Chapter 4 third chapter

(Recounting how Oliver Twist almost got a job that wasn't a job.) Oliver, having committed a blasphemous and treasonous offence, openly demanded more porridge, and for the next week he was an important prisoner, kept alone in a dark room, and this arrangement was Foresight and compassion from the Council.At first glance, there is no reason to suppose that, if he had the proper respect for the foresight of the gentleman in the white waistcoat, he had only to tie one end of his handkerchief to a hook on the wall, and hang himself on the other end, and he would surely be safe once and for all. and gave that sage the fame of a prophet who did not know.However, there is an obstacle to performing this trick, namely, that the handkerchief has always been regarded as a luxury item, and a decree of the council has disappeared from under the noses of the poor for generations.This order was passed unanimously, signed and stamped, and solemnly released.Another bigger obstacle is Oliver's young and ignorant.During the day, he only knows how to cry sadly. When the long night comes, he always stretches out his little hand and covers his eyes, trying to keep the darkness out. He curls up in a corner, trying his best to fall asleep.He woke up trembling from time to time, and pressed his body closer and closer to the wall. He seemed to feel that when darkness and loneliness came from all sides, that cold and hard wall became a barrier.

Haters of "the system" should not think that during this period of solitary confinement Oliver was deprived of the benefits of exercise, the pleasures of society, and even the benefits of religious consolation.It was a very cold day, so far as exercise was concerned, and he was permitted to bathe every morning under Jane in the flagstone yard, under the care of Mr. Bumble, who was always so assiduous in taking the vine, that Oliver should not catch a cold. The stick whipped him, giving him a burning sensation all over his body.Talking about social aspects, once a day he was taken into the hall where the children were eating, and whipped in public as an example to others.Every evening, when it was time for prayer, he was kicked into the dark room, where he was allowed to listen to the collective prayers of the children, so as to comfort his soul, so he was far from being deprived of religious comfort. benefits.The council specially added a clause in the prayer, appealing to the children to pray for God's blessing, so that they can become noble, kind, content and obedient people, and must not commit the crimes and bad deeds committed by Oliver Twist , this prayer clearly declares that he is under the special protection of evil powers, and is purely a product of a factory run by the devil himself.

Oliver was in such an auspicious and caring position.Mr. Foganfield, the chimney-sweep, came into the street one morning, thinking of how to pay the rent he owed, and the landlord had grown quite impatient.Mr. Gamfield, however well calculated, could not come up with the full five pounds required.This arithmetical problem drove him so desperately that he took turns tapping his forehead with a short stick in his hand, and lashing his donkey, and as he passed the workhouse his eyes caught the notice on the door. . "Uh-uh," said Mr. Gamfield, addressing the donkey. The donkey was completely absent-minded at the moment. It was probably thinking whether it would be possible to get a cabbage stalk or two as a reward after unloading the two bags of cigarette ash from the cart. Therefore, it did not hear this order. Still dawdling forward.

Mr. Gamfield snarled, swearing all over his head, focusing on his eyes.He rushed forward and patted the donkey's head. Fortunately, it was a donkey. If it were another animal, the head would have been blown off.Then Mr. Gamfield took Pet's head and gave it a hard twist, politely reminding it not to make its own way, and then turned it around.Mr. Gamfield then hit the donkey again, and told him to sit still until he came back.Mr. Gamfield having settled all this, went to the gate and read the poster. The gentleman in the white vest stood by the door with his hands behind his back. He had just expressed some meaningful feelings in the conference room.He had already witnessed this little dispute between Mr. Gamfield and the donkey, and saw the fellow come up to see the notice, so he couldn't help smiling complacently. He could see Gamfield at a glance. Mr. Hall was just the sort of master Oliver wanted.Mr. Gamfield read the document carefully and smiled: five pounds, no more, no less, exactly what he wanted.As for the boy who went with the money, Mr. Gamfield, knowing the standard of workhouse meals, reckoned he would be a suitable little outfit; just right for chimney-sweeping.For this reason, he read the notice from beginning to end, word by word.Then, he touched his fur cap as a salute, and started chatting with the gentleman in the white vest.

"Is there a boy in this place, sir, whom the parish wishes to teach him a trade?" said Mr. Gamfield. "Yes, my friend," said the gentleman in the white waistcoat, with a condescending smile, "what do you think of him?" "Chimney-sweeping is a very respectable trade, if the parish is willing for him to learn a light trade," said Gamfield. "I'm just in need of an apprentice, and I want him." "Come in," said the gentleman in the white vest.Gamfield was delayed for a while, and he slapped the donkey's head again, and tugged on the rein again, warning it not to go away without authorization, and then followed the gentleman in the white waistcoat, Oliver first time It was in this conference room that I met the prophet.

"It's a dirty job," said Mr. Limbkins, after Gamfield restated his wish. "Children have been smothered in chimneys before," said another gentleman. "That's to get them down, but the straw is wet before the fire is lit," said Gamfield, "and there will be no fire. All kinds of smoke are no good to get children down, only It will put him to sleep, he is really looking forward to it. Little devil, stubborn to death, lazy to death, gentlemen, there is nothing more spiritual than a ball of red fire, and they came down at a trot. Gentlemen, this is too kind , that is, in case they get stuck on the chimney, drying the soles of their feet, they'll have to come down quickly."

The gentleman in the white waistcoat seemed to be amused by this argument, but his mirth was immediately stopped by a wink from Mr. Limbkins.The directors got together and discussed for a while, their voices were kept low, and only a few words were heard by others, "saving expenses," "it's clear on the books," "publish a printed report." It's true, The reason why these words can be heard is also because they have been repeated many times and emphasized. At last the secret conversation ceased, and the directors returned to their seats, becoming dignified again, and Mr. Limbkins said: "We have considered your application, and we will not accept it."

"Absolutely not," said the gentleman in the white waistcoat. "Strongly disagree." The other directors went on to say. Some say three or four apprentices have been killed by Mr. Gamfield's old punches, and he's had that little notoriety for some time.He thought to himself, the council really couldn't tell what was going on, they might think that this off-topic matter would affect the transaction that was going on.If this is the case, this is too far from their usual style of doing things.Even so, he didn't really want to bring up those gossip again, but he just turned his hat upside down with both hands, and slowly backed away from the conference table.

"You don't want him to be handed over to me, then, gentlemen?" asked Mr. Gamfield, stopping by the door. "Yes," Mr Limbkins replied, "at a minimum, because it's dirty work, we think the subsidy has to be lowered." Mr. Gamfield's face suddenly brightened. He strode back to the table and said: "How much, gentlemen? Say it. Don't be so cruel to a poor man. How much do you give?" "I should say three pounds ten shillings at the most," said Mr Limbkins. "Ten shillings is too much," said the gentleman in the white waistcoat.

"Hey," said Gamfield, "for four quid, gentlemen. For four quid you're done with him forever. Middle." "Three pounds ten shillings," said Mr Limbkins firmly. "Yes. I'll pay you back, gentlemen," said Gamfield anxiously. "Three pounds fifteen shillings." Mr. Limbkins answered emphatically, "Not a dime more." "You're killing me, gentlemen." Gamfield hesitated. "Bah. Bah. Nonsense," said the gentleman in the white waistcoat. "Even if there is no subsidy, whoever gets it will be a bargain, you stupid fellow, take him away. This kid is perfect for you." .He can't live without a stick all the time, it's good for him, and the food is cheap, the boy hasn't been fed since he was born. Hahaha!"

Mr. Gamfield took a sneaky look at the directors sitting around the table, and found that there were smiles on all the faces, and a smile gradually appeared on his own face.The deal is done.Mr. Bumble was at once ordered to forward Oliver and the contract concerned to the magistrate for approval that afternoon. In carrying out this decision, little Oliver was released from confinement, and ordered to put on a clean shirt, which bewildered him that Mr. Bumble, having just completed this extraordinary exercise, had served him with his own hands. A bowl of porridge, and two and a quarter ounces of holiday bread.Oliver burst into tears of grief at the sight of this dreadful spectacle, and he took it for granted that the council must kill him for use, or would never have fattened him up in this way. "Don't cry your eyes out, Oliver, and eat well, and don't be ungrateful," said Mr. Bumble, airily. "You're going to be an apprentice, Oliver." "Apprentice, sir," said the boy timidly. "Yes, Oliver," said Bumble, "you have no father or mother, and so many good and honest gentlemen, and they are your parents, Oliver, to send you to apprentice, to earn your own living, and grow up." The parish spent three pounds ten shillings when grown up--three pounds ten shillings, Oliver!--seventy shillings--hundred and forty-six pence!--for one naughty orphan Orphans that people love." Mr. Bumble, speaking in an awe-inspiring tone, paused for breath, and the poor child let out sobs of grief, and the tears rolled down his cheeks. "Alas," said Mr. Bumble, in a tone less high-pitched, and he was relieved to see his eloquence so effective. "Come, Oliver. Wipe your eyes with your sleeve, lest your tears fall into the porridge, Oliver, it's a foolish thing to do." It was true, for there was enough water in the porridge that's it. On the way to the Sheriff's Office, Mr. Bumble told Oliver that it was all he had to do to look cheerful, and when the magistrate asked him if he would like to apprentice, he replied that he did very much.Oliver undertook to obey both orders, and Mr. Bumble hinted very politely that if either one should be amiss, it was anyone's guess what would happen to him.When he arrived at the Sheriff's Office, Oliver was locked in a small room, and Bumble asked him to stay there until he came back to call him. The boy had been half an hour in the little room, with a beating heart, when suddenly Mr. Bumble, without his cocked hat on, put his head in, and said aloud: "Well, Oliver, my dear, come with me to the Magistrate," said Mr. Bumble, with a grim look on his face, and added in a low voice, "Remember what I told you, you The little rascal." Hearing this somewhat inconsistent appellation, Oliver looked innocently at Mr. Bumble's face, but the gentleman did not allow him to express his opinion on this, and immediately led him into an adjoining room with the door open. room.The room is very spacious with a big window.Behind a writing-table sat two old gentlemen with powdered hair, one reading a newspaper, the other, through a pair of tortoise-shell spectacles, examining a little parchment before him.Mr. Limbkins stood on one side of the desk, Mr. Gamfield, who had barely wiped his face, and on the other side, two or three frightening-looking men in riding boots, pacing up and down the room. The old gentleman in spectacles gradually dozed off at the parchment.Mr. Bumble brought Oliver to the table and stood there, and there followed a brief interval. "That's the boy, my lord," said Mr. Bumble. The old gentleman who was reading the newspaper looked up and tugged at the other man's sleeve, and the old man woke up. "Oh, is that the boy?" said the old gentleman. "That's him, sir," replied Bumble, "with a bow to your magistrate, my dear." Oliver straightened up, and bowed respectfully.His eyes stayed on the hair powder on the head of the justice of the peace, and he kept wondering whether all the magistrates were born with such a layer of white paint on their heads, and whether it was because of this thing that they became famous. As judge. "Oh," said the old gentleman, "he likes chimney-sweeping, I suppose?" "My lord, he likes it." Bumble secretly pinched Oliver, reminding him to be sensible and don't say he doesn't like it. "Then he'd like to be a sweeper, wouldn't he?" demanded the old gentleman. "If we put him to some other trade to-morrow, he'd slip away at once, my lord," answered Bumble. "This man is his master—you, sir—take good care of him, and take care of his board and lodging, and all that sort of thing—isn't he?" went on the old gentleman. "I say I can do it, and I can do it." Mr. Gamfield replied stubbornly. "You're rude, my friend, but you look a brisk, honest fellow," said the old gentleman, turning his spectacles toward the applicant for the Oliver Prize.Gamfield's vicious face was originally branded with cruelty and cruelty, but the justice of the peace was partly blind and partly innocent. Therefore, it is something that everyone can see, but he can't be expected to see it too. . "I believe I am, sir," said Mr. Gamfield with a disgusted look of his eye. "I have no doubt of that, my friend," answered the old gentleman.He straightened his glasses on the bridge of his nose, and looked around for an inkpot. Oliver's fate has come to a critical moment.Had the inkpot been where the old gentleman imagined it, he would have inserted the quill, signed the certificate, and Oliver had been hastily taken away.But the ink pot happened to be under the old gentleman's nose, and he searched all over the table as usual, but he couldn't find it.Just as he kept looking forward, his eyes fell on Oliver Twist's pale and terrified face.Although Bumble was warning him with winks and choking him, Oliver ignored him and stared intently at the ugly face of his future master. No one could misunderstand that expression of disgust and panic, even if it was A justice of the peace with a bad eye. The old gentleman stopped, put down his quill, and looked from Oliver to Mr Limbkins, who was pretending to be taking snuff, and looking cheerful and nonchalant. "My child," said the old gentleman, leaning over from the desk.The sound startled Oliver, and he was justified in his reaction, for the gentleness of the words; but an unfamiliar voice is always frightening, and he trembled. , Tears welled up in my eyes. "Son," said the old gentleman, "look at you, you're all pale with fright. What's the matter?" "Officer, stay away from him," said the other judge, putting down the newspaper, and leaning forward with interest. "Come on, boy, tell us what's going on, and don't be afraid." Oliver fell on his knees, and clasping his hands, begged them to send him back to the dark room--starve him--beat him--kill him if he pleased--but don't send him and That horrible person goes. "Well," said Mr. Bumble, raising his hands, and rolling his eyes upwards, with a very moving solemnity. "Well, Oliver, I've seen a lot of cunning and wicked orphans, and you're the most shameless of them all." "Shut up and do something," said the second old gentleman, just as Mr. Bumble had pronounced the adjective with the word "most." "Excuse me, my lord," said Mr. Bumble, who wondered if he had misheard. "Do you mean me?" "Yes, keep your mouth shut." Mr. Bumble was stunned.He even ordered a parish officer to shut up.What a game changer. The old gentleman wearing a pair of tortoiseshell glasses glanced at his colleague, who nodded meaningfully. "We will not approve these contracts." The old gentleman said, throwing the parchment aside. "I hope," stammered Mr. Limbkins, "that my two gentlemen will not ascribe responsibility for mismanagement on the grounds of a child's groundless protests." "A justice of the peace isn't in trouble," snapped the second old gentleman. "Take the boy back to the workhouse and treat him well. It seems he needs it." That evening, the gentleman in the white waistcoat asserted very confidently and clearly that Oliver would not only be hanged, but also disemboweled and chopped into pieces.Mr. Bumble, sullen, shook his head somewhat mysteriously, and declared that he wished Oliver well in the end.To this, Mr. Gamfield replied that he wished the boy to be his own, and though he generally agreed with what the officer had said, the expressed desire seemed to be quite the opposite. The next morning, the public was informed again that Oliver would be reassigned, and that anyone who would take him away would have a reward of five pounds.