Oliver Twist
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 of the entered into them, he had next day to Fagin’s house. “Cod, I as much last night!”
“Every man’s his own friend, my dear,” Fagin, with his most grin. “He hasn’t as good a one as himself anywhere.”
“Except sometimes,” Morris Bolter, the air of a man of the world. “Some people are nobody’s but their own, know.”
“Don’t that,” said Fagin. “When a man’s his own enemy, it’s only he’s too much his own friend; not he’s for but himself. Pooh! pooh! There ain’t such a thing in nature.”
“There oughn’t to be, if there is,” Mr. Bolter.
“That to reason. Some say that number three is the magic number, and some say number seven. It’s neither, my friend, neither. It’s number one.
“Ha! ha!” Mr. Bolter. “Number one for ever.”
“In a little like ours, my dear,” said Fagin, who it necessary to this position, “we have a number one, without me too as the same, and all the other people.”
“Oh, the devil!” Mr. Bolter.
“You see,” Fagin, to this interruption, “we are so mixed up together, and in our interests, that it must be so. For instance, it’s your object to take of number one—meaning yourself.”
“Certainly,” Mr. Bolter. “Yer about right there.”
“Well! You can’t take of yourself, number one, without taking of me, number one.”
“Number two, you mean,” said Mr. Bolter, who was with the quality of selfishness.
“No, I don’t!” Fagin. “I’m of the same to you, as you are to yourself.”
“I say,” Mr. Bolter, “yer a very man, and I’m very of yer; but we ain’t so thick together, as all that comes to.”
“Only think,” said Fagin, his shoulders, and out his hands; “only consider. You’ve done what’s a very thing, and what I love you for doing; but what at the same time would put the your throat, that’s so very easily and so very difficult to unloose—in plain English, the halter!”
Mr. Bolter put his hand to his neckerchief, as if he it tight; and an assent, in but not in substance.
“The gallows,” Fagin, “the gallows, my dear, is an finger-post, which points out a very and that has stopped many a fellow’s career on the highway. To keep in the easy road, and keep it at a distance, is object number one with you.”
“Of it is,” Mr. Bolter. “What do talk about such for?”
“Only to you my meaning clearly,” said the Jew, his eyebrows. “To be able to do that, you upon me. To keep my little all snug, I upon you. The is your number one, the second my number one. The more you value your number one, the more you must be of mine; so we come at last to what I told you at first—that a for number one us all together, and must do so, unless we would all go to pieces in company.”
“That’s true,” Mr. Bolter, thoughtfully. “Oh! a old codger!”
Mr. Fagin saw, with delight, that this to his powers was no compliment, but that he had his with a of his genius, which it was most that he should in the of their acquaintance. To an so and useful, he up the by him, in some detail, with the and of his operations; truth and together, as best his purpose; and to bear, with so much art, that Mr. Bolter’s respect visibly increased, and tempered, at the same time, with a of fear, which it was to awaken.
“It’s this trust we have in each other that me under losses,” said Fagin. “My best hand was taken from me, yesterday morning.”
“You don’t to say he died?” Mr. Bolter.
“No, no,” Fagin, “not so as that. Not so bad.”
“What, I he was—”
“Wanted,” Fagin. “Yes, he was wanted.”
“Very particular?” Mr. Bolter.
“No,” Fagin, “not very. He was with attempting to a pocket, and they a snuff-box on him,—his own, my dear, his own, for he took himself, and was very of it. They him till to-day, for they they the owner. Ah! he was fifty boxes, and I’d give the price of as many to have him back. You should have the Dodger, my dear; you should have the Dodger.”
“Well, but I shall know him, I hope; don’t think so?” said Mr. Bolter.
“I’m about it,” Fagin, with a sigh. “If they don’t any fresh evidence, it’ll only be a conviction, and we shall have him again after six or so; but, if they do, it’s a case of lagging. They know what a he is; he’ll be a lifer. They’ll make the Artful nothing less than a lifer.”
“What do you by and a lifer?” Mr. Bolter. “What’s the good of talking in that way to me; why don’t speak so as I can yer?”
Fagin was about to these into the tongue; and, being interpreted, Mr. Bolter would have been that they that of words, “transportation for life,” when the was cut by the entry of Master Bates, with his hands in his breeches-pockets, and his into a look of semi-comical woe.
“It’s all up, Fagin,” said Charley, when he and his new had been to each other.
“What do you mean?”
“They’ve the as the box; two or three more’s a to ’dentify him; and the Artful’s for a passage out,” Master Bates. “I must have a full of mourning, Fagin, and a hatband, to him in, he sets out upon his travels. To think of Jack Dawkins—lummy Jack—the Dodger—the Artful Dodger—going for a common twopenny-halfpenny sneeze-box! I he’d a done it under a gold watch, chain, and seals, at the lowest. Oh, why didn’t he some rich old of all his walables, and go out as a gentleman, and not like a common prig, without no glory!”
With this of for his friend, Master Bates sat himself on the nearest chair with an of and despondency.
“What do you talk about his having neither for!” Fagin, an angry look at his pupil. “Wasn’t he always the top-sawyer among you all! Is there one of you that touch him or come near him on any scent! Eh?”
“Not one,” Master Bates, in a voice by regret; “not one.”
“Then what do you talk of?” Fagin angrily; “what are you for?”
“’Cause it isn’t on the rec-ord, is it?” said Charley, into perfect of his friend by the of his regrets; “’cause it can’t come out in the ’dictment; ’cause nobody will know of what he was. How will he in the Newgate Calendar? P’raps not be there at all. Oh, my eye, my eye, a it is!”
“Ha! ha!” Fagin, his right hand, and to Mr. Bolter in a fit of which him as though he had the palsy; “see what a they take in their profession, my dear. Ain’t it beautiful?”
Mr. Bolter assent, and Fagin, after the of Charley Bates for some with satisfaction, up to that and him on the shoulder.
“Never mind, Charley,” said Fagin soothingly; “it’ll come out, it’ll be sure to come out. They’ll all know what a he was; he’ll it himself, and not his old and teachers. Think how he is too! What a distinction, Charley, to be at his time of life!”
“Well, it is a that is!” said Charley, a little consoled.
“He shall have all he wants,” the Jew. “He shall be in the Stone Jug, Charley, like a gentleman. Like a gentleman! With his every day, and money in his pocket to and with, if he can’t it.”
“No, shall he though?” Charley Bates.
“Ay, that he shall,” Fagin, “and we’ll have a big-wig, Charley: one that’s got the gift of the gab: to on his defence; and he shall make a speech for himself too, if he likes; and we’ll read it all in the papers—‘Artful Dodger—shrieks of laughter—here the was convulsed’—eh, Charley, eh?”
“Ha! ha!” laughed Master Bates, “what a that would be, wouldn’t it, Fagin? I say, how the Artful would ’em wouldn’t he?”
“Would!” Fagin. “He shall—he will!”
“Ah, to be sure, so he will,” Charley, his hands.
“I think I see him now,” the Jew, his upon his pupil.
“So do I,” Charley Bates. “Ha! ha! ha! so do I. I see it all me, upon my I do, Fagin. What a game! What a regular game! All the big-wigs trying to look solemn, and Jack Dawkins of ’em as and as if he was the judge’s own son making a speech dinner—ha! ha! ha!”
In fact, Mr. Fagin had so well his friend’s disposition, that Master Bates, who had at been to the Dodger in the light of a victim, now looked upon him as the actor in a of most and humour, and for the of the time when his old should have so an opportunity of his abilities.
“We must know how he on to-day, by some means or other,” said Fagin. “Let me think.”
“Shall I go?” asked Charley.
“Not for the world,” Fagin. “Are you mad, my dear, mad, that you’d walk into the very place where—No, Charley, no. One is to at a time.”
“You don’t to go yourself, I suppose?” said Charley with a leer.
“That wouldn’t fit,” Fagin his head.
“Then why don’t you send this new cove?” asked Master Bates, his hand on Noah’s arm. “Nobody him.”
“Why, if he didn’t mind—” Fagin.
“Mind!” Charley. “What should he have to mind?”
“Really nothing, my dear,” said Fagin, to Mr. Bolter, “really nothing.”
“Oh, I say about that, know,” Noah, the door, and his with a of alarm. “No, no—none of that. It’s not in my department, that ain’t.”
“Wot has he got, Fagin?” Master Bates, Noah’s with much disgust. “The away when there’s anything wrong, and the all the when there’s right; is that his branch?”
“Never mind,” Mr. Bolter; “and don’t take with superiors, little boy, or yer’ll in the shop.”
Master Bates laughed so at this threat, that it was some time Fagin interpose, and to Mr. Bolter that he no possible in visiting the police-office; that, as no account of the little in which he had engaged, any of his person, had yet been to the metropolis, it was very that he was not of having to it for shelter; and that, if he were properly disguised, it would be as safe a spot for him to visit as any in London, as it would be, of all places, the very last, to which he be likely to of his own free will.
Persuaded, in part, by these representations, but in a much by his of Fagin, Mr. Bolter at length consented, with a very grace, to the expedition. By Fagin’s directions, he for his own attire, a waggoner’s frock, breeches, and leather leggings: all of which articles the Jew had at hand. He was with a well with tickets; and a carter’s whip. Thus equipped, he was to into the office, as some country from Covent Garden market might be to do for the of his curiousity; and as he was as awkward, ungainly, and raw-boned a as need be, Mr. Fagin had no but that he would look the part to perfection.
These completed, he was of the necessary and by which to the Artful Dodger, and was by Master Bates through dark and to a very of Bow Street. Having the of the office, and it with how he was to walk up the passage, and when he got into the side, and off his as he into the room, Charley Bates him on alone, and promised to his return on the spot of their parting.
Noah Claypole, or Morris Bolter as the reader pleases, the he had received, which—Master Bates being well with the locality—were so exact that he was to the presence without asking any question, or meeting with any by the way.
He himself among a of people, women, who were together in a dirty room, at the upper end of which was a off from the rest, with a for the on the left hand against the wall, a box for the in the middle, and a for the on the right; the last named, being screened off by a partition which the bench from the common gaze, and left the to (if they could) the full of justice.
There were only a of in the dock, who were to their friends, while the read some to a of and a man in plain who over the table. A against the dock-rail, his nose with a large key, when he an to among the idlers, by silence; or looked up to some woman “Take that out,” when the of was by cries, half-smothered in the mother’s shawl, from some infant. The room close and unwholesome; the were dirt-discoloured; and the blackened. There was an old over the mantel-shelf, and a clock above the dock—the only thing present, that to go on as it ought; for depravity, or poverty, or an with both, had left a on all the matter, less than the thick on every object that upon it.
Noah looked about him for the Dodger; but although there were who would have done very well for that character’s mother or sister, and more than one man who might be to a to his father, nobody at all the him of Mr. Dawkins was to be seen. He waited in a of much and until the women, being for trial, out; and then was by the of another who he at once be no other than the object of his visit.
It was Mr. Dawkins, who, into the office with the big up as usual, his left hand in his pocket, and his in his right hand, the jailer, with a indescribable, and, taking his place in the dock, in an voice to know what he was in that ’ere for.
“Hold your tongue, will you?” said the jailer.
“I’m an Englishman, ain’t I?” the Dodger. “Where are my priwileges?”
“You’ll your soon enough,” the jailer, “and pepper with ’em.”
“We’ll see the Secretary of State for the Home Affairs has got to say to the beaks, if I don’t,” Mr. Dawkins. “Now then! Wot is this here business? I shall thank the madg’strates to of this here little affair, and not to keep me while they read the paper, for I’ve got an with a in the City, and as I am a man of my word and in matters, he’ll go away if I ain’t there to my time, and then pr’aps won’t be an action for against them as me away. Oh no, not!”
At this point, the Dodger, with a of being very particular with a view to to be had thereafter, the to “the names of them two as was on the bench.” Which so the spectators, that they laughed almost as as Master Bates have done if he had the request.
“Silence there!” the jailer.
“What is this?” one of the magistrates.
“A pick-pocketing case, your worship.”
“Has the boy been here before?”
“He ought to have been, a many times,” the jailer. “He has been well else. I know him well, your worship.”
“Oh! you know me, do you?” the Artful, making a note of the statement. “Wery good. That’s a case of of character, any way.”
Here there was another laugh, and another of silence.
“Now then, where are the witnesses?” said the clerk.
“Ah! that’s right,” added the Dodger. “Where are they? I should like to see ’em.”
This wish was gratified, for a who had the attempt the pocket of an unknown in a crowd, and take a therefrom, which, being a very old one, he put again, after trying it on his own countenance. For this reason, he took the Dodger into as soon as he near him, and the said Dodger, being searched, had upon his person a snuff-box, with the owner’s name upon the lid. This had been on to the Court Guide, and being then and there present, that the snuff-box was his, and that he had missed it on the previous day, the moment he had himself from the to. He had also a in the throng, particularly active in making his way about, and that was the him.
“Have you anything to ask this witness, boy?” said the magistrate.
“I wouldn’t myself by to no with him,” the Dodger.
“Have you anything to say at all?”
“Do you his ask if you’ve anything to say?” the jailer, the Dodger with his elbow.
“I your pardon,” said the Dodger, looking up with an air of abstraction. “Did you to me, my man?”
“I see such an out-and-out wagabond, your worship,” the officer with a grin. “Do you to say anything, you shaver?”
“No,” the Dodger, “not here, for this ain’t the shop for justice: which, my attorney is a-breakfasting this with the Wice President of the House of Commons; but I shall have something to say elsewhere, and so will he, and so will a and ’spectable circle of as’ll make them wish they’d been born, or that they’d got their to ’em up to their own hat-pegs, they let ’em come out this to try it on upon me. I’ll—”
“There! He’s committed!” the clerk. “Take him away.”
“Come on,” said the jailer.
“Oh ah! I’ll come on,” the Dodger, his with the of his hand. “Ah! (to the Bench) it’s no use your looking frightened; I won’t you no mercy, not a ha’porth of it. You’ll pay for this, my fellers. I wouldn’t be you for something! I wouldn’t go free, now, if you was to on your and ask me. Here, me off to prison! Take me away!”
With these last words, the Dodger himself to be off by the collar; threatening, till he got into the yard, to make a of it; and then in the officer’s face, with great and self-approval.
Having him locked up by himself in a little cell, Noah the best of his way to where he had left Master Bates. After waiting here some time, he was joined by that gentleman, who had from himself until he had looked from a retreat, and that his new friend had not been by any person.
The two together, to to Mr. Fagin the news that the Dodger was doing full to his bringing-up, and for himself a reputation.
