Oliver Twist
partition, listened attentively: with a subtle and eager look upon his
face, that might have appertained to some old goblin.
“So I mean to be a gentleman,” said Mr. Claypole, kicking out his legs,
and continuing a conversation, the commencement of which Fagin had
arrived too late to hear. “No more jolly old coffins, Charlotte, but a
gentleman’s life for me: and, if yer like, yer shall be a lady.”
“I should like that well enough, dear,” replied Charlotte; “but tills
ain’t to be emptied every day, and people to get clear off after it.”
“Tills be blowed!” said Mr. Claypole; “there’s more things besides
tills to be emptied.”
“What do you mean?” asked his companion.
“Pockets, women’s ridicules, houses, mail-coaches, banks!” said Mr.
Claypole, rising with the porter.
“But you can’t do all that, dear,” said Charlotte.
“I shall look out to get into company with them as can,” replied Noah.
“They’ll be able to make us useful some way or another. Why, you
yourself are worth fifty women; I never see such a precious sly and
deceitful creetur as yer can be when I let yer.”
“Lor, how nice it is to hear yer say so!” exclaimed Charlotte,
imprinting a kiss upon his ugly face.
“There, that’ll do: don’t yer be too affectionate, in case I’m cross
with yer,” said Noah, disengaging himself with great gravity. “I should
like to be the captain of some band, and have the whopping of ’em, and
follering ’em about, unbeknown to themselves. That would suit me, if
there was good profit; and if we could only get in with some gentleman
of this sort, I say it would be cheap at that twenty-pound note you’ve
got,—especially as we don’t very well know how to get rid of it
ourselves.”
After expressing this opinion, Mr. Claypole looked into the porter-pot
with an aspect of deep wisdom; and having well shaken its contents,
nodded condescendingly to Charlotte, and took a draught, wherewith he
appeared greatly refreshed. He was meditating another, when the sudden
opening of the door, and the appearance of a stranger, interrupted him.
The stranger was Mr. Fagin. And very amiable he looked, and a very low
bow he made, as he advanced, and setting himself down at the nearest
table, ordered something to drink of the grinning Barney.
“A pleasant night, sir, but cool for the time of year,” said Fagin,
rubbing his hands. “From the country, I see, sir?”
“How do yer see that?” asked Noah Claypole.
“We have not so much dust as that in London,” replied Fagin, pointing
from Noah’s shoes to those of his companion, and from them to the two
bundles.
“Yer a sharp feller,” said Noah. “Ha! ha! only hear that, Charlotte!”
“Why, one need be sharp in this town, my dear,” replied the Jew,
sinking his voice to a confidential whisper; “and that’s the truth.”
Fagin followed up this remark by striking the side of his nose with his
right forefinger,—a gesture which Noah attempted to imitate, though not
with complete success, in consequence of his own nose not being large
enough for the purpose. However, Mr. Fagin seemed to interpret the
endeavour as expressing a perfect coincidence with his opinion, and put
about the liquor which Barney reappeared with, in a very friendly
manner.
“Good stuff that,” observed Mr. Claypole, smacking his lips.
“Dear!” said Fagin. “A man need be always emptying a till, or a pocket,
or a woman’s reticule, or a house, or a mail-coach, or a bank, if he
drinks it regularly.”
Mr. Claypole no sooner heard this extract from his own remarks than he
fell back in his chair, and looked from the Jew to Charlotte with a
countenance of ashy paleness and excessive terror.
“Don’t mind me, my dear,” said Fagin, drawing his chair closer. “Ha!
ha! it was lucky it was only me that heard you by chance. It was very
lucky it was only me.”
“I didn’t take it,” stammered Noah, no longer stretching out his legs
like an independent gentleman, but coiling them up as well as he could
under his chair; “it was all her doing; yer’ve got it now, Charlotte,
yer know yer have.”
“No matter who’s got it, or who did it, my dear,” replied Fagin,
glancing, nevertheless, with a hawk’s eye at the girl and the two
bundles. “I’m in that way myself, and I like you for it.”
“In what way?” asked Mr. Claypole, a little recovering.
“In that way of business,” rejoined Fagin; “and so are the people of
the house. You’ve hit the right nail upon the head, and are as safe
here as you could be. There is not a safer place in all this town than
is the Cripples; that is, when I like to make it so. And I have taken a
fancy to you and the young woman; so I’ve said the word, and you may
make your minds easy.”
Noah Claypole’s mind might have been at ease after this assurance, but
his body certainly was not; for he shuffled and writhed about, into
various uncouth positions: eyeing his new friend meanwhile with mingled
fear and suspicion.
“I’ll tell you more,” said Fagin, after he had reassured the girl, by
dint of friendly nods and muttered encouragements. “I have got a friend
that I think can gratify your darling wish, and put you in the right
way, where you can take whatever department of the business you think
will suit you best at first, and be taught all the others.”
“Yer speak as if yer were in earnest,” replied Noah.
“What advantage would it be to me to be anything else?” inquired Fagin,
shrugging his shoulders. “Here! Let me have a word with you outside.”
“There’s no occasion to trouble ourselves to move,” said Noah, getting
his legs by gradual degrees abroad again. “She’ll take the luggage
upstairs the while. Charlotte, see to them bundles.”
This mandate, which had been delivered with great majesty, was obeyed
without the slightest demur; and Charlotte made the best of her way off
with the packages while Noah held the door open and watched her out.
“She’s kept tolerably well under, ain’t she?” he asked as he resumed
his seat: in the tone of a keeper who had tamed some wild animal.
“Quite perfect,” rejoined Fagin, clapping him on the shoulder. “You’re
a genius, my dear.”
“Why, I suppose if I wasn’t, I shouldn’t be here,” replied Noah. “But,
I say, she’ll be back if yer lose time.”
“Now, what do you think?” said Fagin. “If you was to like my friend,
could you do better than join him?”
“Is he in a good way of business; that’s where it is!” responded Noah,
winking one of his little eyes.
“The top of the tree; employs a power of hands; has the very best
society in the profession.”
“Regular town-maders?” asked Mr. Claypole.
“Not a countryman among ’em; and I don’t think he’d take you, even on
my recommendation, if he didn’t run rather short of assistants just
now,” replied Fagin.
“Should I have to hand over?” said Noah, slapping his breeches-pocket.
“It couldn’t possibly be done without,” replied Fagin, in a most
decided manner.
“Twenty pound, though—it’s a lot of money!”
“Not when it’s in a note you can’t get rid of,” retorted Fagin. “Number
and date taken, I suppose? Payment stopped at the Bank? Ah! It’s not
worth much to him. It’ll have to go abroad, and he couldn’t sell it for
a great deal in the market.”
“When could I see him?” asked Noah doubtfully.
“Tomorrow morning.”
“Where?”
“Here.”
“Um!” said Noah. “What’s the wages?”
“Live like a gentleman—board and lodging, pipes and spirits free—half
of all you earn, and half of all the young woman earns,” replied Mr.
Fagin.
Whether Noah Claypole, whose rapacity was none of the least
comprehensive, would have acceded even to these glowing terms, had he
been a perfectly free agent, is very doubtful; but as he recollected
that, in the event of his refusal, it was in the power of his new
acquaintance to give him up to justice immediately (and more unlikely
things had come to pass), he gradually relented, and said he thought
that would suit him.
“But, yer see,” observed Noah, “as she will be able to do a good deal,
I should like to take something very light.”
“A little fancy work?” suggested Fagin.
“Ah! something of that sort,” replied Noah. “What do you think would
suit me now? Something not too trying for the strength, and not very
dangerous, you know. That’s the sort of thing!”
“I heard you talk of something in the spy way upon the others, my
dear,” said Fagin. “My friend wants somebody who would do that well,
very much.”
“Why, I did mention that, and I shouldn’t mind turning my hand to it
sometimes,” rejoined Mr. Claypole slowly; “but it wouldn’t pay by
itself, you know.”
“That’s true!” observed the Jew, ruminating or pretending to ruminate.
“No, it might not.”
“What do you think, then?” asked Noah, anxiously regarding him.
“Something in the sneaking way, where it was pretty sure work, and not
much more risk than being at home.”
“What do you think of the old ladies?” asked Fagin. “There’s a good
deal of money made in snatching their bags and parcels, and running
round the corner.”
“Don’t they holler out a good deal, and scratch sometimes?” asked Noah,
shaking his head. “I don’t think that would answer my purpose. Ain’t
there any other line open?”
“Stop!” said Fagin, laying his hand on Noah’s knee. “The kinchin lay.”
“What’s that?” demanded Mr. Claypole.
“The kinchins, my dear,” said Fagin, “is the young children that’s sent
on errands by their mothers, with sixpences and shillings; and the lay
is just to take their money away—they’ve always got it ready in their
hands,—then knock ’em into the kennel, and walk off very slow, as if
there were nothing else the matter but a child fallen down and hurt
itself. Ha! ha! ha!”
“Ha! ha!” roared Mr. Claypole, kicking up his legs in an ecstasy.
“Lord, that’s the very thing!”
“To be sure it is,” replied Fagin; “and you can have a few good beats
chalked out in Camden Town, and Battle Bridge, and neighborhoods like
that, where they’re always going errands; and you can upset as many
kinchins as you want, any hour in the day. Ha! ha! ha!”
With this, Fagin poked Mr. Claypole in the side, and they joined in a
burst of laughter both long and loud.
“Well, that’s all right!” said Noah, when he had recovered himself, and
Charlotte had returned. “What time tomorrow shall we say?”
“Will ten do?” asked Fagin, adding, as Mr. Claypole nodded assent,
“What name shall I tell my good friend.”
“Mr. Bolter,” replied Noah, who had prepared himself for such
emergency. “Mr. Morris Bolter. This is Mrs. Bolter.”
“Mrs. Bolter’s humble servant,” said Fagin, bowing with grotesque
politeness. “I hope I shall know her better very shortly.”
“Do you hear the gentleman, Charlotte?” thundered Mr. Claypole.
“Yes, Noah, dear!” replied Mrs. Bolter, extending her hand.
“She calls me Noah, as a sort of fond way of talking,” said Mr. Morris
Bolter, late Claypole, turning to Fagin. “You understand?”
“Oh yes, I understand—perfectly,” replied Fagin, telling the truth for
once. “Good-night! Good-night!”
With many adieus and good wishes, Mr. Fagin went his way. Noah
Claypole, bespeaking his good lady’s attention, proceeded to enlighten
her relative to the arrangement he had made, with all that haughtiness
and air of superiority, becoming, not only a member of the sterner sex,
but a gentleman who appreciated the dignity of a special appointment on
the kinchin lay, in London and its vicinity.
CHAPTER XLIII.
WHEREIN IS SHOWN HOW THE ARTFUL DODGER GOT INTO TROUBLE
“And so it was you that was your own friend, was it?” asked Mr.
Claypole, otherwise Bolter, when, by virtue of the compact entered into
between them, he had removed next day to Fagin’s house. “Cod, I thought
as much last night!”
“Every man’s his own friend, my dear,” replied Fagin, with his most
insinuating grin. “He hasn’t as good a one as himself anywhere.”