as he was, he was desperate with hunger, and reckless with misery. He rose
and advancing to the master, basin and spoon in hand, said, somewhat
alarmed at his own temerity:

"Please, sir, I want some more!"

The master was a fat, healthy man; but he turned very pale. He gazed in
stupified astonishment on the small rebel for some seconds, and then clung
for support to the copper. The assistants were paralysed with wonder; the
boys with fear.

"What?" said the master at length, in a faint voice.

"Please, sir," replied Oliver, "I want some more."

The master aimed a blow at Oliver's head with the ladle; pinioned him in
his arms; and shrieked for the beadle, and when that gentleman appeared,
an animated discussion took place. Oliver was ordered into instant
confinement; and a bill was next morning pasted on the outside of the
gate, offering a reward of five pounds to any body who would take Oliver
Twist off the hands of the parish. In other words, five pounds, and Oliver
Twist were offered to any man or woman who wanted an apprentice to any
trade, business, or calling.

Mr. Sowerberry, the parish undertaker, finally applied for the prize, and
carried Oliver away with him, which, for the poor boy, was a matter of
falling from the frying pan into the fire, and in his short career as
undertaker's assistant he even sighed for the workhouse,--miserable as his
life there had been. At the undertaker's, Oliver's bed was in the shop.
The atmosphere seemed tainted with the smell of coffins. The recess behind