Oliver Twist
CHAPTER XXV.
WHEREIN THIS HISTORY REVERTS TO MR. FAGIN AND COMPANY
While these were in the country workhouse, Mr. Fagin sat in the old den—the same from which Oliver had been by the girl—brooding over a dull, fire. He a pair of upon his knee, with which he had been to it into more action; but he had into thought; and with his arms on them, and his on his thumbs, his eyes, abstractedly, on the bars.
At a table him sat the Artful Dodger, Master Charles Bates, and Mr. Chitling: all upon a game of whist; the Artful taking against Master Bates and Mr. Chitling. The of the first-named gentleman, at all times, great additional from his close of the game, and his of Mr. Chitling’s hand; upon which, from time to time, as occasion served, he a of glances: his own play by the result of his upon his neighbour’s cards. It being a cold night, the Dodger his hat, as, indeed, was often his doors. He also a pipe his teeth, which he only for a space when he it necessary to apply for to a pot upon the table, which with gin-and-water for the of the company.
Master Bates was also to the play; but being of a more nature than his friend, it was that he more himself to the gin-and-water, and in many and remarks, all a scientific rubber. Indeed, the Artful, upon their close attachment, more than once took occasion to with his upon these improprieties; all of which remonstrances, Master Bates in good part; his friend to be “blowed,” or to his in a sack, or with some other neatly-turned of a kind, the happy of which, in the mind of Mr. Chitling. It was that the and his partner lost; and that the circumstance, so from Master Bates, appeared to him the amusement, as he laughed most at the end of every deal, and that he had such a game in all his days.
“That’s two and the rub,” said Mr. Chitling, with a very long face, as he half-a-crown from his waistcoat-pocket. “I see such a as you, Jack; you win everything. Even when we’ve good cards, Charley and I can’t make nothing of ’em.”
Either the master or the manner of this remark, which was very ruefully, Charley Bates so much, that his of the Jew from his reverie, and him to what was the matter.
“Matter, Fagin!” Charley. “I wish you had the play. Tommy Chitling hasn’t a point; and I partners with him against the Artfull and dumb.”
“Ay, ay!” said the Jew, with a grin, which that he was at no to the reason. “Try ’em again, Tom; try ’em again.”
“No more of it for me, thank ’ee, Fagin,” Mr. Chitling; “I’ve had enough. That ’ere Dodger has such a of luck that there’s no again’ him.”
“Ha! ha! my dear,” the Jew, “you must up very early in the morning, to win against the Dodger.”
“Morning!” said Charley Bates; “you must put your on over-night, and have a at each eye, and a opera-glass your shoulders, if you want to come over him.”
Mr. Dawkins these with much philosophy, and offered to cut any in company, for the picture-card, at a at a time. Nobody the challenge, and his pipe being by this time out, he to himself by sketching a ground-plan of Newgate on the table with the piece of which had him in of counters; whistling, meantime, with shrillness.
“How you are, Tommy!” said the Dodger, stopping when there had been a long silence; and Mr. Chitling. “What do you think he’s of, Fagin?”
“How should I know, my dear?” the Jew, looking as he the bellows. “About his losses, maybe; or the little retirement in the country that he’s just left, eh? Ha! ha! Is that it, my dear?”
“Not a of it,” the Dodger, stopping the of as Mr. Chitling was about to reply. “What do you say, Charley?”
“I should say,” Master Bates, with a grin, “that he was sweet upon Betsy. See how he’s a-blushing! Oh, my eye! here’s a merry-go-rounder! Tommy Chitling’s in love! Oh, Fagin, Fagin! what a spree!”
Thoroughly with the of Mr. Chitling being the of the passion, Master Bates himself in his chair with such violence, that he his balance, and over upon the floor; where (the accident nothing of his merriment) he at full length until his laugh was over, when he his position, and another laugh.
“Never mind him, my dear,” said the Jew, at Mr. Dawkins, and Master Bates a with the of the bellows. “Betsy’s a girl. Stick up to her, Tom. Stick up to her.”
“What I to say, Fagin,” Mr. Chitling, very red in the face, “is, that that isn’t anything to here.”
“No more it is,” the Jew; “Charley will talk. Don’t mind him, my dear; don’t mind him. Betsy’s a girl. Do as she you, Tom, and you will make your fortune.”
“So I do do as she me,” Mr. Chitling; “I shouldn’t have been milled, if it hadn’t been for her advice. But it out a good job for you; didn’t it, Fagin! And what’s six 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,” the Jew.
“You wouldn’t mind it again, Tom, would you,” asked the Dodger, upon Charley and the Jew, “if Bet was all right?”
“I to say that I shouldn’t,” Tom, angrily. “There, now. Ah! Who’ll say as much as that, I should like to know; eh, Fagin?”
“Nobody, my dear,” the Jew; “not a soul, Tom. I don’t know one of ’em that would do it you; not one of ’em, my dear.”
“I might have got clear off, if I’d upon her; mightn’t I, Fagin?” the half-witted dupe. “A word from me would have done it; wouldn’t it, Fagin?”
“To be sure it would, my dear,” the Jew.
“But I didn’t it; did I, Fagin?” Tom, question upon question with great volubility.
“No, no, to be sure,” the Jew; “you were too stout-hearted for that. A too stout, my dear!”
“Perhaps I was,” Tom, looking round; “and if I was, what’s to laugh at, in that; eh, Fagin?”
The Jew, that Mr. Chitling was roused, to him that nobody was laughing; and to prove the of the company, to Master Bates, the offender. But, unfortunately, Charley, in opening his mouth to reply that he was more in his life, was unable to prevent the of such a roar, that the Mr. Chitling, without any ceremonies, across the room and a at the offender; who, being in pursuit, to avoid it, and his time so well that it on the of the old gentleman, and him to to the wall, where he for breath, while Mr. Chitling looked on in dismay.
“Hark!” the Dodger at this moment, “I the tinkler.” Catching up the light, he upstairs.
The was again, with some impatience, while the party were in darkness. After a pause, the Dodger reappeared, and Fagin mysteriously.
“What!” the Jew, “alone?”
The Dodger in the affirmative, and, the of the with his hand, gave Charley Bates a private intimation, in show, that he had not be just then. Having performed this office, he his on the Jew’s face, and his directions.
The old man his yellow fingers, and for some seconds; his with the while, as if he something, and to know the worst. At length he his head.
“Where is he?” he asked.
The Dodger pointed to the above, and a gesture, as if to the room.
“Yes,” said the Jew, the mute inquiry; “bring him down. Hush! Quiet, Charley! Gently, Tom! Scarce, scarce!”
This direction to Charley Bates, and his antagonist, was and obeyed. There was no of their whereabout, when the Dodger the stairs, the light in his hand, and by a man in a smock-frock; who, after a the room, off a large which had the of his face, and disclosed: all haggard, unwashed, and unshorn: the of Toby Crackit.
“How are you, Faguey?” said this worthy, to the Jew. “Pop that away in my castor, Dodger, so that I may know where to it when I cut; that’s the time of day! You’ll be a the old file now.”
With these he up the smock-frock; and, it his middle, a chair to the fire, and his upon the hob.
“See there, Faguey,” he said, pointing to his top boots; “not a of Day and Martin since you know when; not a of blacking, by Jove! But don’t look at me in that way, man. All in good time. I can’t talk about till I’ve eat and drank; so produce the sustainance, and let’s have a fill-out for the time these three days!”
The Jew to the Dodger to place what 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 to open the conversation. At first, the Jew himself with his countenance, as if to from its some to the he brought; but in vain.
He looked and worn, but there was the same upon his that they always wore: and through dirt, and beard, and whisker, there still shone, unimpaired, the self-satisfied of Toby Crackit. Then the Jew, in an of impatience, every he put into his mouth; up and the room, meanwhile, in excitement. It was all of no use. Toby to eat with the indifference, until he eat no more; then, ordering the Dodger out, he closed the door, mixed a of and water, and himself for talking.
“First and foremost, Faguey,” said Toby.
“Yes, yes!” the Jew, up his chair.
Mr. Crackit stopped to take a of and water, and to that the was excellent; then his against the low mantelpiece, so as to his to about the level of his eye, he resumed.
“First and foremost, Faguey,” said the housebreaker, “how’s Bill?”
“What!” the Jew, starting from his seat.
“Why, you don’t to say—” Toby, pale.
“Mean!” the Jew, 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 failed,” said Toby faintly.
“I know it,” the Jew, a newspaper from his pocket and pointing to it. “What more?”
“They and the boy. We cut over the at the back, with him us—straight as the flies—through 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 like the wind. We stopped to take him us; his down, and he was cold. They were close upon our heels; every man for himself, and each from the gallows! We company, and left the in a ditch. Alive or dead, that’s all I know about him.”
The Jew stopped to no more; but a loud yell, and his hands in his hair, from the room, and from the house.
