oliver twist(雾都孤儿(孤星血泪))-第30章

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Mr。　Brownlow　smiled；　and；　turning　to　Oliver；　said　that　Mr。　
Grimwig　was　an　old　friend　of　his；　and　he　must　not　mind　his　being　
a　little　rough　in　his　manners　for　he　was　a　worthy　creature　at　
bottom；　as　he　had　reason　to　know。　

“Shall　I　go　downstairs；　sir？”　inquired　Oliver。　

“No；”　replied　Mr。　Brownlow；　“I　would　rather　you　remained　At　
this　moment；　there　walked　into　the　room；　supporting　himself　by　a　

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thick　stick；　a　stout　old　gentleman；　rather　lame　in　one　leg；　who　was　
dressed　in　a　blue　coat；　striped　waistcoat　nankeen　breeches　and　
gaiters；　and　a　broad…brimmed　white　hat；　with　the　sides　turned　up　
with　green。　A　very　small…plated　shirt　frill　stuck　out　from　his　
waistcoat；　and　a　very　long　steel　watch…chain；　with　nothing　but　a　
key　at　the　end；　dangled　loosely　below　it。　The　ends　of　his　white　
neckerchief　were　twisted　into　a　ball　about　the　size　of　an　orange；　
the　variety　of　shapes　into　which　his　countenance　was　twisted；　defy　
description。　He　had　a　manner　of　screwing　his　head　on　one　side　
when　he　spoke；　and　of　looking　out　of　the　corners　of　his　eyes　at　the　
same　time；　which　irresistibly　reminded　the　beholder　of　a　parrot。　In　
this　attitude　he　fixed　himself；　the　moment　he　made　his　
appearance；　and；　holding　out　a　small　piece　of　orange…peel　at　arm’s　
length；　exclaimed；　in　a　growling；　discontented　voice：　

“Look　here！　do　you　see　this！　Isn’t　it　a　most　wonderful　and　
extraordinary　thing　that　I　can’t　call　at　a　man’s　house　but　I　find　a　
piece　of　this　poor　surgeon’s…friend　on　the　staircase？　I’ve　been　
lamed　with　orange…peel　once；　and　I　know　orange…peel　will　be　my　
death　at　last。　It　will　sir；　orange…peel　will　be　my　death；　or　I’ll　be　
content　to　eat　my　own　head；　sir！”　

This　was　the　handsome　offer　with　which　Mr。　Grimwig　backed　
and　confirmed　nearly　every　assertion　he　made；　and　it　was　the　
more　singular　in　his　case；　because；　even　admitting　for　the　sake　of　
argument；　the　possibility　of　scientific　improvements　being　ever　
brought　to　that　pass　which　will　enable　a　gentleman　to　eat　his　own　
head　in　the　event　of　his　being　go　disposed；　Mr。　Grimwig’s　head　
was　such　a　particularly　large　one；　that　the　most　sanguine　man　
alive　could　hardly　entertain　a　hope　of　being　able　to　get　through　it　
at　a　sitting—to　put　entirely　out　of　the　question；　a　very　thick　

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coating　of　powder。　

“I’ll　eat　my　head；　sir；”　repeated　Mr。　Grimwig；　striking　his　stick　
upon　the　ground。　“Hallo！　what’s　that！”　looking　at　Oliver；　and　
retreating　a　pace　or　two。　

“This　is　young　Oliver　Twist；　whom　we　were　speaking；　about；”　
said　Mr。　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　all　
dread　of　the　fever　in　his　triumph　at　the　discovery；　“that’s　the　boy　
who　had　the　orange！　If　that’s　not　the　boy；　sir；　who　had　the　orange；　
and　threw　this　bit　of　peel　upon　the　staircase；　I’ll　eat　my　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　old　
gentleman；　drawing　off　his　gloves。　“There’s　always　more　or　less　
orange…peel　on　the　pavement　in　our　street；　and　I　know　it’s　put　
there　by　the　surgeon’s　boy　at　the　corner。　A　young　woman　
stumbled　over　a　bit　last　night；　and　fell　against　my　garden　railings；　
directly　she　got　up　I　saw　her　look　towards　his　infernal　red　lamp　
with　the　pantomime…light。　‘Don’t　go　to　him；’　I　called　out　of　the　
window；　‘he’s　an　assassin！　A　mantrap！’　So　he　is。　If　he　is　not—”　
Here　the　irascible　old　gentleman　gave　a　great　knock　on　the　ground　
with　his　stick；　which　was　always　understood；　by　his　friend；　to　
imply　the　customary　offer；　whenever　it　was　not　expressed　in　
words。　Then；　still　keeping　his　stick　in　his　hand；　he　sat　down；　and；　
opening　a　double　eyeglass；　which　he　wore　attached　to　a　broad；　

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black　riband；　took　a　view　of　Oliver；　who；　seeing　that　he　was　the　
object　of　inspection；　coloured；　and　bowed　again。　“That’s　the　boy；　is　
it？”　said　Mr。　Grimwig；　at　length。　

“That　is　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　
was　about　to　say　something　disagreeable；　asked　Oliver　to　step　
downstairs　and　tell　Mrs。　Bedwin　they　were　ready　for　tea；　which；　as　
he　did　not　half　like　the　visitor’s　manner；　he　was　very　happy　to　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　only　
know　two　sorts　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　glaring　eyes；　
a　horrid　boy；　with　a　body　and　limbs　that　appear　to　be　swelling　out　
of　the　seams　of　his　blue　clothes；　with　the　voice　of　a　pilot；　and　the　
appetite　of　a　wolf。　I　know　him！　The　wretch！”　

“Come；”　said　Mr。　Brownlow；　“these　are　not　the　characteristics　
of　young　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　
afford　Mr。　Grimwig　the　most　exquisite　delight。　

“He　may　have　worse；　I　say；”　repeated　Mr。　Grimwig。　“Where　
does　he　come　from？　Who　is　he？　What　is　he？　He　has　had　a　fever。　
What　of　that？　Fevers　are　not　peculiar　to　good　people；　are　they？　

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Bad　people　have　fevers　sometimes；　haven’t　they；　eh？　I　knew　a　
man　who　was　hung　in　Jamaica　for　murdering　his　master。　He　had　
had　a　fever　six　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’s　
appearance　and　manner　were　unusually　prepossessing；　but　he　
had　a　strong　appetite　for　contradiction；　sharpened　on　this　occasion　
by　the　finding　of　the　orange…peel；　and；　inwardly　determining　that　
no　man　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　yet　
return　a　satisfactory　answer；　and　that　he　had　postponed　any　
investigation　into　Oliver’s　previous　history　until　he　thought　the　
boy　was　strong　enough　to　bear　it；　Mr。　Grimwig　chuckled　
maliciously。　And　he　demanded；　with　a　sneer；　whether　the　
housekeeper　was　in　the　habit　of　counting　the　plate　at　night；　
because；　if　she　didn’t　find　a　table…spoon　or　two　missing　some　
sunshiny　morning；　why；　he　would　be　content　to—and　so　forth。　

All　this；　Mr。　Brownlow；　although　himself　somewhat　of　an　
impetuous　gentleman；　knowing　his　friend’s　peculiarities；　bore　with　
great　good…humour；　as　Mr。　Grimwig；　at　tea；　was　graciously　pleased　
to　express　his　entire　approval　of　the　muffins；　matters　went　on　very　
smoothly；　and　Oliver；　who　made　one　of　the　party；　began　to　feel　
more　at　his　ease　than　he　had　yet　done　in　the　fierce　old　gentleman’s　
presence。　

“And　when　are　you　going　to　hear　a　full；　true；　and　particular　
account　of　the　life　and　adventures　of　Oliver　Twist？”　asked　Mr。　
Grimwig　of　Mr。　Brownlow；　at　the　conclusion　of　the　meal；　looking　

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sideways　at　Oliver；　as　he　resumed　the　subject。　

“Tomorrow　morning；”　replied　Mr。　Brownlow。　“I　would　rather　
he　was　alone　with　me　at　the　time。　Come　up　to　me　tomorrow　
morning　at　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　
hum。　

“I’ll　tell　you　what；”　whispered　that　gentleman　to　Mr。　Brownl