He cast back a dark look, and a threatening motion of the hand, towards the spot where he had left the bolder villain; and went on his way: busying his bony hands in the folds of his tattered garment, which he wrenched tightly in his grasp, as though there were a hated enemy crushed with every motion of his fingers.
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Chapter XLV
Noah Claypole is Employed by Fagin on a Secret Mission
THE old man was up, betimes, next morning, and waited impatiently for the appearance of his new associate, who after a delay that seemed interminable, at length presented himself, and commenced a voracious assault on the breakfast.
“Bolter,” said Fagin, drawing up a chair and seating himself opposite Morris Bolter.
“Well, here I am,” returned Noah. “What’s the matter? Don’t yer ask me to do anything till I have done eating. That’s a great fault in this place. Yer never get time enough over yer meals.”
“You can talk as you eat, can’t you?” said Fagin, cursing his dear young friend’s greediness from the very bottom of his heart.
“Oh yes, I can talk. I get on better when I talk,” said Noah, cutting a monstrous slice of bread. “Where’s Charlotte?”
“Out,” said Fagin. “I sent her out this morning with the other young woman, because I wanted us to be alone.”
“Oh!” said Noah, “I wish yer’d ordered her to make some buttered toast first. Well. Talk away. Yer won’t interrupt me.”
There seemed, indeed, no great fear of anything interrupting him, as he had evidently sat down with a determination to do a great deal of business.
“You did well yesterday, my dear,” said Fagin. “Beautiful! Six shillings and ninepence halfpenny on the very first day! The kinchin lay will be a fortune to you.”
“Don’t you forget to add three pint-pots and a milk-can,” said Mr. Bolter.
“No, no, my dear. The pint-pots were great strokes of genius: but the milk-can was a perfect masterpiece.”
“Pretty well, I think, for a beginner,” remarked Mr. Bolter complacently. “The pots I took off airy railings, and the milk-can was standing by itself outside a public-house. I thought it might get rusty with the rain, or catch cold, yer know. Eh? Ha! ha! ha!”
Fagin affected to laugh very heartily; and Mr. Bolter having had his laugh out, took a series of large bites, which finished his first hunk of bread and butter, and assisted himself to a second.
“I want you, Bolter,” said Fagin, leaning over the table, “to do a piece of work for me, my dear, that needs great care and caution.”
“I say,” rejoined Bolter, “don’t yer go shoving me into danger, or sending me to any more o’ yer police-offices. That don’t suit me, that don’t; and so I tell yer.”
“There’s not the smallest danger in it—not the very smallest,” said the Jew; “it’s only to dodge a woman.”
“An old woman?” demanded Mr. Bolter.
“A young one,” replied Fagin.
“I can do that pretty well, I know,” said Bolter. “I was a regular cunning sneak when I was at school. What am I to dodge her for? Not to—’
“Not to do anything, but to tell me where she goes, who she sees, and, if possible, what she says; to remember the street, if it is a street, or the house, if it is a house; and to bring me back all the information you can.”
“What’ll yer give me?” asked Noah, setting down his cup, and looking his employer, eagerly, in the face.
“If you do it well, a pound, my dear. One pound,” said Fagin, wishing to interest him in the scent as much as possible. “And that’s what I never gave yet, for any job of work where there wasn’t valuable consideration to be gained.”
“Who is she?” inquired Noah.
“One of us.”
“Oh Lor!” cried Noah, curling up his nose. “Yer doubtful of her, are yer?”
“She has found out some new friends, my dear, and I must know who they are,” replied Fagin.
“I see,” said Noah. “Just to have the pleasure of knowing them, if they’re respectable people, eh? Ha! ha! ha! I’m your man.”