Oliver Twist HTML version
SHOWING HOW VERY FOND OF OLIVER TWIST, THE MERRY OLD JEW
AND MISS NANCY WERE
In the obscure parlour of a low public-house, in the filthiest part of Little Saffron Hill; a
dark and gloomy den, where a flaring gas-light burnt all day in the winter-time; and
where no ray of sun ever shone in the summer: there sat, brooding over a little pewter
measure and a small glass, strongly impregnated with the smell of liquor, a man in a
velveteen coat, drab shorts, half-boots and stockings, whom even by that dim light no
experienced agent of the police would have hesitated to recognise as Mr. William Sikes.
At his feet, sat a white-coated, red-eyed dog; who occupied himself, alternately, in
winking at his master with both eyes at the same time; and in licking a large, fresh cut on
one side of his mouth, which appeared to be the result of some recent conflict.
'Keep quiet, you warmint! Keep quiet!' said Mr. Sikes, suddenly breaking silence.
Whether his meditations were so intense as to be disturbed by the dog's winking, or
whether his feelings were so wrought upon by his reflections that they required all the
relief derivable from kicking an unoffending animal to allay them, is matter for argument
and consideration. Whatever was the cause, the effect was a kick and a curse, bestowed
upon the dog simultaneously.
Dogs are not generally apt to revenge injuries inflicted upon them by their masters; but
Mr. Sikes's dog, having faults of temper in common with his owner, and labouring,
perhaps, at this moment, under a powerful sense of injury, made no more ado but at once
fixed his teeth in one of the half-boots. Having given in a hearty shake, he retired,
growling, under a form; just escaping the pewter measure which Mr. Sikes levelled at his
'You would, would you?' said Sikes, seizing the poker in one hand, and deliberately
opening with the other a large clasp-knife, which he drew from his pocket. 'Come here,
you born devil! Come here! D'ye hear?'
The dog no doubt heard; because Mr. Sikes spoke in the very harshest key of a very harsh
voice; but, appearing to entertain some unaccountable objection to having his throat cut,
he remained where he was, and growled more fiercely than before: at the same time
grasping the end of the poker between his teeth, and biting at it like a wild beast.
This resistance only infuriated Mr. Sikes the more; who, dropping on his knees, began to
assail the animal most furiously. The dog jumped from right to left, and from left to right;
snapping, growling, and barking; the man thrust and swore, and struck and blasphemed;
and the struggle was reaching a most critical point for one or other; when, the door
suddenly opening, the dog darted out: leaving Bill Sikes with the poker and the clasp-
knife in his hands.