Oliver Twist. Volume 2 of 3

“Certainly, my dear, certainly,” rejoined Mr. Bumble, making a quicker motion towards the door. “I didn’t intend to – I’m going, my dear – you are so very violent, that really I – ”

At this instant, Mrs. Bumble stepped hastily forward to replace the carpet, which had been kicked up in the scuffle; and Mr. Bumble immediately darted out of the room, without bestowing another thought on his unfinished sentence, leaving the late Mrs. Corney in full possession of the field.

Mr. Bumble was fairly taken by surprise, and fairly beaten. He had a decided bullying propensity, derived no inconsiderable pleasure from the exercise of petty cruelty, and, consequently, was (it is needless to say) a coward. This is by no means a disparagement to his character; for many official personages, who are held in high respect and admiration, are the victims of similar infirmities. The remark is made, indeed, rather in his favour than otherwise, and with the view of impressing the reader with a just sense of his qualifications for office.

But the measure of his degradation was not yet full. After making a tour of the house, and thinking, for the first time, that the poor-laws really were too hard upon people, and that men who ran away from their wives, leaving them chargeable to the parish, ought, in justice, to be visited with no punishment at all, but rather rewarded as meritorious individuals who had suffered much, Mr. Bumble came to a room where some of the female paupers were usually employed in washing the parish linen, and whence the sound of voices in conversation now proceeded.

“Hem!” said Mr. Bumble, summoning up all his native dignity “These women at least shall continue to respect the prorogative. Hallo! hallo there! – what do you mean by this noise, you hussies?”

With these words, Mr. Bumble opened the door, and walked in with a very fierce and angry manner, which was at once exchanged for a most humiliated and cowering air, as his eyes unexpectedly rested on the form of his lady wife.

“My dear,” said Mr. Bumble, “I didn’t know you were here.”

“Didn’t know I was here!” repeated Mrs. Bumble. “What do you do here?”

“I thought they were talking rather too much to be doing their work properly, my dear,” replied Mr. Bumble, glancing distractedly at a couple of old women at the washtub, who were comparing notes of admiration at the workhouse-master’s humility.