Stranica 86 [86]
94
Company every quarter. Wot’s it all
about, Fagin. D—me if my neckanke¬
cher an’t lined with beer. Come in, you
sneaking warmint; wot are you stopping
outside for, as if you was ashamed of your
master. Come in!”
The man who growled out these words
was a stoutly-built fellow of about five¬
and-forty, in a black velveteen coat, very
soiled drab breeches, lace-up half-boots,
and grey cotton stockings, which enclosed
a very bulky pair of legs, with large
swelling calves,—the kind of legs which
in such costume always look in an un¬
finished and incomplete state without a
set of fetters to garnish them. He had
a brown hat on his head, and a dirty
‘belcher handkerchief round his neck,
with the long frayed ends of which, he
smeared the beer from his face as he
‘spoke; disclosing when he had done so
a broad heavy countenance with a beard
of three days’ growth, and two scowling
eyes, one of which displayed various
parti-coloured symptoms of having been
recently damaged by a blow.
“Come in, d’ye hear?” growled this
engaging-looking rufiian. A white shaggy
dog, with his face scratched and torn in
twenty different places, skulked into the
room.
c Why didn’t you come in afore?” said
the man. “ You’re getting too proud to
own me afore company, are you? Lie
down!”
This command was accompanied with
a kick which sent the animal to the other
end of the room. He appeared well used
to it, however; for he coiled himself up
in a corner very quietly without uttering
a sound, and, winking his very ill-lookmg
“appeared to occupy himself in taking a
survey of the apartment.
“What are you up to? I)l-treating
the boys, you covetous, avaricious, 1n-sa¬
ti-a-ble old fence?” said the man, seating
himself deliberately. “I wonder they
don’t murder you; J would if I was them.
If I’d been your ’prentice I’d have done
it long ago; and—no, I couldn’t have sold
"you arterwards, though; for you’re fit
for nothing but keeping as a curiosity of
ugliness in a glass bottle, and I suppose
they don’t blow them large enough.”
‘ Hush! hush! Mr. Sikes,” said the
Jew, trembling; “don’t speak so loud.”
“ None of your mistering,” replied the
ruffian ; “you always mean mischief when
you come that. You know my name:
out with it. I shan’t disgrace it when
the time comes.” |
i
“ Well, well, then, Bill Sikes,” said
the Jew with abject humility. “ You
seem out of humour, Bill.”
“ Perhaps I am,” replied Sikes. "1
should think you were rather out of sorts
too, unless you mean as little harm when
you throw pewter pots about, as you do
when you blab and E
“Are you mad?" said the Jew, catch¬
ing the man by the sleeve, and pointing
towards the boys.
Mr. Sikes contented himself with tying
an imaginary knot under his left ear, and
jerking his head over on the right shoul¬
der; a piece of dumb show which the
Jew appeared to understand perfectly.
He then in cant terms, with which his
whole conversation was plentifully be¬
sprinkled, but which would be quite un¬
intelligible if they were recorded here,
demanded a glass of liquor.
“And mind you don’t poison it,” said
Mr. Sikes, laying his hat upon the table.
This was said in jest; but if the speaker
could have seen the evil leer with which
the Jew bit his pale lip as he turned round
to the cupboard, he might have thought
the caution not wholly unnecessary, or
the wish, at all events, to improve upon
the distiller’s ingenuity not very far from
the old gentleman’s merry heart.
After swallowing two or three glassfuls
of spirits, Mr. Sikes condescended to take
some notice of the young gentlemen;
which gracious act led to a conversation
in which the cause and manner of Oliver’s
capture were circumstantially detailed,
with such alterations and improvements
on the truth as to the Dodger appear¬
ed most advisable under the circum¬
stances,
‘‘T’m afraid,” said the Jew, “that he
may say something which will get us
into trouble.”
“'That’s very likely,” returned Sikes
with a malicious grin. * You’re blowed
upon, Fagin.”
6 And I’m afraid, you see,” added the
Jew, speaking as if he had not noticed
the interruption, and regarding the other
closely as he did so,—“*1I’m afraid that,
if the game was up with us, it might be
up with a good many more; and that it
would come out rather worse for you than
it would for me, my dear.”
The man started, and turned fiercely
round upon the Jew; but the old gentle¬
man’s shoulders were shrugged up to his
ears, and his eyes were vacantly staring
on the opposite wall.
There was a long pause. Every mem¬
ber of the respectable coterie appeared