oliver twist(雾都孤儿(孤星血泪))-第80章

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something　to　drink；　as　he　passed　the　bar；　entered　the　apartment　
into　which　he　had　looked　from　the　street。　

The　man　who　was　seated　there；　was　tall　and　dark；　and　wore　a　
large　cloak。　He　had　the　air　of　a　stranger；　and　seemed；　by　a　certain　
haggardness　in　his　look；　as　well　as　by　the　dusty　soils　on　his　dress；　
to　have　travelled　some　distance。　He　eyed　Bumble　askance；　as　he　
entered；　but　scarcely　deigned　to　nod　his　head　in　acknowledgement　

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of　his　salutation。　

Mr。　Bumble　had　quite　dignity　enough　for　two；　supposing　even　
that　the　stranger　had　been　more　familiar；　so　he　drank　his　gin…andwater　in　silence；　and　read　the　paper　with　great　show　of　pomp　and　
circumstance。　

It　so　happened；　however；　as　it　will　happen　very　often；　when　
men　fall　into　company　under　such　circumstances；　that　Mr。　
Bumble　felt；　every　now　and　then；　a　powerful　inducement；　which　
he　could　not　resist；　to　steal　a　look　at　the　stranger；　and　that　
whenever　he　did　so；　he　withdrew　his　eyes；　in　some　confusion；　to　
find　that　the　stranger　was　at　that　moment　stealing　a　look　at　him。　
Mr。　Bumble’s　awkwardness　was　enhanced　by　the　very　remarkable　
expression　of　the　stranger’s　eye；　which　was　keen　and　bright；　but　
shadowed　by　a　scowl　of　distrust　and　suspicion；　unlike　anything　he　
had　ever　observed　before；　and　repulsive　to　behold。　

When　they　had　encountered　each　other’s　glance　several　times　
in　this　way；　the　stranger；　in　a　harsh；　deep　voice；　broke　silence。　

“Were　you　looking　for　me；”　he　said；　“when　you　peered　in　at　the　
window？”　

“Not　that　I　am　aware　of；　unless　you’re　Mr。—”　Here　Mr。　Bumble　
stopped　short；　for　he　was　curious　to　know　the　Like　washable　
beaver　hats　that　improve　with　rain；　his　nerves　were　rendered　
stouter　and　more　vigorous；　by　showers　of　tears；　which；　being　
tokens　of　weakness；　and　so　far　tacit　admissions　of　his　own　power；　
pleased　and　exalted　him。　He　eyed　his　good　lady　with　looks　of　great　
satisfaction；　and　begged；　in　an　encouraging　manner；　that　she　
should　cry　her　hardest；　the　exercise　being　looked　upon；　by　the　
faculty；　as　strongly　conducive　to　health。　

“It　opens　the　lungs；　washes　the　countenance；　exercises　the　

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eyes；　and　softens　down　the　temper；”　said　Mr。　Bumble。　“So　cry　
away。”　

As　he　discharged　himself　of　his　pleasantry；　Mr。　Bumble　took　his　
hat　from　a　peg；　and　putting　it　on；　rather　rakishly　on　one　side；　as　a　
man　might；　who　felt　he　had　asserted　his　superiority　in　a　becoming　
manner；　thrust　his　hands　into　his　pockets；　and　sauntered　towards　
the　door；　with　much　ease　and　waggishness　depicted　in　his　whole　
appearance。　

Now；　Mrs。　Corney　that　was；　had　tried　the　tears；　because　
stranger’s　name；　and　thought　in　his　impatience；　he　might　supply　
the　blank。　

“I　see　you　were　not；”　said　the　stranger；　an　expression　of　
sarcasm　playing　about　his　mouth；　“or　you　would　have　known　my　
name。　You　don’t　know　it。　I　would　recommend　you　not　to　ask　for　
it。”　

“I　mean　no　harm；　young　man；”　observed　Mr。　Bumble　
majestically。　

“And　have　done　none；”　said　the　stranger。　

Another　silence　succeeded　this　short　dialogue；　which　was　again　
broken　by　the　stranger。　

“I　have　seen　you　before；　I　think？”　said　he。　“You　were　differently　
dressed　at　that　time；　and　I　only　passed　you　in　the　street；　but　I　
should　know　you　again。　You　were　beadle　here　once；　were　you　
not？”　

“I　was；”　said　Mr。　Bumble；　in　some　surprise；　“porochial　beadle。”　

“Just　so；”　rejoined　the　other；　nodding　his　head。　“It　was　in　that　
character　I　saw　you。　What　are　you　now？”　

“Master　of　the　workhouse；”　rejoined　Mr。　Bumble；　slowly　and　
impressively；　to　check　any　undue　familiarity　the　stranger　might　

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otherwise　assume。　“Master　of　the　workhouse；　young　man！”　

“You　have　the　same　eye　to　your　own　interest；　that　you　always　
had；　I　doubt　not？”　resumed　the　stranger；　looking　keenly　into　Mr。　
Bumble’s　eyes；　as　he　raised　them　in　astonishment　at　the　question。　
“Don’t　scruple　to　answer　freely；　man。　I　know　you　pretty　well；　you　
see。”　

“I　suppose；　a　married　man；”　replied　Mr。　Bumble；　shading　his　
eyes　with　his　hand；　and　surveying　the　stranger；　from　head　to　foot；　
in　evident　perplexity；　“is　not　more　averse　to　turning　an　honest　
penny　when　he　can；　than　a　single　one。　Porochial　officers　are　not　so　
well　paid　that　they　can　afford　to　refuse　any　little　extra　fee；　when　it　
comes　to　them　in　a　civil　and　proper　manner。”　

The　stranger　smiled；　and　nodded　his　head　again；　as　much　as　to　
say；　he　had　not　mistaken　his　man；　then　rang　the　“Fill　this　glass　
again；”　he　said；　handing　Mr。　Bumble’s　empty　tumbler　to　the　
landlord。　“Let　it　be　strong　and　hot。　You　like　it　so；　I　suppose？”　a　
Not　too　strong；”　replied　Mr。　Bumble；　with　a　delicate　cough。　

“You　understand　what　that　means；　landlord！”　said　the　stranger　
dryly。　

The　host　smiled；　disappeared；　and　shortly　afterwards　returned　
with　a　steaming　jorum；　of　which；　the　first　gulp　brought　the　water　
into　Mr。　Bumble’s　eyes。　

“Now　listen　to　me；”　said　the　stranger；　after　closing　the　door　and　
window。　“I　came　down　to　this　place；　today；　to　find　you　out；　and；　by　
one　of　those　chances　which　the　devil　throws　in　the　way　of　his　
friends　sometimes；　you　walked　into　the　very　room　I　was　sitting　in；　
while　you　were　uppermost　in　my　mind。　I　want　some　information　
from　you。　I　don’t　ask　you　to　give　it　for　nothing；　slight　as　it　is。　Put　
up　that；　to　begin　with。”　

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As　he　spoke；　he　pushed　a　couple　of　sovereigns　across　the　table；　
to　his　companion；　carefully；　as　though　unwilling　that　the　clinking　
of　money　should　be　heard　without。　When　Mr。　Bumble　had　
scrupulously　examined　the　coins；　to　see　that　they　were　genuine；　
and　had　put　them　up；　with　much　satisfaction　in　his　waistcoat　
pocket；　he　went　on：　

“Carry　your　memory　back—let　me　see—twelve　years；　last　
winter。”　

“It’s　a　long　time；”　said　Mr。　Bumble。　“Very　good。　I’ve　done　it。”　

“The　scene；　the　workhouse。”　

“Good！”　

“And　the　time；　night。”　

“Yes。”　

“And　the　place；　the　crazy　hole；　wherever　it　was；　in　which　
miserable　drabs　brought　forth　the　life　and　health　so　often　denied　
to　themselves—gave　birth　to　puling　children　for　the　parish　to　rear；　
and　hid　their　shame；　rot　’em；　in　the　grave！”　

“The　lying…in　room；　I　suppose？”　said　Mr。　Bumble；　not　quite　
following　the　stranger’s　excited　description。　

“Yes；”　said　the　stranger。　“A　boy　was　born　there。”　

“A　many　boys；”　observed　Mr。　Bumble；　shaking　his　head　
despondingly。　

“A　murrain　on　the　young　devils！”　cried　the　stranger；　“I　speak　of　
one；　a　meek…looking；　pale…faced　boy；　who　was　apprenticed　down　
here　to　a　coffin…maker—I　wish　he　had　made　his　coffin；　and　
screwed　his　body　in　it—and　who　afterwards　ran　away　to　London；　
as　it　was　supposed。”　

“Why；　you　mean　Oliver！　Young　Twist！”　said　Mr。　Bumble；　“I　
remember　him；　of　course。　There　wasn’t　an　obstinater　young　

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rascal—”　

“It’s　not　of　him　I　want　to　hear；　I’ve　heard　enough　of　him；”　said　
the　stranger；　stopping　Mr。　Bumble　in　the　very　outset　of　a　tirade　on　
the　subject　of　poor　Oliver’s　vices。　“It’s　of　a　woman；　the　hag　that　
nursed　his　mother。　Where　is　she？”　

“Where　is　she？”　said　Mr。　Bumble；　whom　the　gin…and…water　had　
rendered　facetious。　“It　would　be　hard　to　tell。　There’s　no　midwifery　
there；　whichever　place　she’s　gone　to；　so　I　suppose　she’s　out　of　
employment；　anyway。”　

“What　do　you　mean？”　demanded　the　stranger　sternly。　

“That　she　died　last　winter；”　rejoined　Mr。　Bumble。　

The　man　looked　fixedly　at　him　when　he　had　given　this　
information；　and　although　he　did　not　withdraw　his　eyes　for　some　
time　afterwards；　his　gaze　gradually　became　vacant　and　abstracted；　
and　he　seemed　lost　in　thought。　For　some　time；　he　appeared　
doubtful　whether　he　ought　to　be　relieved　or　disappointed　by　the　
intelligence；　but　at　length　he　breathed　more　freely；　and　
withdrawing　his　eyes；　observed　that　it　was　no　great　matter。　With　
that　he　rose；　as