(Mr. Bumble enters, pulling Oliver Twist by the ear. A group of children are already onstage. One part of the stage is darkened.)

MR. BUMBLE: So! You're finally of age, aren't you? Well, welcome to your new home, the workhouse. This is basically the opposite of welfare. We work you like a slave and we might feed you if we feel nice. Got it, boy?

(Everything Oliver says is extremely polite and gentlemanly in his speech unless noted otherwise.)

OLIVER: Yes, sir.

MR. BUMBLE: Good.

(Mr. Bumble releases Oliver and walks off.)

OLIVER: (To children.) Hello, my name's Oliver Twist. What are you doing?

CHILD 1: Planning. We're sick of eating nothing but potato peels and rotten olives!

(He holds up a can of olives.)

CHILD 1: We're trying to decide what to do about it.

CHILD 2: I think we should hold a full blown rebellion! Burn down the factories! Blackmail! Boston tea party!

CHILD 1: You don't even know what those things mean.

OLIVER: Or we could just ask for some more food.

(All of the children except Oliver laugh.)

OLIVER: What's so funny? I'm sure if we ask nicely-

(Harder laughing.)

CHILD 1: If you think you can ask Mr. Bumble Bee over there for some extra crumbs, go ahead, but don't come crying to us when he pulls your hair out!

(Children laugh again. Oliver shrugs and goes to Mr. Bumble.)

OLIVER: Excuse me, sir, but could I have some more food? The potato peels aren't quite filling, and we all hate olives, especially me.

(Silence. Mr. Bumble looks at Oliver like he's Hitler.)

MR. BUMBLE: What did he say?

OLIVER: I'm sorry I wasn't loud enough, sir. I said-

MR. BUMBLE: (Hits Oliver on the head with his cane.) Silence, boy! I heard you! Sinful mocker of all that is good, did your parents ever teach you manners?!

OLIVER: Well, sir, my mother died when I was young and-

MR. BUMBLE: Don't interrupt me, boy! That's it! You'll be an apprentice. I refuse to care for ungrateful little worms like you.

(The children exit. Mr. Sowerberry and Noah enter.)

MR. SOWBERRY: Is this the boy?

MR. BUMBLE: Yes, take him, please.

MR. SOWBERRY: Well, here's the money. (Hands Mr. Bumble some cash.) Come on Oliver. Let's go home.

(They walk. Noah kicks Oliver repeatedly as they walk together.)

OLIVER: May I be so presumptuous as to ask why you keep hitting me with your foot, my good man?

NOAH: Shut up!

OLIVER: Of course-

NOAH: You're ugly.

OLIVER: Now, I say, man, there is no reason to-

NOAH: And slow. I never seen a 'umber looking boy then you.

OLIVER: Good sir, you can't possibly say anything that will offend me. So please, do not waste your valuable time trying.

(Short silence.)

NOAH: You're mama's so fat I bet she killed the last horse she sat on.

(Oliver is clearly upset, but is still silent.)

NOAH: You're mama's so ugly-

OLIVER: (Savagely.) How dare you! You'll pay for that.

(He lunges at Noah while Oliver yells things such as "How dare you!" Mr. Sowerberry pulls him off.)

MR. SOWEBERRY: Already trying to kill my right hand! You can never trust orphans, always singing there little songs and flipping there curly, red hair. I'll make you sleep with the pigs and eat dirt tonight!

OLIVER: B-b-but-

MR. SOWBERRY: Never mind that! You ought to know better, Oliver.

OLIVER: I-I-

MR. SOWBERRY: Never mind the I's! You ought to have known better! Now come along, so you can get a beating at home. Now, that's a good incentive, if any, I say!

(Oliver throws up his hands and runs in an exit. Mr. Sowberry and Noah look at each other.)

MR. SOWBERRY: Well that was a wasted five pounds...

(They exit.)

(The Artful Dodger and Oliver enter from opposite sides of the stage, Oliver looking hungry and worn. The Dodger pretends to ignore him, then takes notice.)

DODGER: Well, well, well. What do we 'ave 'ere?

OLIVER: Hello, sir. Do you have any... Never mind. I really got it last time I asked about food...

DODGER: You need a place to stay kid? I got a good friend that has a place you could stay at.

OLIVER: Really?

DODGER: Sure! Now, come on!

(OLIVER and DODGER walk to the darkened part of the stage. It lights up to show Fagin in a rocking chair.)

FAGIN: Well, my dear, who is this?

DODGER: A friend. 'e needs a place to stay.

FAGIN: Well, he's at the right place. Come here, my dear.

OLIVER: I am so innocent and sweet, that I do not even notice your pointy teeth or creepy verbal tones or how calling me "my dear" is extremely disturbing in the audience's day and age.

FAGIN: That's what I thought. Now, Oliver, this here is a handkerchief factory.

(Dodger laughs Oliver looks left and right.)

OLIVER: It is?

FAGIN: Yes. Now go out there and let Dodger show you how to ste- I mean, make those handkerchiefs!

OLIVER: Of course, oh boy, oh boy, do I love work!

FAGIN: By the way, my dear, would you like some olives?

(He pulls a can of olives out of nowhere.)

OLIVER: No thank you sir.

FAGIN: Suit yourself.

(He puts the can of olives somewhere unseen again. The boys go to another part of the stage, and Fagin's part of the stage darkens again.)

(A man and Mr. Brownlow enter.)

(Dodger goes up to the one man, sneaks behind and takes out his handkerchief before handing it to Oliver. Mr. Brownlow sees this.)

OLIVER: (Loudly and innocently. The Dodger is clearly distressed.) I say! What did you do that for? Is he your relative? I thought we were making handkerchiefs! That one was already made! Is this a trick?

(He holds up the handkerchief. The man turns and sees it.)

MAN: Thief! Stop!

(Dodger exits in a run. The man catches Oliver.)

MAN: I'm turning you in! Thief! Why I ought to-

MR. BROWNLOW: Now, excuse me, sir, but this lad here is a victim of circumstance.

MAN: What do you mean?

MR. BROWNLOW: Another boy stole the handkerchief and put it in his hand. I saw it all.

MAN: Alright then, I believe you. Behave, young man, or the police will put you in jail for good!

(The man exits.)

MR. BROWNLOW: How would you like to come home with me, my boy?

OLIVER: Do you have olives?

MR. BROWNLOW: The only thing I those abominations for is target practice.

OLIVER: Well then, I'm happy to come.

(They enter the dark side of the stage. This time Fagin is gone, and there is a picture of a woman on the wall. It should highly resemble Oliver.)

OLIVER: Who is that?

MR. BROWNLOW: My son's missing wife, why do you ask?

OLIVER: She's so pretty.

MR. BROWNLOW: Wait a minute.

(Looks at Oliver. Looks at the painting. He does this twice more.)

MR. BROWNLOW: That's it! I just noticed something!

OLIVER: What?

MR. BROWNLOW: I forgot to take my books on art and family heredity back to the library.

(Pulls books from behind chair.)

MR. BROWNLOW: Take these back for me, will you boy?

OLIVER: Sure thing. Man, I hope I don't get kidnapped or something while I'm out!

(Oliver nears the exit. Nancy enters.)

NANCY: Oh, little brother!

OLIVER: Hello, ma'am. I don't believe I know you, but-

NANCY: I'm your big sister.

OLIVER: I don't think-

NANCY: Aw, I'm done with the nice act! Come here, child!

(She lifts Oliver, who is still holding the books and exits with him. As they exit, we hear Oliver.)

OLIVER: Now, my dear lady, I don't think this is the way to-

MR. BROWNLOW: Man, this skit is dragging out way to long... Dickens just has to make every blink of the eye essential in his novels, doesn't he?

OLIVER: (Offstage.) Sure does. Say, he sounds like a nice guy.

MR. BROWNLOW: That's only because you haven't read Great Expectations without knowing the plot twist. That is torture. Anyway, how about we make this a two act skit?

OLIVER: (Offstage.) Fine with me!

FAGIN: (Offstage.) Are we getting paid extra?

MR. BUMBLE: (Offstage.) That is allowed, right?

NOAH: (Offstage.) Shut up

MR. BROWNLOW: Be back soon for All In a Twist... Act II!