Chapter 9 chapter eight

(Oliver, on foot to London, meets a rather eccentric little gentleman.) Oliver reached the cattle fence at the end of the lane, and took up the road again.It is now about eight o'clock.Although it was almost five miles from the city, he still ran a few steps, and sometimes slipped behind the roadside fence to hide, lest someone should catch up and take him back, and he continued to toss like this until noon.He sat down by a road marker to catch his breath, and for the first time began to figure out where he could make a living. Beside him is a road marker, with large characters on it stating that this place is seventy miles from London.London, the place name aroused a series of new imaginations in Oliver's mind.London! —It's a huge place! —no one—not even Mr. Bumble—could find himself there.He used to hear from some old men in the workhouse that young men of good blood had nothing to worry about in London, and that there were ways of earning a living in that metropolis that a native bumpkin could not imagine.London was the place for a child who was left alone and would die in the streets without help.These things passed through Oliver's mind, and he jumped up from the ground, and walked on.

The distance to London has been shortened by more than four miles, and the idea of ​​how long it will take to reach the destination arises.He was full of worries, and his pace also slowed down, and he was always thinking about what cost he had to go there.He had a piece of dry bread and a coarse shirt, and in his bundle were two pairs of stockings, and a penny in his pocket, which Sulberry had given him after a funeral, in which he had performed exceptionally well. "A clean shirt," thought Oliver, "would be very comfortable to wear, and two pairs of long socks, patched, would be all right, and a penny would be all right. But these things are worth seventy miles in winter." It can’t help you much.” But Oliver’s thoughts are the same as most people’s when they encounter this kind of situation. He is not confused or indifferent to his own difficulties, but he often can’t think of any action. the effective method.Oliver thought for a long time and still couldn't figure it out, so he changed the small bundle and walked forward with his heavy legs.

At the end of the day, Oliver walked twenty miles, ate two bites of dry bread when he was hungry, and drank a few mouthfuls of water begged from the houses of the residents on the roadside when he was thirsty.As night fell, he turned into a pasture, sneaked under a haystack, and decided to spend the night there.At first he was frightened, the evening wind whimpered, and wailed all the way across the open field, he was cold and hungry, and the feeling of loneliness was stronger than ever, but after all, he was too tired to walk. I fell asleep after a while, forgetting all my troubles and sorrows.

When he awoke next morning he was so frozen and so hungry that he had to exchange the penny for a loaf of bread in the first village he passed.He had not gone twelve miles before night fell again.His feet were swollen, and his legs were limp and trembling.Another night in the cold, wet open air made it worse, and when he boarded the journey after daybreak, he was nearly crawling. He stopped at the foot of a steep slope and waited until a stagecoach drew up.Oliver begged some money from the passengers in the outer seats, but was ignored.He was told to wait a while, when the carriage drove up the hill, and then show them how far he had run for a halfpenny.Poor Oliver tried to keep up with the carriage for a little distance, but fatigue and swollen feet prevented him from doing even this.The outside passengers put the halfpence back in their purses again, and declared him a lazy little dog who deserved nothing.The carriage rattled away, leaving only a cloud of dust behind it.

In several villages there were large painted wooden signs warning that anyone who begged in the area would be punished with imprisonment.Oliver was terrified, and longed to get out of the villages as soon as possible.In other villages, he stood near the inn, watching every passerby eagerly, and the proprietress routinely ordered some wandering postman to chase away the strange boy, who she concluded was a thief.If he went to a farmhouse to beg for something, nine out of ten people would scare him, saying that he would call the dog out to bite him.He had hardly poked his head in the door of a shop, when he heard the talk of the parish-bearer--Oliver's heart seemed to jump into his mouth--and this was often the only thing that entered him for hours at a time. something in your mouth.

In truth, if it had not been for a kind tax-collector and a kind old lady, Oliver's misery might have been over, as his mother's, in other words, he must have been. Died on the thoroughfare.The tax collector gave him a light meal, and the old lady, who had a grandson shipwrecked and exiled, poured out her heart on the poor orphan, and gave him everything she could get—not only And so--and so many thoughtful and kind words, and tears of sympathy and pity, which, more than anything Oliver had suffered before, sank deeper into his heart. . Oliver had been away from his country for seven days.Early this morning, he limped into the small town of Barnett.The windows of each house were closed tightly, the streets were deserted, and no one had gotten up to do business for the day.The sun has risen, and the rays of light are colorful.However, Zhaoxia only showed the child how lonely and desolate he was. He was sitting on a cold step, the wound on his foot was bleeding, and his body was covered in dust.

The shutters along the street were opened one by one, the curtains were drawn, and people began to come and go.Several stopped, and looked Oliver up and down, and some turned their heads as they hurried by.No one helped him, and no one bothered to ask how he got here.He didn't have the courage to beg from others, so he just sat there motionless. He huddled up and sat on the steps for a while, wondering that there were so many taverns across the street (in Barnett, every other doorway, big or small, was a tavern), and he watched listlessly. He drove past the carriages one after another, thinking that this was really strange, he showed courage and determination beyond his age, and walked for seven days, but the carriages did not trouble, and the journey was completed in a few hours.At this moment, he regained his composure, and saw a young man who had casually passed by him a few minutes ago turned around and was looking him up and down carefully across the street.Oliver didn't pay attention to it at first, but the boy kept staring at him, so Oliver raised his head and returned his attentive gaze.When the boy saw him, he crossed the road, approached Oliver slowly, and said:

"Hello, buddy, what's the matter?" The boy who asked the little tramp was about Oliver's age, but very strange-looking, which Oliver had never seen before.He has a lion's nose, a flat forehead, and an unremarkable appearance. It is rare to see a scruffy boy like him, but he put on a full-grown adult demeanor.In terms of age, he is short, with bow legs and strange small eyes. The hat is so smartly buttoned on his head that it looks like it might fall off at any time. The sure thing fell off a lot, and now and then he would jerk his head and the hat would fall back into place again.He was wearing a grown-up coat that fell almost to his heels, the cuffs rolled up halfway over his arms to allow his hands to protrude from the sleeves, apparently to fit them into the pockets of his corduroy trousers. , and so is the fact.He was all a well-mannered, bumbling young gentleman, about four feet six, or less, with high-tops on his feet.

"Hello, man, what's the matter?" said the strange little gentleman to Oliver. "I am very hungry, and very tired," replied Oliver, with tears in his eyes; "I have walked a long way, and I have been walking for seven days." "Seven days' walk," cried the little gentleman. "Oh, I see, it was the order of Iron Mouth, eh? But," he went on, seeing Oliver's bewildered look, "my Good guy—trick, I'm afraid you don't know what's going on with the iron mouth." Oliver replied meekly, for he had long heard that a bird's beak was called an iron beak.

"Look at how tender you are," the little gentleman cried out. "Hey, Tiezui is the justice of the peace. Tiezui wants you to walk, not straight forward, because you can't come down when you go up. You never Ever stepped on a treadmill?" "What treadmill?" "What a treadmill. Why, it's a treadmill—the kind you get in a stone urn, and it doesn't take much room to get going. People thrive when they're bad, and when they're good, they can't find it." It's full. Well, you want something to eat, I've got it. I'm not rich--only a shilling, and a halfpenny to go, but whatever, I've got a treat, get up. Get up. Let's go. Be good."

The little gentleman helped Oliver to his feet, and together they went to a nearby grocer, where they bought some cooked ham, and a two-pound loaf, or "fourpenny bran," as he called it.The little gentleman showed his hand, and he took out some of the crumbs, dug a hole, and stuffed the ham in, so that the ham would stay fresh and not get dusty.The little gentleman tucked the bread under his arm, and led Oliver into a tavern, where he found a quiet room.Then the mysterious boy ordered a can of beer. Oliver was invited by his new friend to gobble it up. During the process of eating, the strange boy's eyes were very focused and fell on him from time to time. "Going to London?" inquired the little gentleman, seeing that Oliver had finally eaten. "yes." "Have you found a place to live?" "Not yet." "Where's the money?" "No." The eccentric boy blew a whistle, tried his best to get rid of the baggy sleeves, and put his hands in his pockets. "Do you live in London?" asked Oliver. "That's right. I live in London as long as I don't go far," said the boy. "I think you'd like to find a place to sleep to-night, don't you?" "Yeah, really, I haven't had a good night's sleep since I left home." "Don't rub your eyes over such a trifle, either," said the little gentleman, "I must go to London to-night, and I know a respectable old gentleman who lives there too, and he will give you a place for a penny." Not from you—that is, from any gentleman he knows. Does he know me? Oh, no. Not at all. Not at all. Certainly not." The little gentleman smiled, as if to imply that the last few sentences were ironic and joking, and drank his beer dry as he spoke. There was a place to stay, and the sudden offer was too tempting to refuse, especially when it was followed by the old gentleman's assurance that he would, in all probability, provide for Oliver without delay. Provide a comfortable position.The conversation which ensued was more friendly and more intimate, by which Oliver learned that this friend was named Jack Dakins, and was the favorite student of the gentleman previously mentioned. Mr. Dakins' appearance alone is not enough to explain how much welfare his benefactor has obtained for those under his protection, but Dakins's communication style is quite frivolous, and he admits that he is in a group of close friends. "The Uncatchable Clever," was a better-known nickname, and Oliver came to the conclusion that the other, by his dissolute nature, had long since forgotten his benefactor's moral admonitions.Based on this impression, he secretly made up his mind to gain the old gentleman's favor as soon as possible, and if the clever ghost generally agreed with his guess, and if it was really hopeless, he must stay away from him. It was nearly eleven o'clock when they reached the Ellington tax card, as John Dakins objected to entering London before dark.They passed the Angel's to St. John's Avenue, walked briskly down the side street that ends at the Fountain Theatre, Sadler Street, passed Ickmouth Street, Copis Road, and down the London poorhouse. The alley, and then passed the historical site called "Harley in Desperation", passed Xiaohonghua Mountain, and arrived at Dahonghua Mountain.The witty ghost told Oliver not to lose a step, but ran forward like flying. Although Oliver was preoccupied with staring at his guide, several times he could not help but peek on both sides of the street as he passed.He had never seen a dirtier or run-down place.The streets were very narrow and muddy, and the air was filled with all kinds of foul smells.There are quite a few small shops, and the only commodities seem to be groups of children, who are still crawling in and out of the door at such a late hour, or crying loudly in the house.In this desolate place, the only thing that seems to be prosperous is the tavern, where a group of Irish people of the lowest class are shouting and making a big noise in the tavern.Dark passages and courtyards branched off from the street, revealing clusters of huddled houses where drunken men and women were literally wallowing in filth.At the door of several houses, some fierce-looking guys are walking out cautiously, and they can tell at a glance that they are not going to do something good or harmless. Oliver was considering whether it would be better to slip away, and they had reached the foot of the hill.His guide opened a door near Fell's Lane, took Oliver by the arm, and led him into the corridor, closing the door behind him. "Oh, hello." Following the whistle of the Dodger, a voice came from below. The clever ghost replied: "All the plums win." This seemed to be some kind of password or code indicating that everything was fine.A faint candlelight flickered on the wall at the end of the corridor, and a man's face was peeped out of a gap in the banister of an old kitchen stairway. "Are there two of you?" said the man, moving the candle a little farther away and blocking the light from his eyes with one hand. "Who is that one?" "A new companion," replied Jack Dakins, pushing Oliver forward. "Where did it come from?" "Birthplace. Is Fagin upstairs?" "Here, he's picking out a handkerchief. Go up." The candle shrank back, and the face disappeared. Oliver groped with one hand, and clung tightly to his companion with the other, and climbed up the dark and broken stairs with one step at a time, while his guide went up easily and neatly. quite familiar.He opened the door of a back room, and dragged Oliver into it. The walls and ceiling of this room were grimy and black with age.A pine table stood in front of the fireplace.On the table was a ginger-beer bottle with a candle in it, two or three pewter glasses, a loaf of brioche, and a saucer.Sausages were cooking in a frying pan over the fire, which was tied to the mantel by a string.A gaunt old Jewish man stood nearby with a roasting fork in his hand, a mass of tangled red hair covering his face with a repulsive look.He was wrapped in a greasy flannel coat with his neck exposed.It seemed that he had to juggle a frying pan on the stove with a coat hanger on which were many silk handkerchiefs.Several beds made of old sacks were lined up side by side on the floor.Sitting around the table were four or five children younger than Dodger, all in the air of middle-aged men, smoking long clay pipes and drinking.The Dodger whispered something to the old Jew.The boys closed round, and turned their heads together again, and grinning at Oliver, and the old Jew, too, turned his head with a spit in one hand. "Fagin, that's him," said Jack Dakins, "my friend Oliver Twist," The Jew showed his big teeth and smiled, bowed deeply to Oliver, took Oliver's hand again, and said that he hoped to have the honor of becoming a confidant with him.The young gentlemen, pipes in their mouths, crowded round him, too, when they saw this, and shook hands vigorously with him--especially the one of them who had carried Oliver's little bundle.One little gentleman hung up his hat with the utmost kindness, and another was so kind as to put his hands in his pockets, so as to save him the trouble of emptying his pockets while he slept, for he was already very tired.It was not certain that this attention would have gone anywhere had it not been for Fagin's roasting fork to rest generously on the heads and shoulders of these eager young men. "We are very glad to see you, Oliver—very very," said Fagin. "Smart boy, scoop up the sausage, and drag a pail over to the fire, where Oliver will sit. Ah, my dear, You're looking at the handkerchiefs, oh. There's quite a lot of handkerchiefs in this place, isn't there? We're picking one out, and going to wash it. That's all, Oliver, nothing else. Ha ha ha!" The next few words drew applause, and the happy old gentleman's group of proud students shouted with joy.Amidst the yelling, they began to eat. Oliver ate his share, and Fagin made him hasten a warm glass of gin and water, and told him to drink it, while a gentleman was waiting for a glass.Oliver did so.Immediately, he felt himself being gently picked up, placed on the sack bed, and soon fell into a deep sleep.