CHAPTER IV. OLIVER, BEING OFFERED ANOTHER PLACE, MAKES HIS FIRST ENTRY INTO PUBLIC LIFE

otverydifficulttocarry,inasmuchasitwasallcomprisedwithinthelimitsofabrownpaperparcel,abouthalfafootsquarebythreeinchesdeep—hepulledhiscapoverhiseyesandoncemoreattachinghimselftoMr.Bumble’scoatcuff,wasledawaybythatdignitarytoanewsceneofsuffering. Forsometime,Mr.BumbledrewOliveralong,withoutnoticeorremarkforthebeadlecarriedhisheadveryerect,asabeadlealwaysshould:and,itbeingawindyday,littleOliverwascompletelyenshroudedbytheskirtsofMr.Bumble’scoatastheyblewopen,anddisclosedtogreatadvantagehisflappedwaistcoatanddrabplushknee-breeches.Astheydrewneartotheirdestination,however,Mr.Bumblethoughtitexpedienttolookdown,andseethattheboywasingoodorderforinspectionbyhisnewmaster:whichheaccordinglydid,withafitandbecomingairofgraciouspatronage. “Oliver!”saidMr.Bumble. “Yes,sir,”repliedOliver,inalow,tremulousvoice. “Pullthatcapoffyoureyes,andholdupyourhead,sir.” AlthoughOliverdidashewasdesired,atonceandpassedthebackofhisunoccupiedhandbrisklyacrosshiseyes,heleftatearinthemwhenhelookedupathisconductor.AsMr.Bumblegazedsternlyuponhim,itrolleddownhischeek.Itwasfollowedbyanother,andanother.Thechildmadeastrongeffort,butitwasanunsuccessfulone.WithdrawinghisotherhandfromMr.Bumble’shecoveredhisfacewithbothandweptuntilthetearssprungoutfrombetweenhischinandbonyfingers. “Well!”exclaimedMr.Bumble,stoppingshort,anddartingathislittlechargealookofintensemalignity.“Well!Ofalltheungratefullest,andworst-disposedboysaseverIsee,Oliver,youarethe—” “No,no,sir,”sobbedOliver,clingingtothehandwhichheldthewell-knowncane“no,no,sirIwillbegoodindeedindeed,indeedIwill,sir!Iamaverylittleboy,siranditisso—so—” “Sowhat?”inquiredMr.Bumbleinamazement. “Solonely,sir!Soverylonely!”criedthechild.“Everybodyhatesme.Oh!sir,don’t,don’tpraybecrosstome!”Thechildbeathishanduponhisheartandlookedinhiscompanion’sface,withtearsofrealagony. Mr.BumbleregardedOliver’spiteousandhelplesslook,withsomeastonishment,forafewsecondshemmedthreeorfourtimesinahuskymannerandaftermutteringsomethingabout“thattroublesomecough,”badeOliverdryhiseyesandbeagoodboy.Thenoncemoretakinghishand,hewalkedonwithhiminsilence. Theundertaker,whohadjustputuptheshuttersofhisshop,wasmakingsomeentriesinhisday-bookbythelightofamostappropriatedismalcandle,whenMr.Bumbleentered. “Aha!”saidtheundertakerlookingupfromthebook,andpausinginthemiddleofaword“isthatyou,Bumble?” “Nooneelse,Mr.Sowerberry,”repliedthebeadle.“Here!I’vebroughttheboy.”Olivermadeabow.