resynchronised by CODYBOSS1969
For what we are about to receive may the Lord make us thankful.
Amen.
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?
- 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.
- 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,
or else she'd have been doing hard labor in Bridewell.
Or transported or hung, which is more likely than either, isn't it?
Stop it! Sorry! Help!
Help me!
- Noah! - Charlotte! Help! Charlotte!
No, no! Help!
Oliver!
Help! Aaah!
- The coal hole! - No!
Yes! Get him in!
You little villain, you. I'll kill you!
So long!
Oh! Noah!
Yes, ma'am?
Fetch the beadle.
Well, ma'am!
Where is this audacious young savage?
Let me out! Let me out!
- Oliver. - Yes?
Do you know this here voice, sir?
Yes!
Ain't you afraid of it, sir?
Ain't you a-trembling while I speak, sir?
No!
Let me out! Let me out! Let...
The boy must be mad!
It's not madness, ma'am. It's meat.
- Let me out! Let me out! - What?
Meat, ma'am. If you'd kept the boy on gruel,
this would never have happened.
What's the meaning of this?
Young Twist has turned vicious, sir.
- Tried to murder me, sir. - He nearly killed the missus!
- You're a nice young fellow, ain't ya?
- He said things about my mother.
- By all accounts, she deserved them! - That's a lie!
Don't spare him, now. Don't spare him.
Get up to bed.
He comes from a bad family, sir.
Excitable natures, Mrs. Sowerberry.
That mother of his made her way here against difficulties and pain...
that would have killed any well-disposed woman weeks before.
My parochial apologies, sir.
Twenty guineas, sir!
Twenty guineas. Did I hear twenty-two. Twenty-two guineas, sir.
And it stands at 22! Time is running out, gentlemen!
- Stayin' in London? - Yes.
- Got any lodgings? - No.
- Money? - No.
- Hungry? - Yes.
Follow me.
Come here!
- Who's travelin'? - A new pal.
Come in.
Wait 'ere.
Do you want 'im?
Come on in.
'Ere he is, Fagin. My friend Oliver Twist.
Very glad to see you, Oliver. Very. Aren't we, my dears?
- Yes! - How far have you come?
I've been walking for seven days.
- Walking for seven days? - Beak's order, eh?
Do you know what the beak is, my dear?
A bird's mouth, sir.
Sit down, all of you!
A beak is a magistrate, my dear.
Dodger, take out the sausages.
Sit down, Oliver.
There're a great many of them, ain't there, my dear?
- Yes, sir. - We just looked them out for the wash.
I hope you've been at work, Dodger.
I 'ave.
Good boy. Good boy.
And free wipes.
Ingenious worker, ain't he, Oliver?
Very indeed, sir.
You'd like to make pocket handkerchiefs...
as easily as the Artful Dodger, wouldn't you, my dear?
- Yes, if you teach me, sir. - We will, my dear, we will.
To work. Terry, Fred.
Sit down.
Charlie, Dodger.
Oliver.
Clever dogs. Clever dogs.
Never blowed on old Fagin.
Why are you awake? Speak up, boy, quick!
I couldn't sleep any longer, sir.
- What have you seen? - Nothing, sir.
You were not awake an hour ago?
No, no indeed, sir.
- Are you sure? - Yes, sir.
Tsk, tsk, my dear.
I only tried to frighten you.
Did you see any of those pretty things, dear?
Yes, sir.
They're, uh, they're mine, Oliver...
all I have to live on in my old age.
They call me a miser.
May I get up now, sir?
Certainly, dear. Certainly.
They've gone to work, Oliver. Make 'em your models.
Do everything they bid you do. Take their advice in all things.
Especially the Artful Dodger's.
He'll be a great man himself one day and will make you one too.
Is my handkerchief hanging out of my pocket, dear?
Yes, sir.
See if you can take it without my feeling it.
- Is it gone? - Yes, here it is.
Ah, you clever boy. Here's a shilling for you.
Oh, thank you, sir.
If you go on this way, you'll be the greatest man of the time.
He'll do.
Stop, thief!
Stop, thief! Stop, thief!
Stop, thief! Stop, thief! Stop!
Stop, thief!
- Stop, thief! - Thief! Thief!
Give him some air.
He don't deserve it.
- Is this the boy, sir? - Yes, I'm afraid it is.
Afraid? That's a good 'un.
Poor little fellow. He's hurt himself.
I did that, sir. I stopped him.
I cut my knuckles against his mouth.
Come on, get up!
Make way there! Make way!
- Come on! - Don't hurt him, officer.
Oh, no, I won't. Come on, you devil.
Hold the noise! Do you wanna get grabbed?
I can't help it. I can't help it.
What'll Fagin say?
Where's Oliver?
Where's the boy?
What's become of the boy?
Speak or I'll throttle you!
Let go of me!
The traps have got him, and that's all about it.
What's it all about, Fagin?
It's lucky the pot didn't hit me, or I might have settled someone.
Come in, Mr. Sikes. Come in.
None of your mister-ing. You know my name.
Come in, you sneakin' cur. What're you hangin' about there for?
Go on, get in, will ya?
Will you take a drink, Bill?
See ya don't poison it, neither.
Here. What's he been up to?
Ill-treatin' the boys again, eh? You avaricious offense.
- You seem out of humor, Bill. - Yeah, maybe I am.
And you seem kind of out of sorts too. What's in the wind, Fagin?
It's the new boy. The traps have got him.
What of it?
He may say something that'll get us into trouble.
That's very likely. You're blowed upon, Fagin.
I'm afraid, you see, if the game was up with us,
it might be up with a good many more.
It would come out rather worse for you than it would for me.
Wouldn't it, my dear?
Oh, dear.
Somebody ought to go and find out what's going on at the police court.
Somebody ought to go there, Fagin!
Go on.
Charlie.
- And about time too. - Ah, Nancy.
- The very thing. She's a clever girl. - Here's to her.
- Nancy will go, won't you, my dear? - Wheres?
Only just to the police court, my dear. What do you say?
That it won't do, Fagin, so it's no use you tryin' it on.
- What do you mean by that? - Well, what'd I say, Bill?
You're the only one for it. No one around here knows anything about you.
And as I don't want 'em to neither, it's rather more no than yes with me, Bill.
-----
She'll go, Fagin.
Oh, no, she won't, Fagin.
Oh, yes, she will, Fagin.
Yes?
Is there a little boy here?
- Who are you? - His sister
You'll have to wait. The case is on now.
Now, what is the charge against this boy?
Stealing a handkerchief, Your Worship.
- I'd rather not press the case. - Hold your tongue, sir!
- Are there any witnesses? - None, Your Worship.
What is your name?
He's been hurt, and I fear... I really fear he's very ill.
Oh, yes, I dare say.
Come now. None of your tricks here, you young vagabond.
What is your name?
What's your name?
Hmm?
He says his name's Tom White, Your Worship.
Very well. Where does he live?
Where do you live?
Where he can, Your Worship.
Please, sir, could I have some water?
Stop the nonsense! Don't try to make a fool of me!
I'm afraid he really is ill, Your Worship.
I know better. Take care. He's going to fall.
Stand away! Let him if he likes.
How do you propose to deal with the case, sir?
Quiet! What's this? Who is this?
I keep the bookstore. I saw it all. It was another boy.
Why didn't you come before?
Couldn't get a soul to mind the shop.
Swear the man.
They bring him out of the court fainted.
He gets in a carriage with this gentleman, and they drive off.
He'll blow on us, Fagin, for certain!
That's the boy, is it?
That's the boy.
Nice-looking boy, isn't he?
I don't know. I only know two sorts of boys:
mealy boys and beef-faced boys.
And which is he?
Mealy.
Shhh.
Good night, Mrs. Bedwin.
Good night, sir.
Is Bedwin in the habit of counting the plate at night?
Because if she doesn't find a tablespoon or two missing one sunny morning,
I'll be content to eat my head, sir.
Your move.
Where does he come from? Who is he? What is he?
If that boy doesn't deceive you, my good friend,
I'll eat my head and yours too.
- We shall see. - We will. We will.
- Where am I? - Hush, my dear.
You must be very quiet, or you'll be ill again.
You've been very bad. Lie down again. That's it.
There.
Don't mind me, my dear.
It's all over now.
I'm rather hoarse this morning, Bedwin.
I'm afraid I've got a cold.
- Now, how do you feel, my dear? - Very happy, sir.
Good. Have you given him any nourishment, Bedwin?
He's going to have a basin of beautiful, strong broth, sir.
Mm-hmm. A couple of glasses of port wine would do him far more good.
- Wouldn't they, Tom White? - My name's Oliver, sir.
Oliver? Oliver White, hmm?
No, sir. Twist. Oliver Twist.
Hmm, that's a queer name.
What made you tell the magistrate your name was White?
I never told him, sir.
Some mistake. Some mistake, hmm?
Ah, have your broth, young man.
We must get you strong again.
As soon as you're well enough, we must have a little chat.
Oh, thank you very much, sir.
Fool, bungler, liar.
I paid you good money to make an end to the business.
One sniveling boy... and you have to lose him!
I'm worse off now than if I'd never set eyes on you...
and farther still from what should be mine.
What do I get? My money back?
No, no, my dear, not that. I'll give you hope.
Do you know the workhouse where the boy was born?
Of course. I traced him from there.
Then you must go back, my dear. You must go back. Listen.
Tomorrow, two months it was done.
It seems an age.
Are you gonna sit there snoring all day?
I shall sit here as long as I think proper, ma'am.
And though I was not snoring,
I shall snore, gape, sneeze, laugh or cry...
as the humor strikes me, such being my prerogative.
- Your prerogative. - I said the word, ma'am.
The prerogative of a man is to command.
And what's the prerogative of a woman, in the name of goodness?
- To obey, ma'am, - Huh!
as your late, unfortunate husband should have taught you.
And then, perhaps, he might have been alive now.
I wish he were, poor man.