Oliver Twist

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?

- 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.

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