"And notwithstanding a offered reward of ten pound, which was afterwards increased to twenty pound; notwithstanding the most superlative, and, I may say, supernat'ral exertions on the part of this parish," said Bumble, "we have never been able to discover who is his father, or what was his mother's settlement, name, or con-dition."
Mrs. Mann raised her hands in astonishment; but added, after a moment's reflection, "How comes he to have any name at all, then?"
The beadle drew himself up with great pride, and said, "I inwented it."
"You, Mr. Bumble!"
"I, Mrs. Mann. We name our foundlings in alphabetical order. The last was a S,—Swubble, I named him. This was a T,—Twist I named him. The next one as comes will be Unwin, and the next Vilkins. I have got names ready made to the end of the alphabet, and all the way through it again, when we come to Z."
"Why, you're quite a literary character, sir!" said Mrs. Mann.
"Well, well," said the beadle, evidently gratified with the compliment; "perhaps I may be. But the boy Oliver being now too old to remain here, the Board have determined to have him back into the house. I have come out myself to take him there. So let me see him at once."
"I'll fetch him directly," said Mrs. Mann, leaving the room for that purpose. And so Oliver, having had as much of the outer coat of dirt which encrusted his face and hands removed as could be scrubbed off in one washing, was presently led into the room.
"Make a bow to the gentleman, Oliver," said Mrs. Mann.
Oliver made a bow, which was divided between the beadle on the chair and the cocked hat on the table.