“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.”