“Whining are you?” said Sikes. “Come! Don’t stand snivelling there. If you can’t do anything better than that, cut off altogether. D’ye hear me?”
“I hear you,” replied the girl, turning her face aside, and forcing a laugh. “What fancy have you got in your head now?”
“Oh! you’ve thought better of it, have you?” growled Sikes, marking the tear which trembled in her eye. “All the better for you, you have.”
“Why, you don’t mean to say, you’d be hard upon me to-night, Bill,” said the girl, laying her hand upon his shoulder.
“No!” cried Mr. Sikes. “Why not?”
“Such a number of nights,” said the girl, with a touch of woman’s tenderness, which communicated something like sweetness of tone, even to her voice: “such a number of nights as I’ve been patient with you, nursing and caring for you, as if you had been a child: and this the first that I’ve seen you like yourself; you wouldn’t have served me as you did just now, if you’d thought of that, would you? Come, come; say you wouldn’t.”
“Well, then,” rejoined Mr. Sikes, “I wouldn’t. Why, damme, now, the girl’s whining again!”
“It’s nothing,” said the girl, throwing herself into a chair. “Don’t you seem to mind me. It’ll soon be over.”
“What’ll be over?” demanded Mr. Sikes in a savage voice. “What foolery are you up to, now, again? Get up and bustle about, and don’t come over me with your woman’s nonsense.”
At any other time, this remonstrance, and the tone in which it was delivered, would have had the desired effect; but the girl being really weak and exhausted, dropped her head over the back of the chair, and fainted, before Mr. Sikes could get out a few of the appropriate oaths with which, on similar occasions, he was accustomed to garnish his threats. Not knowing, very well, what to do, in this uncommon emergency; for Miss Nancy’s hysterics were usually of that violent kind which the patient fights and struggles out of, without much assistance; Mr. Sikes tried a little blasphemy: and finding that mode of treatment wholly ineffectual, called for assistance.
“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 this 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 six-penny 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!”