Oliver Twist

It's all over, Mrs. Thingummy.

The old story. No wedding ring, I see.

Good night.

Pray come in, sir.

Thank you, ma'am.

- May I? - Thank you, ma'am.

- Thank you, sir. - Ahhh.

This is indeed a pleasure, sir.

Now, you mustn't be faint at what I'm going to say.

You've had a long walk, or I wouldn't mention it.

Will you take a little drop of something, Mr. Bumble?

- Not a drop. - Just a little drop...

with a little hot water and a lump of sugar.

- What is it? - I'll not deceive you, Mr. B.

It's gin.

I'm obliged to keep a little in the 'ouse...

to put in the infants' daffy when they ain't well.

You're a very humane woman, Mrs. Corney.

I shall take an early opportunity of mentioning it to the Board, Mrs. Corney.

Thank you, sir.

I drink to your health with cheerfulness, Mrs. Corney.

We are forgetting business, ma'am.

The child that was half baptized Oliver Twist is nine year old today.

He's the worst disposed boy I ever did see.

Small wonder. We've never been able to discover his parentage.

- How come that he has a name, then? - I invented it.

- You, Mr. Bumble? - I, Mrs. Corney.

I name all our foundlings in alphabetical order.

The last was an "S." "Swabble" I named him.

This was a "T." "Twist" I named him.

Why, you're quite a literary character, sir.

Well, well, perhaps I may be, Mrs. Corney.

Perhaps I may be.

Now, let me see the boy.

Twist!

Come here!

Make a bow to the gentleman.

You're to come along with me, boy. You're to be presented to the Board.

Gentlemen, it is my considered opinion...

that our charity is being presumed upon.

- Here, here. - Here, here.

This workhouse has become a place of entertainment for the poorer classes.

Gentlemen, it is our duty to set this to rights.

- We'll stop it in no time. - Here, here.

Come in.

Case number six.

Bow to the Board.

What's your name, boy?

Oliver. Oliver Twist, sir.

Do you know it's your birthday?

- No, sir. - Boy's a fool.

Boy, listen to me. You know you're an orphan.

What is that, sir?

- Boy's a fool. I thought he was. - Hush.

You know you've got no father or mother and were brought up by the parish.

- Don't you? - Yes, sir.

I hope you say your prayers every night.

Yes, sir.

And pray for the people who feed you and take care of you.

Yes, sir.

Well, you're going to be educated and taught a useful trade.

You'll begin to pick oakum tomorrow morning at 6:00.

For this abounding provision, O Lord, we thank thee.

Amen.

Please, sir, I want some more.

- What? - What?

- What? - Asked for more?

- Ah, good morning, Mr. Bumble, sir. - Good morning.

I've just taken the measure of the two women that died last night.

Coffins are looking up, Mr. Sowerberry.

Ah, thank you.

You'll make your fortune, Mr. Sowerberry.

The prices allowed by the Board are very small, Mr. Bumble.

So are the coffins.

Well, well, Mr. Bumble, there's no denying that.

- But we must have some profit. - Oh, is that so?

By the way, you don't know of anybody who wants a boy, do you?

A parochial apprentice. Liberal terms, Mr. Sowerberry.

Liberal terms.

I'll take him.

- Oliver. - Yes, sir?

Pull that cap off your eye.

And hold your head up some.

Be good enough to tell Mr. Sowerberry that the beadle is here.

Oh, please do come in, sir.

Is that you, Mr. Bumble?

No one else, Mr. Sowerberry.

Here, I brought the boy.

Ah.

- So this is the boy, is it? - Yes, sir.

Who's that?

My dear, this is the boy from the workhouse I told you of.

He's very small.

He is rather small, ma'am.

He is small, there's no denying it.

But he'll grow, Mrs. Sowerberry.

I dare say he will, on our food and our drink.

There, get downstairs, little bag of bones.

Charlotte!

Yes, ma'am?

Give the boy some of the cold bits put by for Trip.

Yes, ma'am.

I suppose you're the new boy, ain't ya?

Yes, sir.

- There you are. - Oh, thank you, ma'am.

On the box, Workhouse. On the box.

Workhouse, do you know who I am?

No, sir.

I'm Mr. Noah Claypole.

And you're under me, so don't you forget it.

No, sir.

- Are you done? - Yes, ma'am.

Then come with me. Come on. Get up.

Your bed's under the counter.

- You don't mind, I suppose? - No, ma'am.

Doesn't much matter whether you do or you don't,

for you can't sleep anywhere else.

Here. Take this.

Get in here.

A very good-looking boy, that, my dear.

He need be. He eats enough.

There's an expression of melancholy in his face, my dear,

which is very interesting.

- Well? - He'd make a delightful mute, my love.

I don't mean a regular mute to attend grown-up people, my dear,

but only for children's practice.

Depend upon it. It would have a most superb effect.

Do you want a coffin? I'll fetch the missus.

No. No, no.

I want to see the boy.

Who? Workhouse? He's on the job.

Who are you?

I knew his mother.

Nursed her when she died.

Died in the workhouse, eh?

I haven't got much time.

I've got to see him.

Missus! Charlotte! Missus!

Come in.

How is she this evening?

She hasn't much strength left in her.

She's troubled in her mind.

And when the fits aren't on... and that's not often...

she keeps saying she's got something to tell.

She wants to see the matron.

You'd better fetch her.

Come in.

Yes?

If you please, mistress, old Sally's a-going fast.

Well, what's that to me? I can't keep her alive, can I?

She says she's got something to tell that you must hear.

She'll never die quiet until you come, mistress.

- Did she say any more, Martha dear? - Not a word.

- Cold night, Mrs. Corney. - Very cold indeed, sir.

If you have to wait long, I shall be surprised.

Put the light on the floor. She won't see it there.

- Good night, sir. - Good night.

It won't be long, mistress. None of us have to wait long.

It'll come soon enough for us all.

- Who's that? - Hush, hush.

- Who's that? - Lie down, dear. Lie down.

Come here.

Come here.

- Listen. - Yes?

In this very room, in this very bed...

I once nursed a pretty, young creature.

She gave birth to a boy and died.

Go on. Yes?

They would have treated him better if they'd have known it all.

Known what?

Let me think. It was the year...

Never mind about the year. What about him?

Aye, what about him?

What about...

I know. Uh...

- Turn them away. - Mrs. Annie, dear.

- Make haste. Make haste. - Get out! Go on! Get out! Hurry!

Get out!

Right. Go on.

What?

- Stone dead. - What was it, mistress?

Nothing. Nothing to tell after all. Nothing.

Come up and sit by the fire, Noah dear.

Oliver, shut that door behind Mr. Noah's back.

I saved a nice bit of bacon from the master's breakfast for you, Noah dear.

Oliver, here's your tea, and take them bits.

And make haste, 'cause they want you to mind shop.

- D'you hear? - D'you hear, Workhouse?

Workhouse, how's your mother?

- She's dead. - What'd she die of, Workhouse?

They said she died of a broken heart.

What set you a-sniveling?

- Not you. - Oh, not me, eh?

No, not you. You'd better stop saying things about my mother.

"Better stop." Workhouse, don't be impudent.

You know, Workhouse,

your mother must have been a regular, right-down bad 'un.

What did you say?

A regular, right-down bad 'un, Workhouse.

And it's a great deal better, Workhouse, that she died when she did,