Muttering a curse upon his tardiness,Sikes pushed Oliver before him;and they entered a low dark room with a smoky fire,two or three broken chairs, a table,and a very old couch: on which,with his legs much higher than his head,a man was reposing at full length,smoking a long clay pipe.He was dressed in a smartly-cut snuff-coloured coat,with large brass buttons; an orange neckerchief;a coarse, staring, shawl-pattern waistcoat;and drab breeches. Mr.Crackit (for he it was) had no very great quantity of hair,either upon his head or face; but what he had,was of a reddish dye,and tortured into long corkscrew curls,through which he occasionally thrust some very dirty fingers,ornamented with large common rings.He was a trifle above the middle size,and apparently rather weak in the legs;but this circumstance by no means detracted from his own admiration of his top-boots, which he contemplated, in their elevated situation, with lively satisfaction.
“Bill, my boy!” said this figure, turning his head towards the door,“I’m glad to see you.I was almost afraid you’d given it up:in which case I should have made a personal wentur. Hallo!”
Uttering this exclamation in a tone of great surprise,as his eyes rested on Oliver, Mr.Toby Crackit brought himself into a sitting posture,and demanded who that was.
“The boy. Only the boy!” replied Sikes, drawing a chair towards the fire.
“Wud of Bister Fagid’s lads,” exclaimed Barney, with a grin.
“Fagin’s, eh!” exclaimed Toby, looking at Oliver.“Wot an inwalable boy that’ll make,for the old ladies’ pockets in chapels!His mug is a fortin’ to him.”
“There—there’s enough of that,” interposed Sikes,impatiently; and stooping over his recumbant friend,he whispered a few words in his ear: at which Mr.Crackit laughed immensely,and honoured Oliver with a long stare of astonishment.
“Now,” said Sikes, as he resumed his seat,“if you’ll give us something to eat and drink while we’re waiting,you’ll put some heart in us; or in me, at all events.Sit down by the fire, younker, and rest yourself;for you’ll have to go out with us again tonight,though not very far off.”
Oliver looked at Sikes, in mute and timid wonder;and drawing a stool to the fire,sat with his aching head upon his hands,scarcely knowing where he was,or what was passing around him.
“Here,” said Toby, as the young Jew placed some fragments of food,and a bottle upon the table, “Success to the crack!” He rose to honour the toast; and,carefully depositing his empty pipe in a corner,advanced to the table, filled a glass with spirits,and drank off its contents. Mr. Sikes did the same.
“A drain for the boy,” said Toby,half-filling a wine-glass. “Down with it, innocence.”
“Indeed,” said Oliver,looking piteously up into the man’s face; “indeed, I—”
“Down with it!” echoed Toby. “Do you think I don’t know what’s good for you?Tell him to drink it, Bill.”
“He had better!” said Sikes clapping his hand upon his pocket.“Burn my body, if he isn’t more trouble than a whole family of Dodgers.Drink it, you perwerse imp; drink it!”
Frightened by the menacing gestures of the two men,Oliver hastily swallowed the contents of the glass,and immediately fell into a violent fit of coughing:which delighted Toby Crackit and Barney,and even drew a smile from the surly Mr. Sikes.
This done, and Sikes having satisfied his appetite (Oliver could eat nothing but a small crust of bread which they made him swallow), the two men laid themselves down on chairs for a short nap. Oliver retained his stool by the fire; Barney wrapped in a blanket, stretched himself on the floor: close outside the fender.
They slept, or appeared to sleep, for some time;nobody stirring but Barney,who rose once or twice to throw coals on the fire.Oliver fell into a heavy doze:imagining himself straying along the gloomy lanes,or wandering about the dark churchyard,or retracing some one or other of the scenes of the past day:when he was roused by Toby Crackit jumping up and declaring it was half-past one.
In an instant, the other two were on their legs,and all were actively engaged in busy preparation.Sikes and his companion enveloped their necks and chins in large dark shawls,and drew on their great-coats; Barney,opening a cupboard, brought forth several articles,which he hastily crammed into the pockets.
“Barkers for me, Barney,” said Toby Crackit.
“Here they are,” replied Barney,producing a pair of pistols. “You loaded them yourself. ”
“All right!” replied Toby, stowing them away. “The persuaders?”
“I’ve got ’em,” replied Sikes.
“Crape, keys, centre-bits, darkies—nothing forgotten?” inquired Toby: fastening a small crowbar to a loop inside the skirt of his coat.
“All right,” rejoined his companion.“Bring them bits of timber, Barney.That’s the time of day.”
With these words, he took a thick stick from Barney’s hands,who, having delivered another to Toby,busied himself in fastening on Oliver’s cape.
“Now then!” said Sikes, holding out his hand.
Oliver: who was completely stupified by the unwonted exercise,and the air, and the drink which had been forced upon him:put his hand mechanically into that which Sikes extended for the purpose.
“Take his other hand, Toby,” said Sikes. “Look out, Barney.”
The man went to the door,and returned to announce that all was quiet.The two robbers issued forth with Oliver between them.Barney, having made all fast,rolled himself up as before, and was soon asleep again.
It was now intensely dark.The fog was much heavier than it had been in the early part of the night;and the atmosphere was so damp, that,although no rain fell, Oliver’s hair and eyebrows,within a few minutes after leaving the house,had become stiff with the half-frozen moisture that was floating about.They crossed the bridge,and kept on towards the lights which he had seen before.They were at no great distance off; and,as they walked pretty briskly,they soon arrived at Chertsey.
“Slap through the town,” whispered Sikes;“there’ll be nobody in the way, tonight, to see us.”
Toby acquiesced; and they hurried through the main street of the little town,which at that late hour was wholly deserted.A dim light shone at intervals from some bed-room window;and the hoarse barking of dogs occasionally broke the silence of the night.But there was nobody abroad. They had cleared the town,as the church-bell struck two.
Quickening their pace,they turned up a road upon the left hand.After walking about a quarter of a mile,they stopped before a detached house surrounded by a wall:to the top of which, Toby Crackit,scarcely pausing to take breath,climbed in a twinkling.
“The boy next,” said Toby. “Hoist him up;I’ll catch hold of him.”
Before Oliver had time to look round,Sikes had caught him under the arms;and in three or four seconds he and Toby were lying on the grass on the other side. Sikes followed directly. And they stole cautiously towards the house.
And now, for the first time, Oliver,well-nigh mad with grief and terror,saw that housebreaking and robbery, if not murder,were the objects of the expedition.He clasped his hands together,and involuntarily uttered a subdued exclamation of horror.A mist came before his eyes;the cold sweat stood upon his ashy face;his limbs failed him; and he sank upon his knees.
“Get up!” murmured Sikes, trembling with rage,and drawing the pistol from his pocket; “Get up,or I’ll strew your brains upon the grass.”
“Oh!for God’s sake let me go!” cried Oliver; “let me run away and die in the fields.I will never come near London; never, never!Oh!pray have mercy on me, and do not make me steal.For the love of all the bright Angels that rest in Heaven, have mercy upon me!”
The man to whom this appeal was made,swore a dreadful oath, and had cocked the pistol,when Toby, striking it from his grasp,placed his hand upon the boy’s mouth,and dragged him to the house.