CHAPTER XXV.

WHEREIN THIS HISTORY REVERTS TO MR. FAGIN AND COMPANY.

WHILE these things were passing in the country workhouse, Mr. Fagin

sat in the old den—the same from which Oliver had been removed by the

girl—brooding over a dull smoky fire. He held a pair of bellows upon

his knee, with which he had apparently been endeavouring to rouse it

into more cheerful action; but he had fallen into deep thought, and

with his arms folded upon them, and his chin resting on his thumbs,

fixed his eyes abstractedly on the rusty bars.

At a table behind him sat the Artful Dodger, Master Charles Bates,

and Mr. Chitling, all intent upon a game of whist; the Artful taking

dummy against Master Bates and Mr. Chitling. The countenance of the

first-named gentleman, peculiarly intelligent at all times, acquired

great additional interest from his close observance of the game, and

his attentive perusal of Mr. Chitling’s hand, upon which, from time to

time, as occasion served, he bestowed a variety of earnest glances,

wisely regulating his own play by the result of his observations upon

his neighbour’s cards. It being a cold night, the Dodger wore his hat,

as, indeed, was often his custom within doors. He also sustained a

clay pipe between his teeth, which he only removed for a brief space

when he deemed it necessary to apply for refreshment to a quart-pot

upon the table, which stood ready filled with gin and water for the

accommodation of the company.

Master Bates was also attentive to the play; but being of a more

excitable nature than his accomplished friend, it was observable that

he more frequently applied himself to the gin and water, and moreover

indulged in many jests and irrelevant remarks, all highly unbecoming

a scientific rubber. Indeed, the Artful, presuming upon their close

attachment, more than once took occasion to reason gravely with his

companion upon these improprieties: all of which remonstrances Master

Bates took in extremely good part, merely requesting his friend to be

“blowed,” or to insert his head in a sack, or replying with some other

neatly-turned witticism of a similar kind, the happy application of

which excited considerable admiration in the mind of Mr. Chitling. It

was remarkable that the latter gentleman and his partner invariably

lost, and that the circumstance, so far from angering Master Bates,

appeared to afford him the highest amusement, inasmuch as he laughed

most uproariously at the end of every deal, and protested that he had

never seen such a jolly game in all his born days.

“That’s two doubles and the rub,” said Mr. Chitling, with a very long

face, as he drew half-a-crown from his waistcoat-pocket “I never see

such a feller as you, Jack; you win every thing. Even when we’ve good

cards, Charley and I can’t make nothing of ’em.”

Either the matter or manner of this remark, which was made very

ruefully, delighted Charley Bates so much, that his consequent shout

of laughter roused the Jew from his reverie, and induced him to

inquire what was the matter.

“Matter, Fagin!” cried Charley. “I wish you had watched a play. Tommy

Chitling hasn’t won the point, and I went partners with him against the

Artful and dum.”

“Ay, ay!” said the Jew, with a grin, which sufficiently demonstrated

that he was at no loss to understand the reason. “Try ’em again, Tom;

try ’em again.”

“No more of it for me, thankee, Fagin,” replied Mr. Chitling; “I’ve

had enough. That ’ere Dodger has such a run of luck that there’s no

standing again’ him.”

“Ha! ha! my dear,” replied the Jew, “you must get up very early in the

morning to win against the Dodger.”

“Morning!” said Charley Bates; “you must put your boots on overnight,

and have a telescope at each eye, and a opera-glass between your

shoulders, if you want to come over him.”

Mr. Dawkins received these handsome compliments with much philosophy,

and offered to cut any gentleman in company for the first

picture-card, at a shilling a time. Nobody accepting the challenge, and

his pipe being by this time smoked out, he proceeded to amuse himself

by sketching a ground-plan of Newgate on the table with the piece of

chalk which had served him in lieu of counters; whistling meantime with

peculiar shrillness.

“How precious dull you are, Tommy!” said the Dodger, stopping short

when there had been a long silence, and addressing Mr. Chitling. “What

do you think he’s thinking of, Fagin?”

“How should I know, my dear?” replied the Jew, looking round as he

plied 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 bit of it,” replied the Dodger, stopping the subject of

discourse as Mr. Chitling was about to reply. “What do _you_ say,

Charley?”

“_I_ should say,” replied Master Bates, with a grin, “that he was

uncommon 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 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 till his laugh was over, when he resumed his former

position and began another.

“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’ll 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; mighn’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 up stairs.

The bell rang 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 to

retire, 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 unshaven, the features of flash Toby Crackit.

“How are you, Fagey?” said the 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, Fagey,” 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 ——! 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; and then, ordering the

Dodger out, closed the door, mixed a glass of spirits and water, and

composed himself for talking.

“First and foremost, Fagey,” 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; and then, placing his feet against

the low mantelpiece, so as to bring his boots to about the level of his

eye, quietly resumed.

“First and foremost, Fagey,” 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. D—me! the whole country was awake, and the dogs upon

us.”

“The boy!” gasped the Jew.

“Bill had him on his back, and scudded like the wind. We stopped to

take him again 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 of 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.