“So I mean to be a gentleman,” said Mr. Claypole, kicking out his legs, and continuing a conversation, the commencement of which Fagin had arrived too late to hear. “No more jolly old coffins, Charlotte, but a gentleman’s life for me: and, if yer like, yer shall be a lady.”
“I should like that well enough, dear,” replied Charlotte; “but tills ain’t to be emptied every day, and people to get clear off after it.”
“Tills be blowed!” said Mr. Claypole; “there’s more things besides tills to be emptied.”
“What do you mean?” asked his companion.
“Pockets, women’s ridicules, houses, mail-coaches, banks!” said Mr. Claypole, rising with the porter.
“But you can’t do all that, dear,” said Charlotte.
“I shall look out to get into company with them as can,” replied Noah. “They’ll be able to make us useful some way or another. Why, you yourself are worth fifty women; I never see such a precious sly and deceitful creetur as yer can be when I let yer.”
“Lor, how nice it is to hear yer say so!” exclaimed Charlotte, imprinting a kiss upon his ugly face.
“There, that’ll do: don’t yer be too affectionate, in case I’m cross with yer,” said Noah, disengaging himself with great gravity. “I should like to be the captain of some band, and have the whopping of ’em, and follering ’em about, unbeknown to themselves. That would suit me, if there was good profit; and if we could only get in with some gentlemen of this sort, I say it would be cheap at that twenty-pound note you’ve got,—especially as we don’t very well know how to get rid of it ourselves.”
After expressing this opinion, Mr. Claypole looked into the porter-pot with an aspect of deep wisdom; and having well shaken its contents, nodded condescendingly to Charlotte, and took a draught, wherewith he appeared greatly refreshed. He was meditating another, when the sudden opening of the door, and the appearance of a stranger, interrupted him.
The stranger was Mr. Fagin. And very amiable he looked, and a very low bow he made, as he advanced, and setting himself down at the nearest table, ordered something to drink of the grinning Barney.
“A pleasant night, sir, but cool for the time of year,” said Fagin, rubbing his hands. “From the country, I see, sir?”
“How do yer see that?” asked Noah Claypole.
“We have not so much dust as that in London,” replied Fagin, pointing from Noah’s shoes to those of his companion, and from them to the two bundles.
“Yer a sharp feller,” said Noah. “Ha! ha! only hear that, Charlotte.”
“Why, one need be sharp in this town, my dear,” replied the Jew, sinking his voice to a confidential whisper; “and that’s the truth.”
Fagin followed up this remark by striking the side of his nose with his right forefinger,—a gesture which Noah attempted to imitate, though not with complete success, in consequence of his own nose not being large enough for the purpose. However, Mr. Fagin seemed to interpret the endeavour as expressing a perfect coincidence with his opinion, and put about the liquor which Barney reappeared with, in a very friendly manner.
“Good stuff that,” observed Mr. Claypole, smacking his lips.
“Dear!” said Fagin. “A man need be always emptying 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 heard this extract from his own remarks than he fell back in his chair, and looked from the Jew to Charlotte with a countenance of ashy paleness and excessive terror.
“Don’t mind me, my dear,” said Fagin, drawing his chair closer. “Ha! ha! it was lucky it was only me that heard you by chance. It was very lucky it was only me.”
“I didn’t take it,” stammered Noah, no longer stretching out his legs like an independent gentleman, but coiling them up as well as he could under his chair; “it was all her doing: yer’ve got it now, Charlotte, yer know yer have.”
“No matter who’s got it, or who did it, my dear,” replied Fagin, glancing, nevertheless, with a hawk’s eye at the girl and the two bundles. “I’m in that way myself, and I like you for it.”