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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Оливер Твист
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- Стр. 116/420
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Master
Bates
,
apparently
much
delighted
with
his
commission
,
took
the
cleft
stick
:
and
led
Oliver
into
an
adjacent
kitchen
,
where
there
were
two
or
three
of
the
beds
on
which
he
had
slept
before
;
and
here
,
with
many
uncontrollable
bursts
of
laughter
,
he
produced
the
identical
old
suit
of
clothes
which
Oliver
had
so
much
congratulated
himself
upon
leaving
off
at
Mr.
Brownlow
's
;
and
the
accidental
display
of
which
,
to
Fagin
,
by
the
Jew
who
purchased
them
,
had
been
the
very
first
clue
received
,
of
his
whereabout
.
'
Put
off
the
smart
ones
,
'
said
Charley
,
'
and
I
'll
give
'em
to
Fagin
to
take
care
of
.
What
fun
it
is
!
'
Poor
Oliver
unwillingly
complied
.
Master
Bates
rolling
up
the
new
clothes
under
his
arm
,
departed
from
the
room
,
leaving
Oliver
in
the
dark
,
and
locking
the
door
behind
him
.
The
noise
of
Charley
's
laughter
,
and
the
voice
of
Miss
Betsy
,
who
opportunely
arrived
to
throw
water
over
her
friend
,
and
perform
other
feminine
offices
for
the
promotion
of
her
recovery
,
might
have
kept
many
people
awake
under
more
happy
circumstances
than
those
in
which
Oliver
was
placed
.
But
he
was
sick
and
weary
;
and
he
soon
fell
sound
asleep
.
It
is
the
custom
on
the
stage
,
in
all
good
murderous
melodramas
,
to
present
the
tragic
and
the
comic
scenes
,
in
as
regular
alternation
,
as
the
layers
of
red
and
white
in
a
side
of
streaky
bacon
.
The
hero
sinks
upon
his
straw
bed
,
weighed
down
by
fetters
and
misfortunes
;
in
the
next
scene
,
his
faithful
but
unconscious
squire
regales
the
audience
with
a
comic
song
.
We
behold
,
with
throbbing
bosoms
,
the
heroine
in
the
grasp
of
a
proud
and
ruthless
baron
:
her
virtue
and
her
life
alike
in
danger
,
drawing
forth
her
dagger
to
preserve
the
one
at
the
cost
of
the
other
;
and
just
as
our
expectations
are
wrought
up
to
the
highest
pitch
,
a
whistle
is
heard
,
and
we
are
straightway
transported
to
the
great
hall
of
the
castle
;
where
a
grey-headed
seneschal
sings
a
funny
chorus
with
a
funnier
body
of
vassals
,
who
are
free
of
all
sorts
of
places
,
from
church
vaults
to
palaces
,
and
roam
about
in
company
,
carolling
perpetually
.
Such
changes
appear
absurd
;
but
they
are
not
so
unnatural
as
they
would
seem
at
first
sight
.
The
transitions
in
real
life
from
well-spread
boards
to
death-beds
,
and
from
mourning-weeds
to
holiday
garments
,
are
not
a
whit
less
startling
;
only
,
there
,
we
are
busy
actors
,
instead
of
passive
lookers-on
,
which
makes
a
vast
difference
.
The
actors
in
the
mimic
life
of
the
theatre
,
are
blind
to
violent
transitions
and
abrupt
impulses
of
passion
or
feeling
,
which
,
presented
before
the
eyes
of
mere
spectators
,
are
at
once
condemned
as
outrageous
and
preposterous
.
As
sudden
shiftings
of
the
scene
,
and
rapid
changes
of
time
and
place
,
are
not
only
sanctioned
in
books
by
long
usage
,
but
are
by
many
considered
as
the
great
art
of
authorship
:
an
author
's
skill
in
his
craft
being
,
by
such
critics
,
chiefly
estimated
with
relation
to
the
dilemmas
in
which
he
leaves
his
characters
at
the
end
of
every
chapter
:
this
brief
introduction
to
the
present
one
may
perhaps
be
deemed
unnecessary
.
If
so
,
let
it
be
considered
a
delicate
intimation
on
the
part
of
the
historian
that
he
is
going
back
to
the
town
in
which
Oliver
Twist
was
born
;
the
reader
taking
it
for
granted
that
there
are
good
and
substantial
reasons
for
making
the
journey
,
or
he
would
not
be
invited
to
proceed
upon
such
an
expedition
.
Mr.
Bumble
emerged
at
early
morning
from
the
workhouse-gate
,
and
walked
with
portly
carriage
and
commanding
steps
,
up
the
High
Street
.
He
was
in
the
full
bloom
and
pride
of
beadlehood
;
his
cocked
hat
and
coat
were
dazzling
in
the
morning
sun
;
he
clutched
his
cane
with
the
vigorous
tenacity
of
health
and
power
.
Mr.
Bumble
always
carried
his
head
high
;
but
this
morning
it
was
higher
than
usual
.
There
was
an
abstraction
in
his
eye
,
an
elevation
in
his
air
,
which
might
have
warned
an
observant
stranger
that
thoughts
were
passing
in
the
beadle
's
mind
,
too
great
for
utterance
.
Mr.
Bumble
stopped
not
to
converse
with
the
small
shopkeepers
and
others
who
spoke
to
him
,
deferentially
,
as
he
passed
along
.
He
merely
returned
their
salutations
with
a
wave
of
his
hand
,
and
relaxed
not
in
his
dignified
pace
,
until
he
reached
the
farm
where
Mrs.
Mann
tended
the
infant
paupers
with
parochial
care
.
