Chapter XIV

by Charles Dickens

　　Comprising Further Particulars Of Oliver's Stay at Mr. Brownlow's, With theRemarkable Prediction Which One Mr. Grimwig Uttered Concerning Him, When He Went Outon an ErrandOliver soon recovering from the fainting-fit into which Mr.Brownlow's abrupt exclamation had thrown him, the subject of thepicture was carefully avoided, both by the old gentleman and Mrs.Bedwin, in the conversation that ensued: which indeed bore noreference to Oliver's history or prospects, but was confined tosuch topics as might amuse without exciting him. He was stilltoo weak to get up to breakfast; but, when he came down into thehousekeeper's room next day, his first act was to cast an eagerglance at the wall, in the hope of again looking on the face ofthe beautiful lady. His expectations were disappointed, however,for the picture had been removed.'Ah!' said the housekeeper, watching the direction of Oliver'seyes. 'It is gone, you see.''I see it is ma'am,' replied Oliver. 'Why have they taken itaway?''It has been taken down, child, because Mr. Brownlow said, thatas it seemed to worry you, perhaps it might prevent your gettingwell, you know,' rejoined the old lady.'Oh, no, indeed. It didn't worry me, ma'am,' said Oliver. 'Iliked to see it. I quite loved it.''Well, well!' said the old lady, good-humouredly; 'you get wellas fast as ever you can, dear, and it shall be hung up again.There! I promise you that! Now, let us talk about somethingelse.'This was all the information Oliver could obtain about thepicture at that time. As the old lady had been so kind to him inhis illness, he endeavoured to think no more of the subject justthen; so he listened attentively to a great many stories she toldhim, about an amiable and handsome daughter of hers, who wasmarried to an amiable and handsome man, and lived in the country;and about a son, who was clerk to a merchant in the West Indies;and who was, also, such a good young man, and wrote such dutifulletters home four times a-year, that it brought the tears intoher eyes to talk about them. When the old lady had expatiated, along time, on the excellences of her children, and the merits ofher kind good husband besides, who had been dead and gone, poordear soul! just six-and-twenty years, it was time to have tea.After tea she began to teach Oliver cribbage: which he learnt asquickly as she could teach: and at which game they played, withgreat interest and gravity, until it was time for the invalid tohave some warm wine and water, with a slice of dry toast, andthen to go cosily to bed.They were happy days, those of Oliver's recovery. Everything wasso quiet, and neat, and orderly; everybody so kind and gentle;that after the noise and turbulence in the midst of which he hadalways lived, it seemed like Heaven itself. He was no soonerstrong enough to put his clothes on, properly, than Mr. Brownlowcaused a complete new suit, and a new cap, and a new pair ofshoes, to be provided for him. As Oliver was told that he mightdo what he liked with the old clothes, he gave them to a servantwho had been very kind to him, and asked her to sell them to aJew, and keep the money for herself. This she very readily did;and, as Oliver looked out of the parlour window, and saw the Jewroll them up in his bag and walk away, he felt quite delighted tothink that they were safely gone, and that there was now nopossible danger of his ever being able to wear them again. Theywere sad rags, to tell the truth; and Oliver had never had a newsuit before.One evening, about a week after the affair of the picture, as hewas sitting talking to Mrs. Bedwin, there came a message downfrom Mr. Brownlow, that if Oliver Twist felt pretty well, heshould like to see him in his study, and talk to him a littlewhile.'Bless us, and save us! Wash your hands, and let me part yourhair nicely for you, child,' said Mrs. Bedwin. 'Dear heartalive! If we had known he would have asked for you, we wouldhave put you a clean collar on, and made you as smart assixpence!'Oliver did as the old lady bade him; and, although she lamentedgrievously, meanwhile, that there was not even time to crimp thelittle frill that bordered his shirt-collar; he looked sodelicate and handsome, despite that important personal advantage,that she went so far as to say: looking at him with greatcomplacency from head to foot, that she really didn't think itwould have been possible, on the longest notice, to have mademuch difference in him for the better.Thus encouraged, Oliver tapped at the study door. On Mr.Brownlow calling to him to come in, he found himself in a littleback room, quite full of books, with a window, looking into somepleasant little gardens. There was a table drawn up before thewindow, at which Mr. Brownlow was seated reading. When he sawOliver, he pushed the book away from him, and told him to comenear the table, and sit down. Oliver complied; marvelling wherethe people could be found to read such a great number of books asseemed to be written to make the world wiser. Which is still amarvel to more experienced people than Oliver Twist, every day oftheir lives.'There are a good many books, are there not, my boy?' said Mr.Brownlow, observing the curiosity with which Oliver surveyed theshelves that reached from the floor to the ceiling.'A great number, sir,' replied Oliver. 'I never saw so many.''You shall read them, if you behave well,' said the old gentlemankindly; 'and you will like that, better than looking at theoutsides,--that is, some cases; because there are books of whichthe backs and covers are by far the best parts.''I suppose they are those heavy ones, sir,' said Oliver, pointingto some large quartos, with a good deal of gilding about thebinding.'Not always those,' said the old gentleman, patting Oliver on thehead, and smiling as he did so; 'there are other equally heavyones, though of a much smaller size. How should you like to growup a clever man, and write books, eh?''I think I would rather read them, sir,' replied Oliver.'What! wouldn't you like to be a book-writer?' said the oldgentleman.Oliver considered a little while; and at last said, he shouldthink it would be a much better thing to be a book-seller; uponwhich the old gentleman laughed heartily, and declared he hadsaid a very good thing. Which Oliver felt glad to have done,though he by no means knew what it was.'Well, well,' said the old gentleman, composing his features.'Don't be afraid! We won't make an author of you, while there'san honest trade to be learnt, or brick-making to turn to.''Thank you, sir,' said Oliver. At the earnest manner of hisreply, the old gentleman laughed again; and said something abouta curious instinct, which Oliver, not understanding, paid no verygreat attention to.'Now,' said Mr. Brownlow, speaking if possible in a kinder, butat the same time in a much more serious manner, than Oliver hadever known him assume yet, 'I want you to pay great attention, myboy, to what I am going to say. I shall talk to you without anyreserve; because I am sure you are well able to understand me, asmany older persons would be.''Oh, don't tell you are going to send me away, sir, pray!'exclaimed Oliver, alarmed at the serious tone of the oldgentleman's commencement! 'Don't turn me out of doors to wanderin the streets again. Let me stay here, and be a servant. Don'tsend me back to the wretched place I came from. Have mercy upona poor boy, sir!''My dear child,' said the old gentleman, moved by the warmth ofOliver's sudden appeal; 'you need not be afraid of my desertingyou, unless you give me cause.''I never, never will, sir,' interposed Oliver.'I hope not,' rejoined the old gentleman. 'I do not think youever will. I have been deceived, before, in the objects whom Ihave endeavoured to benefit; but I feel strongly disposed totrust you, nevertheless; and I am more interested in your behalfthan I can well account for, even to myself. The persons on whomI have bestowed my dearest love, lie deep in their graves; but,although the happiness and delight of my life lie buried theretoo, I have not made a coffin of my heart, and sealed it up,forever, on my best affections. Deep affliction has butstrengthened and refined them.'As the old gentleman said this in a low voice: more to himselfthan to his companion: and as he remained silent for a shorttime afterwards: Oliver sat quite still.'Well, well!' said the old gentleman at length, in a morecheerful tone, 'I only say this, because you have a young heart;and knowing that I have suffered great pain and sorrow, you willbe more careful, perhaps, not to wound me again. You say you arean orphan, without a friend in the world; all the inquiries Ihave been able to make, confirm the statement. Let me hear yourstory; where you come from; who brought you up; and how you gotinto the company in which I found you. Speak the truth, and youshall not be friendless while I live.'Oliver's sobs checked his utterance for some minutes; when he wason the point of beginning to relate how he had been brought up atthe farm, and carried to the workhouse by Mr. Bumble, apeculiarly impatient little double-knock was heard at thestreet-door: and the servant, running upstairs, announced Mr.Grimwig.'Is he coming up?' inquired Mr. Brownlow.'Yes, sir,' replied the servant. 'He asked if there were anymuffins in the house; and, when I told him yes, he said he hadcome to tea.'Mr. Brownlow smiled; and, turning to Oliver, said that Mr.Grimwig was an old friend of his, and he must not mind his beinga little rough in his manners; for he was a worthy creature atbottom, as he had reason to know.'Shall I go downstairs, sir?' inquired Oliver.'No,' replied Mr. Brownlow, 'I would rather you remained here.'At this moment, there walked into the room: supporting himselfby a thick stick: a stout old gentleman, rather lame in one leg,who was dressed in a blue coat, striped waistcoat, nankeenbreeches and gaiters, and a broad-brimmed white hat, with thesides turned up with green. A very small-plaited shirt frillstuck out from his waistcoat; and a very long steel watch-chain,with nothing but a key at the end, dangled loosely below it. Theends of his white neckerchief were twisted into a ball about thesize of an orange; the variety of shapes into which hiscountenance was twisted, defy description. He had a manner ofscrewing his head on one side when he spoke; and of looking outof the corners of his eyes at the same time: which irresistiblyreminded the beholder of a parrot. In this attitude, he fixedhimself, the moment he made his appearance; and, holding out asmall piece of orange-peel at arm's length, exclaimed, in agrowling, discontented voice.'Look here! do you see this! Isn't it a most wonderful andextraordinary thing that I can't call at a man's house but I finda piece of this poor surgeon's friend on the staircase? I've beenlamed with orange-peel once, and I know orange-peel will be mydeath, or I'll be content to eat my own head, sir!'This was the handsome offer with which Mr. Grimwig backed andconfirmed nearly every assertion he made; and it was the moresingular in his case, because, even admitting for the sake ofargument, the possibility of scientific improvements beingbrought to that pass which will enable a gentleman to eat his ownhead in the event of his being so disposed, Mr. Grimwig's headwas such a particularly large one, that the most sanguine manalive could hardly entertain a hope of being able to get throughit at a sitting--to put entirely out of the question, a verythick coating of powder.'I'll eat my head, sir,' repeated Mr. Grimwig, striking his stickupon the ground. 'Hallo! what's that!' looking at Oliver, andretreating a pace or two.'This is young Oliver Twist, whom we were speaking about,' saidMr. Brownlow.Oliver bowed.'You don't mean to say that's the boy who had the fever, I hope?'said Mr. Grimwig, recoiling a little more. 'Wait a minute!Don't speak! Stop--' continued Mr. Grimwig, abruptly, losing alldread of the fever in his triumph at the discovery; 'that's theboy who had the orange! If that's not the boy, sir, who had theorange, and threw this bit of peel upon the staircase, I'll eatmy head, and his too.''No, no, he has not had one,' said Mr. Brownlow, laughing.'Come! Put down your hat; and speak to my young friend.''I feel strongly on this subject, sir,' said the irritable oldgentleman, drawing off his gloves. 'There's always more or lessorange-peel on the pavement in our street; and I know it's putthere by the surgeon's boy at the corner. A young woman stumbledover a bit last night, and fell against my garden-railings;directly she got up I saw her look towards his infernal red lampwith the pantomime-light. "Don't go to him," I called out of thewindow, "he's an assassin! A man-trap!" So he is. If he isnot--' Here the irascible old gentleman gave a great knock onthe ground with his stick; which was always understood, by hisfriends, to imply the customary offer, whenever it was notexpressed in words. Then, still keeping his stick in his hand, hesat down; and, opening a double eye-glass, which he wore attachedto a broad black riband, took a view of Oliver: who, seeing thathe was the object of inspection, coloured, and bowed again.'That's the boy, is it?' said Mr. Grimwig, at length.'That's the boy,' replied Mr. Brownlow.'How are you, boy?' said Mr. Grimwig.'A great deal better, thank you, sir,' replied Oliver.Mr Brownlow, seeming to apprehend that his singular friend wasabout to say something disagreeable, asked Oliver to stepdownstairs and tell Mrs. Bedwin they were ready for tea; which,as he did not half like the visitor's manner, he was very happyto do.'He is a nice-looking boy, is he not?' inquired Mr. Brownlow.'I don't know,' replied Mr. Grimwig, pettishly.'Don't know?''No. I don't know. I never see any difference in boys. I onlyknew two sort of boys. Mealy boys, and beef-faced boys.''And which is Oliver?''Mealy. I know a friend who has a beef-faced boy; a fine boy,they call him; with a round head, and red cheeks, and glaringeyes; a horrid boy; with a body and limbs that appear to beswelling out of the seams of his blue clothes; with the voice ofa pilot, and the appetite of a wolf. I know him! The wretch!''Come,' said Mr. Brownlow, 'these are not the characteristics ofyoung Oliver Twist; so he needn't excite your wrath.''They are not,' replied Mr. Grimwig. 'He may have worse.'Here, Mr. Brownlow coughed impatiently; which appeared to affordMr. Grimwig the most exquisite delight.'He may have worse, I say,' repeated Mr. Grimwig. 'Where does hecome from! Who is he? What is he? He has had a fever. What ofthat? Fevers are not peculiar to good peope; are they? Badpeople have fevers sometimes; haven't they, eh? I knew a man whowas hung in Jamaica for murdering his master. He had had a feversix times; he wasn't recommended to mercy on that account. Pooh!nonsense!'Now, the fact was, that in the inmost recesses of his own heart,Mr. Grimwig was strongly disposed to admit that Oliver'sappearance and manner were unusually prepossessing; but he had astrong appetite for contradiction, sharpened on this occasion bythe finding of the orange-peel; and, inwardly determining that noman should dictate to him whether a boy was well-looking or not,he had resolved, from the first, to oppose his friend. When Mr.Brownlow admitted that on no one point of inquiry could he yetreturn a satisfactory answer; and that he had postponed anyinvestigation into Oliver's previous history until he thought theboy was strong enough to hear it; Mr. Grimwig chuckledmaliciously. And he demanded, with a sneer, whether thehousekeeper was in the habit of counting the plate at night;because if she didn't find a table-spoon or two missing somesunshiny morning, why, he would be content to--and so forth.All this, Mr. Brownlow, although himself somewhat of an impetuousgentleman: knowing his friend's peculiarities, bore with greatgood humour; as Mr. Grimwig, at tea, was graciously pleased toexpress his entire approval of the muffins, matters went on verysmoothly; and Oliver, who made one of the party, began to feelmore at his ease than he had yet done in the fierce oldgentleman's presence.'And when are you going to hear at full, true, and particularaccount of the life and adventures of Oliver Twist?' askedGrimwig of Mr. Brownlow, at the conclusion of the meal; lookingsideways at Oliver, as he resumed his subject.'To-morrow morning,' replied Mr. Brownlow. 'I would rather hewas alone with me at the time. Come up to me to-morrow morningat ten o'clock, my dear.''Yes, sir,' replied Oliver. He answered with some hesitation,because he was confused by Mr. Grimwig's looking so hard at him.'I'll tell you what,' whispered that gentleman to Mr. Brownlow;'he won't come up to you to-morrow morning. I saw him hesitate.He is deceiving you, my good friend.''I'll swear he is not,' replied Mr. Brownlow, warmly.'If he is not,' said Mr. Grimwig, 'I'll--' and down went thestick.'I'll answer for that boy's truth with my life!' said Mr.Brownlow, knocking the table.'And I for his falsehood with my head!' rejoined Mr. Grimwig,knocking the table also.'We shall see,' said Mr. Brownlow, checking his rising anger.'We will,' replied Mr. Grimwig, with a provoking smile; 'wewill.'As fate would have it, Mrs. Bedwin chanced to bring in, at thismoment, a small parcel of books, which Mr. Brownlow had thatmorning purchased of the identical bookstall-keeper, who hasalready figured in this history; having laid them on the table,she prepared to leave the room.'Stop the boy, Mrs. Bedwin!' said Mr. Brownlow; 'there issomething to go back.''He has gone, sir,' replied Mrs. Bedwin.'Call after him,' said Mr. Brownlow; 'it's particular. He is apoor man, and they are not paid for. There are some books to betaken back, too.'The street-door was opened. Oliver ran one way; and the girl rananother; and Mrs. Bedwin stood on the step and screamed for theboy; but there was no boy in sight. Oliver and the girlreturned, in a breathless state, to report that there were notidings of him.'Dear me, I am very sorry for that,' exclaimed Mr. Brownlow; 'Iparticularly wished those books to be returned to-night.''Send Oliver with them,' said Mr. Grimwig, with an ironicalsmile; 'he will be sure to deliver them safely, you know.''Yes; do let me take them, if you please, sir,' said Oliver.'I'll run all the way, sir.'The old gentleman was just going to say that Oliver should not goout on any account; when a most malicious cough from Mr. Grimwigdetermined him that he should; and that, by his prompt dischargeof the commission, he should prove to him the injustice of hissuspicions: on this head at least: at once.'You shall go, my dear,' said the old gentleman. 'The books areon a chair by my table. Fetch them down.'Oliver, delighted to be of use, brought down the books under hisarm in a great bustle; and waited, cap in hand, to hear whatmessage he was to take.'You are to say,' said Mr. Brownlow, glancing steadily atGrimwig; 'you are to say that you have brought those books back;and that you have come to pay the four pound ten I owe him. Thisis a five-pound note, so you will have to bring me back, tenshillings change.''I won't be ten minutes, sir,' said Oliver, eagerly. Havingbuttoned up the bank-note in his jacket pocket, and placed thebooks carefully under his arm, he made a respectful bow, and leftthe room. Mrs. Bedwin followed him to the street-door, givinghim many directions about the nearest way, and the name of thebookseller, and the name of the street: all of which Oliver saidhe clearly understood. Having superadded many injunctions to besure and not take cold, the old lady at length permitted him todepart.'Bless his sweet face!' said the old lady, looking after him. 'Ican't bear, somehow, to let him go out of my sight.'At this moment, Oliver looked gaily round, and nodded before heturned the corner. The old lady smilingly returned hissalutation, and, closing the door, went back, to her own room.'Let me see; he'll be back in twenty minutes, at the longest,'said Mr. Brownlow, pulling out his watch, and placing it on thetable. 'It will be dark by that time.''Oh! you really expect him to come back, do you?' inquired Mr.Grimwig.'Don't you?' asked Mr. Brownlow, smiling.The spirit of contradiction was strong in Mr. Grimwig's breast,at the moment; and it was rendered stronger by his friend'sconfident smile.'No,' he said, smiting the table with his fist, 'I do not. Theboy has a new suit of clothes on his back, a set of valuablebooks under his arm, and a five-pound note in his pocket. He'lljoin his old friends the thieves, and laugh at you. If ever thatboy returns to this house, sir, I'll eat my head.'With these words he drew his chair closer to the table; and therethe two friends sat, in silent expectation, with the watchbetween them.It is worthy of remark, as illustrating the importance we attachto our own judgments, and the pride with which we put forth ourmost rash and hasty conclusions, that, although Mr. Grimwig wasnot by any means a bad-hearted man, and though he would have beenunfeignedly sorry to see his respected friend duped and deceived,he really did most earnestly and strongly hope at that moment,that Oliver Twist might not come back.It grew so dark, that the figures on the dial-plate were scarcelydiscernible; but there the two old gentlemen continued to sit, insilence, with the watch between them.