeguard。　
The　great　principle　of　out…of…door　relief　is；　to　give　the　paupers　
exactly　what　they　don’t　want；　and　then　they　get　tired　of　coming。”　

“Dear　me！”　exclaimed　Mrs。　Corney。　“Well；　that　is　a　good　one；　
too！”　

“Yes。　Betwixt　you　and　me；　ma’am；”　returned　Mr。　Bumble；　
“that’s　the　great　principle；　and　that’s　the　reason　why；　if　you　look　at　
any　ca