Oliver Twist
AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE OF OLIVER’S, EXHIBITING DECIDED MARKS OF GENIUS, BECOMES A PUBLIC CHARACTER IN THE METROPOLIS
Upon the night when Nancy, having Mr. Sikes to sleep, on her self-imposed mission to Rose Maylie, there London, by the Great North Road, two persons, upon it is that this history should some attention.
They were a man and woman; or they would be as a male and female: for the was one of those long-limbed, knock-kneed, shambling, people, to it is difficult to any age,—looking as they do, when they are yet boys, like men, and when they are almost men, like boys. The woman was young, but of a and make, as she need have been to the weight of the which was to her back. Her was not with much luggage, as there from a which he over his shoulder, a small parcel in a common handkerchief, and light enough. This circumstance, added to the length of his legs, which were of extent, him with much to keep some half-dozen in of his companion, to he occasionally with an of the head: as if her tardiness, and her to exertion.
Thus, they had along the road, taking little of any object sight, save when they to allow a passage for the mail-coaches which were out of town, until they passed through Highgate archway; when the stopped and called to his companion,
“Come on, can’t yer? What a are, Charlotte.”
“It’s a load, I can tell you,” said the female, up, almost with fatigue.
“Heavy! What are talking about? What are for?” the male traveller, his own little as he spoke, to the other shoulder. “Oh, there are, again! Well, if ain’t to anybody’s patience out, I don’t know what is!”
“Is it much farther?” asked the woman, herself against a bank, and looking up with the from her face.
“Much farther! Yer as good as there,” said the long-legged tramper, pointing out him. “Look there! Those are the lights of London.”
“They’re a good two mile off, at least,” said the woman despondingly.
“Never mind they’re two mile off, or twenty,” said Noah Claypole; for he it was; “but up and come on, or I’ll yer, and so I give notice.”
As Noah’s red nose with anger, and as he the road while speaking, as if prepared to put his threat into execution, the woman rose without any remark, and by his side.
“Where do you to stop for the night, Noah?” she asked, after they had walked a hundred yards.
“How should I know?” Noah, had been by walking.
“Near, I hope,” said Charlotte.
“No, not near,” Mr. Claypole. “There! Not near; so don’t think it.”
“Why not?”
“When I tell that I don’t to do a thing, that’s enough, without any why or either,” Mr. Claypole with dignity.
“Well, you needn’t be so cross,” said his companion.
“A thing it would be, wouldn’t it to go and stop at the very public-house the town, so that Sowerberry, if he come up after us, might in his old nose, and have us taken in a with on,” said Mr. Claypole in a tone. “No! I shall go and myself among the I can find, and not stop till we come to the very out-of-the-wayest house I can set on. “Cod, may thanks I’ve got a head; for if we hadn’t gone, at first, the road a purpose, and come across country, yer’d have been locked up hard and fast a week ago, my lady. And right for being a fool.”
“I know I ain’t as as you are,” Charlotte; “but don’t put all the on me, and say I should have been locked up. You would have been if I had been, any way.”
“Yer took the money from the till, know did,” said Mr. Claypole.
“I took it for you, Noah, dear,” Charlotte.
“Did I keep it?” asked Mr. Claypole.
“No; you in me, and let me it like a dear, and so you are,” said the lady, him under the chin, and her arm through his.
This was the case; but as it was not Mr. Claypole’s to a and in anybody, it should be observed, in to that gentleman, that he had Charlotte to this extent, in order that, if they were pursued, the money might be on her: which would him an opportunity of his of any theft, and would his of escape. Of course, he entered at this juncture, into no of his motives, and they walked on very together.
In of this plan, Mr. Claypole on, without halting, until he at the Angel at Islington, where he judged, from the of and numbers of vehicles, that London in earnest. Just to which appeared the most streets, and the most to be avoided, he into Saint John’s Road, and was soon in the of the and dirty ways, which, Gray’s Inn Lane and Smithfield, that part of the town one of the and that has left in the of London.
Through these streets, Noah Claypole walked, Charlotte after him; now into the to at a the whole of some small public-house; now on again, as some him to it too public for his purpose. At length, he stopped in of one, more in and more dirty than any he had yet seen; and, having over and it from the opposite pavement, his of up there, for the night.
“So give us the bundle,” said Noah, it from the woman’s shoulders, and it over his own; “and don’t speak, when spoke to. What’s the name of the house—t-h-r—three what?”
“Cripples,” said Charlotte.
“Three Cripples,” Noah, “and a very good too. Now, then! Keep close at my heels, and come along.” With these injunctions, he pushed the door with his shoulder, and entered the house, by his companion.
There was nobody in the but a Jew, who, with his two on the counter, was reading a dirty newspaper. He very hard at Noah, and Noah very hard at him.
If Noah had been in his charity-boy’s dress, there might have been some for the Jew opening his so wide; but as he had the and badge, and a smock-frock over his leathers, there no particular for his so much attention in a public-house.
“Is this the Three Cripples?” asked Noah.
“That is the of this ’ouse,” the Jew.
“A we met on the road, up from the country, us here,” said Noah, Charlotte, to call her attention to this most device for respect, and to her to no surprise. “We want to sleep here to-night.”
“I’b you cad,” said Barney, who was the sprite; “but I’ll idquire.”
“Show us the tap, and give us a of cold meat and a of while inquiring, will yer?” said Noah.
Barney by them into a small back-room, and setting the them; having done which, he the travellers that they be that night, and left the to their refreshment.
Now, this back-room was the bar, and some steps lower, so that any person with the house, a small which a single of in the of the last-named apartment, about five from its flooring, not only look upon any guests in the back-room without any great of being (the being in a dark of the wall, which and a large the had to himself), but could, by his ear to the partition, with distinctness, their of conversation. The of the house had not his from this place of for five minutes, and Barney had only just returned from making the above related, when Fagin, in the of his evening’s business, came into the to after some of his pupils.
“Hush!” said Barney: “stradegers id the next roob.”
“Strangers!” the old man in a whisper.
“Ah! Ad too,” added Barney. “Frob the cuttry, but in your way, or I’b bistaked.”
Fagin appeared to this with great interest.
Mounting a stool, he his to the of glass, from which post he see Mr. Claypole taking cold from the dish, and from the pot, and of to Charlotte, who sat by, and at his pleasure.
“Aha!” he whispered, looking to Barney, “I like that fellow’s looks. He’d be of use to us; he how to train the girl already. Don’t make as much noise as a mouse, my dear, and let me ’em talk—let me ’em.”
He again his to the glass, and his ear to the partition, attentively: with a and look upon his face, that might have to some old goblin.
“So I to be a gentleman,” said Mr. Claypole, kicking out his legs, and a conversation, the of which Fagin had too late to hear. “No more old coffins, Charlotte, but a gentleman’s life for me: and, if like, shall be a lady.”
“I should like that well enough, dear,” Charlotte; “but ain’t to be every day, and people to clear off after it.”
“Tills be blowed!” said Mr. Claypole; “there’s more to be emptied.”
“What do you mean?” asked his companion.
“Pockets, women’s ridicules, houses, mail-coaches, banks!” said Mr. Claypole, with the porter.
“But you can’t do all that, dear,” said Charlotte.
“I shall look out to into company with them as can,” Noah. “They’ll be able to make us useful some way or another. Why, you are fifty women; I see such a and as can be when I let yer.”
“Lor, how it is to say so!” Charlotte, a upon his face.
“There, that’ll do: don’t be too affectionate, in case I’m with yer,” said Noah, himself with great gravity. “I should like to be the captain of some band, and have the of ’em, and ’em about, to themselves. That would me, if there was good profit; and if we only in with some of this sort, I say it would be at that twenty-pound note you’ve got,—especially as we don’t very well know how to of it ourselves.”
After this opinion, Mr. Claypole looked into the porter-pot with an of wisdom; and having well its contents, to Charlotte, and took a draught, he appeared refreshed. He was another, when the opening of the door, and the of a stranger, him.
The was Mr. Fagin. And very he looked, and a very low he made, as he advanced, and setting himself at the nearest table, ordered something to drink of the Barney.
“A night, sir, but for the time of year,” said Fagin, his hands. “From the country, I see, sir?”
“How do see that?” asked Noah Claypole.
“We have not so much as that in London,” Fagin, pointing from Noah’s shoes to those of his companion, and from them to the two bundles.
“Yer a feller,” said Noah. “Ha! ha! only that, Charlotte!”
“Why, one need be in this town, my dear,” the Jew, his voice to a whisper; “and that’s the truth.”
Fagin up this by the of his nose with his right forefinger,—a which Noah to imitate, though not with complete success, in of his own nose not being large for the purpose. However, Mr. Fagin to the as a perfect with his opinion, and put about the which Barney with, in a very manner.
“Good that,” Mr. Claypole, his lips.
“Dear!” said Fagin. “A man need be always 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 this from his own than he in his chair, and looked from the Jew to Charlotte with a of and terror.
“Don’t mind me, my dear,” said Fagin, his chair closer. “Ha! ha! it was lucky it was only me that you by chance. It was very lucky it was only me.”
“I didn’t take it,” Noah, no longer out his like an gentleman, but them up as well as he under his chair; “it was all her doing; yer’ve got it now, Charlotte, know have.”
“No who’s got it, or who did it, my dear,” Fagin, glancing, nevertheless, with a hawk’s 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,” Fagin; “and so are the people of the house. You’ve the right upon the head, and are as safe here as you be. There is not a place in all this town than is the Cripples; that is, when I like to make it so. And I have taken a to you and the woman; so I’ve said the word, and you may make your minds easy.”
Noah Claypole’s mind might have been at after this assurance, but his was not; for he and about, into positions: his new friend meanwhile with and suspicion.
“I’ll tell you more,” said Fagin, after he had the girl, by of and encouragements. “I have got a friend that I think can your wish, and put you in the right way, where you can take of the you think will you best at first, and be all the others.”
“Yer speak as if were in earnest,” Noah.
“What would it be to me to be anything else?” Fagin, his shoulders. “Here! Let me have a word with you outside.”
“There’s no occasion to trouble ourselves to move,” said Noah, his by again. “She’ll take the the while. Charlotte, see to them bundles.”
This mandate, which had been delivered with great majesty, was without the demur; and Charlotte the best of her way off with the while Noah the door open and her out.
“She’s well under, ain’t she?” he asked as he his seat: in the of a who had some wild animal.
“Quite perfect,” Fagin, him on the shoulder. “You’re a genius, my dear.”
“Why, I if I wasn’t, I shouldn’t be here,” Noah. “But, I say, she’ll be if time.”
“Now, what do you think?” said Fagin. “If you was to like my friend, you do than join him?”
“Is he in a good way of business; that’s where it is!” Noah, one of his little eyes.
“The top of the tree; a power of hands; has the very best in the profession.”
“Regular town-maders?” asked Mr. Claypole.
“Not a among ’em; and I don’t think he’d take you, on my recommendation, if he didn’t of just now,” Fagin.
“Should I have to hand over?” said Noah, his breeches-pocket.
“It couldn’t possibly be done without,” Fagin, in a most manner.
“Twenty pound, though—it’s a of money!”
“Not when it’s in a note you can’t of,” Fagin. “Number and date taken, I suppose? Payment stopped at the Bank? Ah! It’s not much to him. It’ll have to go abroad, and he couldn’t sell it for a great in the market.”
“When I see him?” asked Noah doubtfully.
“To-morrow morning.”
“Where?”
“Here.”
“Um!” said Noah. “What’s the wages?”
“Live like a gentleman—board and lodging, pipes and free—half of all you earn, and of all the woman earns,” Mr. Fagin.
Whether Noah Claypole, was none of the least comprehensive, would have to these terms, had he been a perfectly free agent, is very doubtful; but as he that, in the event of his refusal, it was in the power of his new to give him up to (and more had come to pass), he relented, and said he that would him.
“But, see,” Noah, “as she will be able to do a good deal, I should like to take something very light.”
“A little work?” Fagin.
“Ah! something of that sort,” Noah. “What do you think would me now? Something not too trying for the strength, and not very dangerous, you know. That’s the of thing!”
“I you talk of something in the 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 my hand to it sometimes,” Mr. Claypole slowly; “but it wouldn’t pay by itself, you know.”
“That’s true!” the Jew, or to ruminate. “No, it might not.”
“What do you think, then?” asked Noah, him. “Something in the way, where it was sure work, and not much more than being at home.”
“What do you think of the old ladies?” asked Fagin. “There’s a good of money in their and parcels, and the corner.”
“Don’t they out a good deal, and sometimes?” asked Noah, his head. “I don’t think that would answer my purpose. Ain’t there any other line open?”
“Stop!” said Fagin, his hand on Noah’s knee. “The lay.”
“What’s that?” Mr. Claypole.
“The kinchins, my dear,” said Fagin, “is the children that’s sent on by their mothers, with and shillings; and the is just to take their money away—they’ve always got it in their hands,—then ’em into the kennel, and walk off very slow, as if there were nothing else the but a child and itself. Ha! ha! ha!”
“Ha! ha!” Mr. Claypole, kicking up his in an ecstasy. “Lord, that’s the very thing!”
“To be sure it is,” Fagin; “and you can have a good out in Camden Town, and Battle Bridge, and like that, where they’re always going errands; and you can as many as you want, any hour in the day. Ha! ha! ha!”
With this, Fagin Mr. Claypole in the side, and they joined in a of long and loud.
“Well, that’s all right!” said Noah, when he had himself, and Charlotte had returned. “What time to-morrow shall we say?”
“Will ten do?” asked Fagin, adding, as Mr. Claypole assent, “What name shall I tell my good friend.”
“Mr. Bolter,” Noah, who had prepared himself for such emergency. “Mr. Morris Bolter. This is Mrs. Bolter.”
“Mrs. Bolter’s servant,” said Fagin, with politeness. “I I shall know her very shortly.”
“Do you the gentleman, Charlotte?” Mr. Claypole.
“Yes, Noah, dear!” Mrs. Bolter, her hand.
“She calls me Noah, as a of way of talking,” said Mr. Morris Bolter, late Claypole, to Fagin. “You understand?”
“Oh yes, I understand—perfectly,” Fagin, telling the truth for once. “Good-night! Good-night!”
With many and good wishes, Mr. Fagin his way. Noah Claypole, his good lady’s attention, to her relative to the he had made, with all that and air of superiority, becoming, not only a of the sex, but a who the of a special on the lay, in London and its vicinity.
