Bildungsromans; Boys -- Fiction; Criminals -- Fiction; Kidnapping victims -- Fiction; London (England) -- Fiction; Orphans -- Fiction
“Yes, I am,” replied the man, who seemed a little the worse—or better,
as the case might be—for drinking; “and not slow about it neither. My
horse hasn’t got a load behind him going back, as he had coming up in
the mornin’, and he wont be long a-doing of it. Here’s luck to him!
Ecod! he’s a good un!”
“Could you give my boy and me a lift as far as there?” demanded Sikes,
pushing the ale towards his new friend.
“If you’re going directly, I can,” replied the man, looking out of the
pot. “Are you going to Halliford?”
“Going on to Shepperton,” replied Sikes.
“I’m your man as far as I go,” replied the other. “Is all paid, Becky?”
“Yes, the other gentleman’s paid,” replied the girl.
“I say!” said the man, with tipsy gravity, “that wont do, you know.”
“Why not?” rejoined Sikes. “You’re a-going to accommodate us, and wot’s
to prevent my standing treat for a pint or so, in return?”
The stranger reflected upon this argument with a very profound face,
and having done so, seized Sikes by the hand, and declared he was a
real good fellow. To which Mr. Sikes replied, he was joking;—as if he
had been sober, there would have been strong reason to suppose he was.
After the exchange of a few more compliments, they bade the company
good night, and went out, the girl gathering up the pots and glasses as
they did so, and lounging out to the door, with her hands full, to see
the party start.
The horse, whose health had been drunk in his absence, was standing
outside, ready harnessed to the cart. Oliver and Sikes got in without
any further ceremony, and the man, to whom he belonged, having lingered
a minute or two “to bear him up,” and to defy the hostler and the
world to produce his equal, mounted also. Then the hostler was told to
give the horse his head, and, his head being given him, he made a very
unpleasant use of it, tossing it into the air with great disdain, and
running into the parlour windows over the way; after performing which
feats, and supporting himself for a short time on his hind-legs, he
started off at great speed, and rattled out of the town right gallantly.
The night was very dark. A damp mist rose from the river and the
marshy ground about, and spread itself over the dreary fields. It was
piercing cold, too; all was gloomy and black. Not a word was spoken,
for the driver had grown sleepy, and Sikes was in no mood to lead him
into conversation. Oliver sat huddled together in a corner of the cart,
bewildered with alarm and apprehension, and figuring strange objects in
the gaunt trees, whose branches waved grimly to and fro, as if in some
fantastic joy at the desolation of the scene.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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