Oliver Twist (B&N) by Dickens Charles

Author:Dickens, Charles [Dickens, Charles]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, 19th Century, Classics, Novel, Orphans
Publisher: Barnes&Noble
Published: 1839-01-01T02:00:00+00:00

Mr. Claypole as he appeared when his Master was out

“Here’s a delicious fat one, Noah, dear!” said Charlotte; “try him, do; only this one.”

“What a delicious thing is a oyster!” remarked Mr. Claypole, after he had swallowed it. “What a pity it is, a number of ’em should ever make you feel uncomfortable; isn’t it, Charlotte?”

“It’s quite a cruelty,” said Charlotte.

“So it is,” acquiesced Mr. Claypole. “A’n’t yer fond of oysters?”

“Not overmuch,” replied Charlotte. “I like to see you eat em, Noah dear, better than eating ’em myself.”

“Lor’!” said Noah, reflectively; “how queer!”

“Have another,” said Charlotte. “Here’s one with such a beautiful, delicate beard!”

“I can’t manage any more,” said Noah. “I’m very sorry. Come here, Charlotte, and I’ll kiss yer.”

“What!” said Mr. Bumble, bursting into the room. “Say that again, sir.”

Charlotte uttered a scream, and hid her face in her apron. Mr. Claypole, without making any further change in his position than suffering his legs to reach the ground, gazed at the beadle in drunken terror.

“Say it again, you wile, owdacious fellow!” said Mr. Bumble. “How dare you mention such a thing, sir? And how dare you encourage him, you insolent minx? Kiss her!” exclaimed Mr. Bumble, in strong indignation. “Faugh!”

“I didn’t mean to do it!” said Noah, blubbering. “She’s always a-kissing of me, whether I like it, or not.”

“Oh, Noah,” cried Charlotte, reproachfully.

“Yer are; yer know yer are!” retorted Noah. “She’s always a-doin’ of it. Mr. Bumble, sir; she chucks me under the chin, please, sir; and makes all manner of love!”

“Silence!” cried Mr. Bumble, sternly. “Take yourself down stairs, ma’am. Noah, you shut up the shop; say another word till your master comes home, at your peril; and, when he does come home, tell him that Mr. Bumble said he was to send a old woman’s shellbm after breakfast to-morrow morning. Do you hear, sir? Kissing!” cried Mr. Bumble, holding up his hands. “The sin and wickedness of the lower orders in this porochial district is frightful! If parliament don’t take their abominable courses under consideration, this country’s ruined, and the character of the peasantry gone for ever!” With these words, the beadle strode, with a lofty and gloomy air, from the undertaker’s premises.

And now that we have accompanied him so far on his road home, and have made all necessary preparations for the old woman’s funeral, let us set on foot a few inquiries after young Oliver Twist, and ascertain whether he be still lying in the ditch where Toby Crackit left him.

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