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'It's not of him I want to hear; I've heard enough of him, said the stranger, stopping Mr. Bumble in the outset of a tirade on the subject of poor Oliver's vices. 'It's of a woman; the hag that nursed his mother. Where is she? 'Where is she? said Mr. Bumble, whom the gin-and-water had rendered facetious. 'It would be hard to tell.
Bumble; to London he would trudge. II. The Artful Dodger It was on the seventh morning after he had left his native place that Oliver limped slowly into the town of Barnet. Tired and hungry he sat down on a doorstep, and presently was roused by the question "Hallo, my covey, what's the row?"
Anyone could see that Joseph Bumble was more than welcome. Chirpy Cricket and Daddy Longlegs as well good many others rushed up to him and told him how pleased they were to see him. And Joseph Bumble was having a very agreeable time talking in a loud voice about himself and his family when he suddenly stopped short. A look of displeasure crossed his face.
Bumble, moving his chair by little and little, soon began to diminish the distance between himself and the matron; and, continuing to travel round the outer edge of the circle, brought his chair, in time, close to that in which the matron was seated. Indeed, the two chairs touched; and when they did so, Mr. Bumble stopped.
Bumble emerged at early morning from the workhouse-gate, and walked with portly carriage and commanding steps, up the High Street. He was in the full bloom and pride of beadlehood; his cocked hat and coat were dazzling in the morning sun; he clutched his cane with the vigorous tenacity of health and power. Mr. Bumble always carried his head high; but this morning it was higher than usual.
Oh, dear, no: on sunny days in early English spring, when the thermometer doesn't rise above freezing in the shade, you will see both the honey-bees and the great black bumble as busy as their conventional character demands of them among the golden cups of the first timid crocuses.
And she noticed one peculiar thing: Although he talked continually of his cousin Buster Bumblebee, the Queen's son, no one had ever seen the two together. "How does it happen," she asked Joseph at last, "that I never find you with your cousin? Aren't you friends?" "We're certainly not enemies," said Joseph Bumble, "though I must admit that we're not quite so intimate as we might be.
"Oh, you can't hurt them," said Bob; "see, pick 'em up this way," and he grasped one by the back of its neck and held it sprawling in the air. "No, hold one this way," said Bumble, cuddling a little ball of fur in the palm of her hand. "But, mumsey, I'm awful hungry; aren't we going to have any dinner? Where's Hopalong?" "She's gone on the excursion, my dear.
'It's a long time, said Mr. Bumble. 'Very good. I've done it. 'The scene, the workhouse. 'Good! 'And the time, night. 'Yes. 'And the place, the crazy hole, wherever it was, in which miserable drabs brought forth the life and health so often denied to themselves gave birth to puling children for the parish to rear; and hid their shame, rot 'em in the grave!
They don't seem to hesitate to tell me what to bring and what not to bring them. But I'm sure of one thing! Bumble Barlow won't be so fussy particular; she'll take whatever I bring and be thankful." "So will I," said Nan, laughing; "anything no one else wants, Patty, you may give it to me."
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