Oliver Twist (48 page)

“What’s the matter here, my dear?” said Fagin. looking in.

“Lend a hand to the girl, can’t you?” replied Sikes impatiently. “Don’t stand chattering and grinning at me!”

With an exclamation of surprise, Fagin hastened to the girl’s assistance, while Mr. John Dawkins (otherwise the Artful Dodger), who had followed his venerable friend into the room, hastily deposited on the floor a bundle with which he was laden, and snatching a bottle from the grasp of Master Charles Bates who came close at his heels, uncorked it in a twinkling with his teeth, and poured a portion of its contents down the patient’s throat, previously taking a taste himself to prevent mistakes.

“Give her a whiff of fresh air with the bellows, Charley,” said Mr. Dawkins; “and you slap her hands, Fagin, while Bill undoes the petticuts.”

These united restoratives, administered with great energy—especially that department consigned to Master Bates, who appeared to consider his share in the proceedings a piece of unexampled pleasantry—were not long in producing the desired effect. The girl gradually recovered her senses and, staggering to a chair by the bedside, hid her face upon the pillow, leaving Mr. Sikes to confront the new-comers, in some astonishment at their unlooked-for appearance.

“Why, what evil wind has blowed you here?” he asked Fagin.

“No evil wind at all, my dear, for evil winds blow nobody any good; and I’ve brought something good with me, that you’ll be glad to see. Dodger, my dear, open the bundle, and give Bill the little trifles that we spent all our money on this morning.”

In compliance with Mr. Fagin’s request, the Artful untied his bundle, which was of large size and formed of an old table-cloth, and handed the articles it contained, one by one, to Charley Bates, who placed them on the table, with various encomiums on their rarity and excellence.

“Sitch a rabbit pie, Bill,” exclaimed that young gentleman, disclosing to view a huge pasty, “sitch delicate creeturs, with sitch tender limbs, Bill, that the wery bones melt in your mouth, and there’s no occasion to pick ‘em; half a pound of seven and sixpenny green, so precious strong that if you mix it with biling water it’ll go nigh to blow the lid of the tea-pot off; a pound and a half of moist sugar that the niggers didn’t work at all at, afore they got it up to sitch a pitch of goodness—oh no! Two half-quartern brans, pound of best fresh, piece of double Glo’ster, and, to wind up all, some of the richest sort you ever lushed!”

Uttering this last panegyric, Master Bates produced, from one of his extensive pockets, a full-sized wine-bottle, carefully corked, while Mr. Dawkins, at the same instant, poured out a wine-glassful of raw spirits from the bottle he carried, which the invalid tossed down his throat without a moment’s hesita-. tion.

“Ah!” said Fagin, rubbing his hands with great satisfaction. “You’ll do, Bill, you’ll do now.”

“Do!” exclaimed Mr. Sikes; “I might have been done for, twenty times over, afore you’d have done anything to help me. What do you mean by leaving a man in this state, three weeks and more, you false-hearted wagabond?”

“Only hear him, boys!” said Fagin, shrugging his shoulders. “And us come to bring him all these beau-ti-ful things.”

“The things is well enough in their way,” observed Mr. Sikes, a little soothed as he glanced over the table; “but what have you got to say for yourself, why you should leave me here, down in the mouth, health, blunt, and everything else, and take no more notice of me, all this mortal time, than if I was that ‘ere dog.—Drive him down, Charley!”

“I never see such a jolly dog as that,” cried Master Bates, doing as he was desired. “Smelling the grub like a old lady a going to market! He’d make his fortun on the stage, that dog would, and rewive the drayma besides.”

“Hold your din,” cried Sikes, as the dog retreated under the bed, still growling angrily. “What have you got to say for yourself, you withered old fence, eh?”

“I was away from London a week and more, my dear, on a plant,” replied the Jew.

“And what about the other fortnight?” demanded Sikes. “What about the other fortnight that you’ve left me lying here, like a sick rat in his hole?”

“I couldn’t help it, Bill. I can’t go into a long explanation before company; but I couldn’t help it, upon my honour.”

“Upon your what?” growled Sikes, with excessive disgust. “Here! Cut me off a piece of that pie, one of you boys, to take the taste of that out of my mouth, or it’ll choke me dead.”

“Don’t be out of temper, my dear,” urged Fagin, submissively. “I have never forgot you, Bill, never once.”

“No! I’ll pound it that you han‘t,” replied Sikes, with a bit, ter grin. “You’ve been scheming and plotting away, every hour that I have laid shivering and burning here; and Bill was to do this; and Bill was to do that; and Bill was to do it all, dirt cheap, as soon as he got well and was quite poor enough for your work. If it hadn’t been for the girl, I might have died.”

“There now, Bill,” remonstrated Fagin, eagerly catching at the word. “If it hadn’t been for the girl! Who but poor ould Fagin was the means of your having such a handy girl about you?”

“He says true enough there!” said Nancy, coming hastily forward. “Let him be; let him be.”

Nancy’s appearance gave a new turn to the conversation; for the boys, receiving a sly wink from the wary old Jew, began to ply her with liquor, of which, however, she took very sparingly, while Fagin, assuming an unusual flow of spirits, gradually brought Mr. Sikes into a better temper by affecting to regard his threats as a little pleasant banter, and, moreover, by laughing very heartily at one or two rough jokes, which, after repeated applications to the spirit-bottle, he condescended to make.

“It’s all very well,” said Mr. Sikes, “but I must have some blunt from you to-night.”

“I haven’t a piece of coin about me,” replied the Jew.

“Then you’ve got lots at home,” retorted Sikes; “and I must have some from there.”

“Lots!” cried Fagin, holding up his hands. “I haven’t so much as would—”

“I don’t know how much you’ve got, and I dare say you hardly know yourself, as it would take a pretty long time to count it,” said Sikes; “but I must have some tonight, and that’s flat.”

“Well, well,” said Fagin, with a sigh, “I’ll send the Artful round presently.”

“You won’t do nothing of the kind,” rejoined Mr. Sikes. “The Artful’s a deal too artful, and would forget to come, or lose his way, or get dodged by traps and so be perwented, or anything for an excuse, if you put him up to it. Nancy shall go to the ken and fetch it, to make all sure; and I’ll lie down and have a snooze while she’s gone.”

After a great deal of haggling and squabbling, Fagin beat down the amount of the required advance from five pounds to three pounds four and sixpence, protesting with many solemn asservations that that would only leave him eighteenpence to keep house with; Mr. Sikes sullenly remarking that if he couldn’t get any more he must be content with that, Nancy prepared to accompany him home, while the Dodger and Master Bates put the eatables in the cupboard. The Jew then, taking leave of his affectionate friend, returned homeward, attended by Nancy and the boys. Mr. Sikes, meanwhile, flinging himself on the bed and composing himself to sleep away the time until the young lady’s return.

In due course they arrived at Fagin’s abode, where they found Toby Crackit and Mr. Chitling intent upon their fifteenth game at cribbage, which it is scarcely necessary to say the latter gentleman lost, and with it his fifteenth and last sixpence, much to the amusement of his young friends. Mr. Crackit, apparently somewhat ashamed at being found relaxing himself with a gentleman so much his inferior in station and mental endowments, yawned and, inquiring after Sikes, took up his hat to go.

“Has nobody been, Toby?” asked Fagin.

“Not a living leg,” answered Mr. Crackit, pulling up his collar; “it’s been as dull as swipes. You ought to stand something handsome, Fagin, to recompense me for keeping house so long. Damme, I’m as flat as a juryman; and should have gone to sleep, as fast as Newgate, if I hadn’t had the good natur’ to amuse this youngster. Horrid dull, I’m blessed if I an‘t!”

With these and other ejaculations of the same kind, Mr. Toby Crackit swept up his winnings and crammed them into his waistcoat pocket with a haughty air, as though such small pieces of silver were wholly beneath the consideration of a man of his figure; this done, he swaggered out of the room with so much elegance and gentility that Mr. Chitting, bestowing numerous admiring glances on his legs and boots till they were out of sight, assured the company that he considered his acquaintance cheap at fifteen sixpences an interview, and that he didn’t value his losses the snap of his little finger.

“Wot a rum chap you are, Tom!” said Master Bates, highly amused by this declaration.

“Not a bit of it,” replied Mr. Chitling. “Am I, Fagin?”

“A very clever fellow, my dear,” said Fagin, patting him on the shoulder, and winking to his other pupils.

“And Mr. Crackit is a heavy swell; an’t he, Fagin?” asked Tom.

“No doubt at all of that, my dear.”

“And it
is
a creditable thing to have his acquaintance; an’t it, Fagin?” pursued Tom.

“Very much so, indeed, my dear. They’re only jealous, Tom, because he won’t give it to them.”

“Ah!” cried Tom, triumphantly, “that’s where it is! He has cleaned me out. But I can go and earn some more when I like; can’t I, Fagin?”

“To be sure you can, and the sooner you go the better, Tom; so make up your loss at once, and don’t lose any more time. Dodger! Charley! It’s time you were on the lay. Come! It’s near ten, and nothing done yet.”

In obedience to this hint, the boys, nodding to Nancy, took up their hats and left the room, the Dodger and his vivacious friend indulging, as they went, in many witticisms at the expense of Mr. Chitling, in whose conduct, it is but justice to say there was nothing very conspicuous or peculiar, inasmuch as there are a great number of spirited young bloods upon town who pay a much higher price than Mr. Chitling for being seen in good society, and a great number of fine gentlemen (composing the good society aforesaid) who establish their reputation upon very much the same footing as flash Toby Crackit.

“Now,” said Fagin, when they had left the room, “I’ll go and get you that cash, Nancy. This is only the key of a little cupboard where I keep a few odd things the boys get, my dear. I never lock up my money, for I’ve got none to lock up, my dear—ha! ha! ha!—none to lock up. It’s a poor trade, Nancy, and no thanks; but I’m fond of seeing the young people about me; and I bear it :all, I bear it all. Hush!” he said, hastily concealing the key in his breast; “who’s that? Listen!”.

The girl, who was sitting at the table with her arms folded, appeared in no way interested in the arrival or to care whether the person, whoever he was, came or went, until the murmur of a man’s voice reached her ears. The instant she cau
^g
ht the sound she tore off her bonnet and shawl, with the rapidity of lightning, and thrust them under the table. The Jew turning round immediately afterwards, she muttered a complaint of the heat in a tone of languor that contrasted very remarkably with the extreme haste and violence of this action, which, however, had been unobserved by Fagin, who had his back towards her at the time.

“Bah!” he whispered, as though nettled by the interruption; “it’s the man I expected before; he’s coming downstairs. Not a word about the money while he’s here, Nance. He won’t stop long. Not ten minutes, my dear.”

Laying his skinny forefinger upon his lip, the Jew carried a candle to the door, as a man’s step was heard upon the stairs without. He reached it at the same moment as the visitor, who, coming hastily into the room, was close upon the girl before he observed her.

It was Monks.

“Only one of my young people,” said Fagin, observing that Monks drew back on beholding a stranger. “Don’t move, Nancy.”

The girl drew closer to the table and, glancing at Monks with an air of careless levity, withdrew her eyes; but as he turned his towards Fagin she stole another look so keen and searching, and full of purpose, that if there had been any by stander to observe the change, he could hardly have believed the two looks to have proceeded from the same person.

“Any news?” inquired Fagin.

“Great.”

“And—and—good?” asked Fagin, hesitating as though he feared to vex the other man by being too sanguine.

“Not bad, anyway,” replied Monks with a smile. “I have been prompt enough this time. Let me have a word with you.”

The girl drew closer to the table and made no offer to leave the room, although she could see that Monks was pointing to her. The Jew, perhaps fearing she might say something aloud about the money if he endeavoured to get rid of her, pointed upward and took Monks out of the room.

“Not that infernal hole we were in before,” she could hear the man say as they went upstairs. Fagin laughed and, making some reply which did not reach her, seemed, by the creaking of the boards, to lead his companion to the second story.

Before the sound of their footsteps had ceased to echo through the house, the girl had slipped off her shoes, and drawing her gown loosely over her head, and muffling her arms in it, stood at the door, listening with breathless interest. The moment the noise ceased she glided from the room, ascended the stairs with incredible softness and silence, and was lost in the gloom above.

The room remained deserted for a quarter of an hour or more; the girl glided back with the same unearthly tread, and, immediately afterwards, the two men were heard descending. Monks went at once into the street, and the Jew crawled upstairs again for the money. When he returned the girl was adjusting her shawl and bonnet, as if preparing to be gone.

“Why, Nance,” exclaimed the Jew, starting back as he put down the candle, “how pale you are!”