3 Running away

Chapter 3 Running away As Oliver crouched in the cellar, Mr. Bumble was nailing an advertisement to the workhouse door.

The next day, Mr. Bumble dragged Oliver from the cellar. "There are two men coming to see you," he said, "so make sure you behave." Oliver watched as the first man pulled up outside the door, in a donkey cart laden with soot. "Whoah!" he shouted, hitting the donkey on the head with a great thump from his whip. "Mr. Gamfield," said Mr. Bumble, stepping out to greet him.

Mr. Gamfield stared at Oliver. "He's a very small boy. But I need an apprentice to climb chimneys and sweep out soot. Some of the chimneys are narrow and twisting. This brat will fit nicely." "Please don't make me go," cried Oliver. "I won't go with him! I won't!" "Don't be so insolent," said Mr. Bumble. "I've heard about chimney sweeps." Oliver said. "You can die up a chimney. They light a fire to make you hurry down, and you get smothered in the smoke." "Nonsense!" said Mr. Gamfield. "I just gets a nice crackling blaze going and the boys come down quicker than anything."

"Then I'll frizzle in flames. I'm not going," replied Oliver firmly. Mr. Gamfield clambered back into his donkey cart. "I don't want a rebellious boy. You've spoiled him, Mr. Bumble." With that, he whipped the donkey until it trotted away. Mr. Bumble shook Oliver until his teeth rattled. "Keep your mouth shut or no one will want you," he bellowed. "You've ruined that chance. Don't ruin the next. Look! Here it comes now." He pointed to a thin, spidery man coming up to the door. The man had a gloomy air. "I am Mr. Sowerberry," he introduced himself. "I arrange funerals and I need help." He looked at Oliver closely. "This boy will do, but he's so thin, he's not worth five pounds. I'll give you three pounds for him. Take it or leave it."

Mr. Bumble was disgusted, but there was nothing he could do. He was eager to see the last of Oliver. "Glad you're going, Oliver. Behave, or else..." he threatened. Back at his shop, Mr. Sowerberry showed Oliver a dusty basement. A dim light filtered in, through a grimy pane of glass barred with rusty iron rails. "You'll sleep here, you little bag of bones," he said.

Oliver looked around the shadowy room. It was stacked with empty coffins and planks of wood. Drapes of black cloth hung from hooks in the walls, billowing occasionally in the breeze, as though first they breathed... and then were lifeless. The only place to sleep- a recess behind the coffins where a thin mattress was thrust- looked like a grave. "And this is Noah, my apprentice," Mr. Sowerberry went on, taking him to the kitchen. "Noah, give Oliver his supper." Noah looked cross. "What work is he going to do?" he asked, sulkily.