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brought to that pass which will enable a gentleman to eat his own
head in the event of his being go disposed； Mr。 Grimwig’s head
was such a particularly large one； that the most sanguine man
alive could hardly entertain a hope of being able to get through it
at a sitting—to put entirely out of the question； a very thick
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coating of powder。
“I’ll eat my head； sir；” repeated Mr。 Grimwig； striking his stick
upon the ground。 “Hallo！ what’s that！” looking at Oliver； and
retreating a pace or two。
“This is young Oliver Twist； whom we were speaking； about；”
said Mr。 Brownlow。
Oliver bowed。
“You don’t mean to say that’s the boy who had the fever； I
hope？” said Mr。 Grimwig； recoiling a little more。 “Wait a minute！
Don’t speak！ Stop” continued Mr。 Grimwig； abruptly； losing all
dread of the fever in his triumph at the discovery； “that’s the boy
who had the orange！ If that’s not the boy； sir； who had the orange；
and threw this bit of peel upon the staircase； I’ll eat my head； and
his too。”
“No； no； he has not had one；” said Mr。 Brownlow； laughing。
“Come！ Put down your hat； and speak to my young friend。”
“I feel strongly on this subject； sir；” said the irritable old
gentleman； drawing off his gloves。 “There’s always more or less
orange…peel on the pavement in our street； and I know it’s put
there by the surgeon’s boy at the corner。 A young woman
stumbled over a bit last night； and fell against my garden railings；
directly she got up I saw her look towards his infernal red lamp
with the pantomime…light。 ‘Don’t go to him；’ I called out of the
window； ‘he’s an assassin！ A mantrap！’ So he is。 If he is not—”
Here the irascible old gentleman gave a great knock on the ground
with his stick； which was always understood； by his friend； to
imply the customary offer； whenever it was not expressed in
words。 Then； still keeping his stick in his hand； he sat down； and；
opening a double eyeglass； which he wore attached to a broad；
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black riband； took a view of Oliver； who； seeing that he was the
object of inspection； coloured； and bowed again。 “That’s the boy； is
it？” said Mr。 Grimwig； at length。
“That is the boy；” replied Mr。 Brownlow。
“How are you； boy？” said Mr。 Grimwig。
“A great deal better； thank you； sir；” replied Oliver。
Mr。 Brownlow； seeming to apprehend that his singular friend
was about to say something disagreeable； asked Oliver to step
downstairs and tell Mrs。 Bedwin they were ready for tea； which； as
he did not half like the visitor’s manner； he was very happy to do。
“He is a nice…looking boy； is he not？” inquired Mr。 Brownlow。
“I don’t know；” replied Mr。 Grimwig pettishly。
“Don’t know？”
“No。 I don’t know。 I never see any difference in boys。 I only
know two sorts of boys。 Mealy boys； and beef…faced boys。”
“And which is Oliver？”
“Mealy。 I know a friend who has a beef…faced boy； a fine boy；
they call him； with a round head； and red cheeks and glaring eyes；
a horrid boy； with a body and limbs that appear to be swelling out
of the seams of his blue clothes； with the voice of a pilot； and the
appetite of a wolf。 I know him！ The wretch！”
“Come；” said Mr。 Brownlow； “these are not the characteristics
of young Oliver Twist； so he needn’t excite your wrath。”
“They are not；” replied Mr。 Grimwig。 “He may have worse。”
Here； Mr。 Brownlow coughed impatiently； which appeared to
afford Mr。 Grimwig the most exquisite delight。
“He may have worse； I say；” repeated Mr。 Grimwig。 “Where
does he come from？ Who is he？ What is he？ He has had a fever。
What of that？ Fevers are not peculiar to good people； are they？
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Bad people have fevers sometimes； haven’t they； eh？ I knew a
man who was hung in Jamaica for murdering his master。 He had
had a fever six times； he wasn’t recommended to mercy on that
account。 Pooh！ nonsense！”
Now； the fact was； that in the inmost recesses of his own heart；
Mr。 Grimwig was strongly disposed to admit that Oliver’s
appearance and manner were unusually prepossessing； but he
had a strong appetite for contradiction； sharpened on this occasion
by the finding of the orange…peel； and； inwardly determining that
no man should dictate to him whether a boy was well…looking or
not； he had resolved； from the first； to oppose his friend。 When Mr。
Brownlow admitted that on no one point of inquiry could he yet
return a satisfactory answer； and that he had postponed any
investigation into Oliver’s previous history until he thought the
boy was strong enough to bear it； Mr。 Grimwig chuckled
maliciously。 And he demanded； with a sneer； whether the
housekeeper was in the habit of counting the plate at night；
because； if she didn’t find a table…spoon or two missing some
sunshiny morning； why； he would be content to—and so forth。
All this； Mr。 Brownlow； although himself somewhat of an
impetuous gentleman； knowing his friend’s peculiarities； bore with
great good…humour； as Mr。 Grimwig； at tea； was graciously pleased
to express his entire approval of the muffins； matters went on very
smoothly； and Oliver； who made one of the party； began to feel
more at his ease than he had yet done in the fierce old gentleman’s
presence。
“And when are you going to hear a full； true； and particular
account of the life and adventures of Oliver Twist？” asked Mr。
Grimwig of Mr。 Brownlow； at the conclusion of the meal； looking
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sideways at Oliver； as he resumed the subject。
“Tomorrow morning；” replied Mr。 Brownlow。 “I would rather
he was alone with me at the time。 Come up to me tomorrow
morning at ten o’clock； my dear。”
“Yes； sir；” replied Oliver。 He answered with some hesitation
because he was confused by Mr。 Grimwig’s looking so hard at
hum。
“I’ll tell you what；” whispered that gentleman to Mr。 Brownlow；
“he won’t come up to you tomorrow morning。 I saw him hesitate。
He is deceiving you； my good friend。”
“I’ll swear he is not；” replied Mr。 Brownlow warmly。
“If he is not；” said Mr。 Grimwig； “I’ll—” and down went the
stick。
“I’ll answer for that boy’s truth with my life！” said Mr。
Brownlow； knocking the table。
“And I for his falsehood with my head！” rejoined Mr。 Grimwig；
knocking the table also。
“We shall see；” said Mr。 Brownlow； checking his rising anger。
“We will；” replied Mr。 Grimwig； with a provoking smile； “we
will。”
As fate would have it； Mrs。 Bedwin chanced to bring in； at this
moment； a small parcel of books； which Mr。 Brownlow had that
morning purchased of the identical book…stall keeper； who has
already figured in this history； having laid them on the table； she
prepared to leave the room。 “Stop the boy； Mrs。 Bedwin！” said Mr。
Brownlow； “there is something to go back。”
“He has gone； sir；” replied Mrs。 Bedwin。
“Call after him；” said Mr。 Brownlow； “it’s particular。 He is a
poor man； and they are not paid for。 There are some books to be
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taken back； too。”
The street door was opened。 Oliver ran one way； and the girl
ran another； and Mr。 Bedwin stood on the step and screamed for
the boy； but there was no boy in sight。 Oliver and the girl returned
in a breathless state； to report that there were no tidings of him。
“Dear me； I am very sorry for that；” exclaimed Mr。 Brownlow；
“I particularly wished those books to be returned tonight。”
“Send Oliver with them；” said Mr。 Grimwig； with an ironical
smile； “he will be sure to deliver them safely； you know。
“Yes； do let me take them； if you please； sir；” said Oliver。 “I’ll
run all the way； sir。”
The old gentleman was just going to say that Oliver should not
go out on any account； when a most malicious cough from Mr。
Grimwig determined him that he should； and that； by his prompt
discharge of the commission； he should prove to him the injustice
of his suspicions—on this head at least—at once。
“You shall go； my dear；” said the old gentleman。 “The books are
on a chair by my table。 Fetch them down。”
Oliver； delighted to be of use； brought down the books under
his arm in a great bustle； and waited； cap in hand； to hear what
message he was to take。
“You are to say；” said Mr。 Brownlow； glancing steadily at
Grimwig； “you are to say that you have brought those books back；
and that you have come to pay the four pound ten I owe him。 This
is a five…pound note so you will have to bring me back ten shillings
change。”
“I won’t be ten minutes； sir；” replied Oliver eagerly。 Having
buttoned up the bank…note in his jacket pocket； and placed the
books carefully under his arm； he made a respectful bow； and left
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the room。 Mrs。 Bedwin followed him to the street door； givi