OLIVER TWIST.
VOL. III.
BY
SECOND EDITION.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. III.
LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
————
1839.
WHITING,
BEAUFORT HOUSE.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
CONTAINING AN ACCOUNT OF WHAT PASSED BETWEEN MR.AND MRS. BUMBLE AND MONKS, AT THEIR NOCTURNALINTERVIEW.
It was a dull, close, overcast summer evening,when the clouds, which had been threateningall day, spread out in a dense and sluggishmass of vapour, already yielded large drops ofrain, and seemed to presage a violent thunderstorm,—asMr. and Mrs. Bumble, turning outof the main street of the town, directed theircourse towards a scattered little colony ofruinous houses, distant from it some mile anda-half, or thereabouts, and erected on a lowunwholesome swamp, bordering upon the river.
They were both wrapped in old and shabbyouter garments, which might perhaps serve thedouble purpose of protecting their personsfrom the rain, and sheltering them from observation;the husband carried a lantern, fromwhich, however, no light yet shone, and trudgedon a few paces in front, as though—the waybeing dirty—to give his wife the benefit oftreading in his heavy foot-prints. They wenton in profound silence; every now and thenMr. Bumble relaxed his pace, and turned hishead round, as if to make sure that his helpmatewas following, and, discovering that shewas close at his heels, mended his rate of walking,and proceeded at a considerable increase ofspeed towards their place of destination.
This was far from being a place of doubtfulcharacter, for it had long been known as theresidence of none but low and desperate ruffians,who, under various pretences of living by theirlabour, subsisted chiefly on plunder and crime.It was a collection of mere hovels, some hastilybuilt with loose bricks, and others of old worm-eatenship timber, jumbled together without[3]any attempt at order or arrangement, andplanted, for the most part, within a few feet ofthe river’s bank. A few leaky boats drawn upon the mud, and made fast to the dwarf wallwhich skirted it, and here and there an oar orcoil of rope, appeared at first to indicate thatthe inhabitants of these miserable cottages pursuedsome avocation on the river; but a glanceat the shattered and useless condition of thearticles thus displayed would have led a passerbywithout much difficulty to the conjecturethat they were disposed there, rather for thepreservation of appearances than with any viewto their being actually employed.
In the heart of this cluster of huts, and skirtingthe river, which its upper stories overhung,stood a la