Bildungsromans; Boys -- Fiction; Criminals -- Fiction; Kidnapping victims -- Fiction; London (England) -- Fiction; Orphans -- Fiction
IT was late next morning when Oliver awoke from a sound, long sleep.
There was no other person in the room but the old Jew, who was boiling
some coffee in a saucepan for breakfast, and whistling softly to
himself as he stirred it round and round with an iron spoon. He would
stop every now and then to listen when there was the least noise below;
and, when he had satisfied himself, he would go on whistling and
stirring again as before.
Although Oliver had roused himself from sleep, he was not thoroughly
awake. There is a drowsy state, between sleeping and waking, when you
dream more in five minutes with your eyes half open, and yourself half
conscious of everything that is passing around you, than you would
in five nights with your eyes fast closed, and your senses wrapt in
perfect unconsciousness. At such times, a mortal knows just enough of
what his mind is doing to form some glimmering conception of its mighty
powers, its bounding from earth and spurning time and space, when freed
from the restraint of its corporeal associate.
Oliver was precisely in this condition. He saw the Jew with his
half-closed eyes, heard his low whistling, and recognised the sound of
the spoon grating against the saucepan’s sides; and yet the self-same
senses were mentally engaged at the same time in busy action with
almost everybody he had ever known.
When the coffee was done, the Jew drew the saucepan to the hob, and,
standing in an irresolute attitude for a few minutes, as if he did not
well know how to employ himself, turned round and looked at Oliver, and
called him by his name. He did not answer, and was to all appearance
asleep.
After satisfying himself upon this head, the Jew stepped gently to the
door, which he fastened; he then drew forth, as it seemed to Oliver,
from some trap in the floor, a small box, which he placed carefully
on the table. His eyes glistened as he raised the lid and looked in.
Dragging an old chair to the table, he sat down, and took from it a
magnificent gold watch, sparkling with diamonds.
“Aha!” said the Jew, shrugging up his shoulders, and distorting every
feature with a hideous grin. “Clever dogs! clever dogs!—Staunch to the
last! Never told the old parson where they were; never peached upon old
Fagin. And why should they? It wouldn’t have loosened the knot, or kept
the drop up a minute longer. No, no, no! Fine fellows!—fine fellows!”
With these and other muttered reflections of the like nature, the
Jew once more deposited the watch in its place of safety. At least
half a dozen more were severally drawn forth from the same box, and
surveyed with equal pleasure; besides rings, brooches, bracelets, and
other articles of jewellery, of such magnificent materials and costly
workmanship that Oliver had no idea even of their names.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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