Thoroughly overpowered with the notion of Mr.Chitling being the victim of the tender passion,Master Bates threw himself back in his chair with such violence,that he lost his balance,and pitched over upon the floor;where (the accident abating nothing of his merriment) he lay at full length until his laugh was over, when he resumed his former position, and began another laugh.
“Never mind him, my dear,” said the Jew, winking at Mr.Dawkins, and giving Master Bates a reproving tap with the nozzle of the bellows. “Betsy’s a fine girl. Stick up to her, Tom. Stick up to her.”
“What I mean to say, Fagin,” replied Mr. Chitling,very red in the face, “is,that that isn’t anything to anybody here.”
“No more it is,” replied the Jew; “Charley will talk.Don’t mind him, my dear; don’t mind him.Betsy’s a fine girl. Do as she bids you, Tom,and you will make your fortune.”
“So I _do_ do as she bids me,” replied Mr. Chitling;“I shouldn’t have been milled,if it hadn’t been for her advice.But it turned out a good job for you; didn’t it, Fagin!And what’s six weeks of it?It must come, some time or another,and why not in the winter time when you don’t want to go out a-walking so much; eh, Fagin?”
“Ah, to be sure, my dear,” replied the Jew.
“You wouldn’t mind it again, Tom, would you,” asked the Dodger, winking upon Charley and the Jew,“if Bet was all right?”
“I mean to say that I shouldn’t,” replied Tom, angrily. “There, now. Ah!Who’ll say as much as that, I should like to know; eh, Fagin?”
“Nobody, my dear,” replied the Jew; “not a soul, Tom.I don’t know one of ’em that would do it besides you;not one of ’em, my dear.”
“I might have got clear off, if I’d split upon her; mightn’t I, Fagin?” angrily pursued the poor half-witted dupe.“A word from me would have done it; wouldn’t it, Fagin?”
“To be sure it would, my dear,” replied the Jew.
“But I didn’t blab it; did I, Fagin?” demanded Tom, pouring question upon question with great volubility.
“No, no, to be sure,” replied the Jew;“you were too stout-hearted for that. A deal too stout, my dear!”
“Perhaps I was,” rejoined Tom, looking round;“and if I was, what’s to laugh at, in that; eh, Fagin?”
The Jew, perceiving that Mr.Chitling was considerably roused,hastened to assure him that nobody was laughing;and to prove the gravity of the company,appealed to Master Bates, the principal offender. But,unfortunately, Charley,in opening his mouth to reply that he was never more serious in his life,was unable to prevent the escape of such a violent roar,that the abused Mr. Chitling,without any preliminary ceremonies,rushed across the room and aimed a blow at the offender;who, being skilful in evading pursuit,ducked to avoid it,and chose his time so well that it lighted on the chest of the merry old gentleman, and caused him to stagger to the wall, where he stood panting for breath, while Mr. Chitling looked on in intense dismay.
“Hark!” cried the Dodger at this moment, “I heard the tinkler.” Catching up the light, he crept softly upstairs.
The bell was rung again, with some impatience,while the party were in darkness. After a short pause,the Dodger reappeared,and whispered Fagin mysteriously.
“What!” cried the Jew, “alone?”
The Dodger nodded in the affirmative, and,shading the flame of the candle with his hand,gave Charley Bates a private intimation, in dumb show,that he had better not be funny just then.Having performed this friendly office,he fixed his eyes on the Jew’s face,and awaited his directions.
The old man bit his yellow fingers,and meditated for some seconds;his face working with agitation the while,as if he dreaded something,and feared to know the worst.At length he raised his head.
“Where is he?” he asked.
The Dodger pointed to the floor above,and made a gesture, as if to leave the room.
“Yes,” said the Jew, answering the mute inquiry;“bring him down. Hush!Quiet, Charley!Gently, Tom!Scarce, scarce!”
This brief direction to Charley Bates,and his recent antagonist,was softly and immediately obeyed.There was no sound of their whereabout,when the Dodger descended the stairs,bearing the light in his hand,and followed by a man in a coarse smock-frock; who,after casting a hurried glance round the room,pulled off a large wrapper which had concealed the lower portion of his face,and disclosed: all haggard, unwashed, and unshorn:the features of flash Toby Crackit.
“How are you, Faguey?” said this worthy, nodding to the Jew.“Pop that shawl away in my castor, Dodger,so that I may know where to find it when I cut;that’s the time of day!You’ll be a fine young cracksman afore the old file now. ”
With these words he pulled up the smock-frock; and,winding it round his middle, drew a chair to the fire,and placed his feet upon the hob.
“See there, Faguey,” he said,pointing disconsolately to his top boots;“not a drop of Day and Martin since you know when;not a bubble of blacking, by Jove!But don’t look at me in that way, man. All in good time.I can’t talk about business till I’ve eat and drank;so produce the sustainance,and let’s have a quiet fill-out for the first time these three days!”
The Jew motioned to the Dodger to place what eatables there were,upon the table; and,seating himself opposite the housebreaker, waited his leisure.
To judge from appearances,Toby was by no means in a hurry to open the conversation.At first, the Jew contented himself with patiently watching his countenance,as if to gain from its expression some clue to the intelligence he brought; but in vain.
He looked tired and worn,but there was the same complacent repose upon his features that they always wore: and through dirt, and beard, and whisker, there still shone, unimpaired, the self-satisfied smirk of flash Toby Crackit. Then the Jew, in an agony of impatience, watched every morsel he put into his mouth; pacing up and down the room, meanwhile, in irrepressible excitement. It was all of no use. Toby continued to eat with the utmost outward indifference, until he could eat no more; then, ordering the Dodger out, he closed the door, mixed a glass of spirits and water, and composed himself for talking.
“First and foremost, Faguey,” said Toby.
“Yes, yes!” interposed the Jew, drawing up his chair.
Mr. Crackit stopped to take a draught of spirits and water,and to declare that the gin was excellent;then placing his feet against the low mantelpiece,so as to bring his boots to about the level of his eye, he quietly resumed.
“First and foremost, Faguey,” said the housebreaker, “how’s Bill?”
“What!” screamed the Jew, starting from his seat.
“Why, you don’t mean to say—” began Toby, turning pale.
“Mean!” cried the Jew, stamping furiously on the ground. “Where are they?Sikes and the boy!Where are they?Where have they been?Where are they hiding?Why have they not been here?”
“The crack failed,” said Toby faintly.
“I know it,” replied the Jew,tearing a newspaper from his pocket and pointing to it. “What more?”
“They fired and hit the boy.We cut over the fields at the back,with him between us—straight as the crow flies—through hedge and ditch.They gave chase. Damme!the whole country was awake, and the dogs upon us.”
“The boy!”
“Bill had him on his back, and scudded like the wind.We stopped to take him between us; his head hung down,and he was cold. They were close upon our heels;every man for himself, and each from the gallows!We parted company, and left the youngster lying in a ditch.Alive or dead, that’s all I know about him.”
The Jew stopped to hear no more;but uttering a loud yell,and twining his hands in his hair,rushed from the room, and from the house.
CHAPTER XXVI. IN WHICH A MYSTERIOUS CHARACTER APPEARS UPON THE SCENE;AND MANY THINGS, INSEPARABLE FROM THIS HISTORY,ARE DONE AND PERFORMED