AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE OF OLIVER’S, EXHIBITING DECIDED MARKS OF GENIUS,
BECOMES A PUBLIC CHARACTER IN THE METROPOLIS.
UPON the very same night when Nancy, having lulled Mr. Sikes to sleep,
hurried on her self-imposed mission to Rose Maylie, there advanced
towards London by the Great North Road two persons, upon whom it is
expedient that this history should bestow some attention.
They were a man and woman, or perhaps they would be better described
as a male and female; for the former was one of those long-limbed,
knock-kneed, shambling, bony figures, to whom it is difficult to assign
any precise age,—looking as they do, when they are yet boys, like
undergrown men, and when they are almost men, like overgrown boys. The
woman was young, but of a robust and hardy make, as she need have been
to bear the weight of the heavy bundle which was strapped to her back.
Her companion was not encumbered with much luggage, as there merely
dangled from a stick which he carried over his shoulder a small parcel
wrapped in a common handkerchief, and apparently light enough. This
circumstance, added to the length of his legs, which were of unusual
extent, enabled him with much ease to keep some half-dozen paces in
advance of his companion, to whom he occasionally turned with an
impatient jerk of the head as if reproaching her tardiness, and urging
her to greater exertion.
Thus they toiled along the dusty road, taking little heed of any object
within sight, save when they stepped aside to allow a wider passage for
the mail-coaches which were whirling out of town, until they passed
through Highgate archway, when the foremost traveller stopped and
called impatiently to his companion,
“Come on, can’t yer? What a lazybones yer are, Charlotte.”
“It’s a heavy load, I can tell you,” said the female, coming up almost
breathless with fatigue.
“Heavy! What are yer talking about?—what are yer made for?” rejoined
the male traveller, changing his own little bundle as he spoke, to the
other shoulder. “Oh, there yer are, resting again! Well, if yer ain’t
enough to tire any body’s patience out, I don’t know what is.”
“Is it much farther?” asked the woman, resting herself on a bank, and
looking up with the perspiration streaming from her face.
“Much farther! Yer as good as there,” said the long-legged tramper
pointing out before him. “Look there—those are the lights of London.”
“They’re a good two mile off at least,” said the woman despondingly.
“Never mind whether they’re two mile off or twenty,” said Noah
Claypole, for he it was; “but get up and come on, or I’ll kick yer;
and so I give yer notice.”
As Noah’s red nose grew redder with anger, and as he crossed the road
while speaking, as if fully prepared to put his threat into execution,
the woman rose without any further remark and trudged onwards by his
side.
“Where do you mean to stop for the night, Noah?” she asked, after they
had walked a few hundred yards.
“How should I know?” replied Noah, whose temper had been considerably
impaired by walking.
“Near, I hope,” said Charlotte.
“No, not near,” replied Mr. Claypole; “there—not near; so don’t think
it.”
“Why not?”
“When I tell yer that I don’t mean to do a thing, that’s enough,
without any why, or because either,” replied Mr. Claypole with dignity.
“Well, you needn’t be so cross,” said his companion.
“A pretty thing it would be, wouldn’t it, to go and stop at the very
first public-house outside the town, so that Sowerberry, if he come up
after us, might poke in his old nose, and have us taken back in a cart
with handcuffs on,” said Mr. Claypole in a jeering tone. “No, I shall
go and lose myself among the narrowest streets I can find, and not stop
till we come to the very out-of-the-wayest house I can set eyes on.
’Cod, yer may thank yer stars I’ve got a head; for if we hadn’t gone at
first the wrong road on purpose, and come back across country, yer’d
have been locked up hard and fast a week ago, my lady, and serve yer
right for being a fool.”
“I know I ain’t as cunning as you are,” replied Charlotte; “but don’t
put all the blame on me, and say _I_ should have been locked up. You
would have been if I had been, any way.”
“Yer took the money from the till, yer know yer did,” said Mr. Claypole.
“I took it for you, Noah, dear,” rejoined Charlotte.
“Did I keep it?” asked Mr. Claypole.
“No; you trusted in me, and let me carry it like a dear, and so you
are,” said the lady, chucking him under the chin, and drawing her arm
through his.
This was indeed the case; but as it was not Mr. Claypole’s habit
to repose a blind and foolish confidence in any body, it should be
observed, in justice to that gentleman, that he had trusted Charlotte
to this extent, in order that, if they were pursued, the money might
be found on her, which would leave him an opportunity of asserting his
utter innocence of any theft, and greatly facilitate his chances of
escape. Of course he entered at this juncture into no explanation of
his motives, and they walked on very lovingly together.
In pursuance of this cautious plan, Mr. Claypole went on without
halting until he arrived at the Angel at Islington, where he wisely
judged, from the crowd of passengers and number of vehicles, that
London began in earnest. Just pausing to observe which appeared the
most crowded streets, and consequently the most to be avoided, he
crossed into Saint John’s Road, and was soon deep in the obscurity of
the intricate and dirty ways which, lying between Gray’s Inn Lane and
Smithfield, render that part of the town one of the lowest and worst
that improvement has left in the midst of London.
Through these streets Noah Claypole walked, dragging Charlotte after
him, now stepping into the kennel to embrace at a glance the whole
external character of some small public-house, and now jogging on again
as some fancied appearance induced him to believe it too public for his
purpose. At length he stopped in front of one more humble in appearance
and more dirty than any he had yet seen; and, having crossed over
and surveyed it from the opposite pavement, graciously announced his
intention of putting up there for the night.
“So give us the bundle,” said Noah, unstrapping it from the woman’s
shoulders, and slinging it over his own; “and don’t yer speak except
when yer spoken to. What’s the name of the house—t-h-r—three what?”
“Cripples,” said Charlotte.
“Three Cripples,” repeated Noah, “and a very good sign too. Now, then,
keep close at my heels, and come along.” With these injunctions, he
pushed the rattling door with his shoulder, and entered the house
followed by his companion.
There was nobody in the bar but a young Jew, who, with his two elbows
on the counter, was reading a dirty newspaper. He stared very hard at
Noah, and Noah stared very hard at him.
If Noah had been attired in his charity-boy’s dress, there might have
been some reason for the Jew’s opening his eyes so wide; but as he had
discarded the coat and badge, and wore a short smock-frock over his
leathers, there seemed no particular reason for his appearance exciting
so much attention in a public-house.
“Is this the Three Cripples?” asked Noah.
“That is the dabe of this house,” replied the Jew.
“A gentleman we met on the road coming up from the country recommended
us here,” said Noah, nudging Charlotte, perhaps to call her attention
to this most ingenious device for attracting respect, and perhaps to
warn her to betray no surprise. “We want to sleep here to-night.”
“I’b dot certaid you cad,” said Barney, who was the attendant sprite;
“but I’ll idquire.”
“Show us the tap, and give us a bit of cold meat and a drop of beer
while yer inquiring, will yer?” said Noah.
Barney complied by ushering them into a small back-room, and setting
the required viands before them; having done which, he informed the
travellers that they could be lodged that night, and left the amiable
couple to their refreshment.
Now, this back-room was immediately behind the bar, and some steps
lower, so that any person connected with the house, undrawing a small
curtain which concealed a single pane of glass fixed in the wall of
the last-named apartment, about five feet from its flooring, could
not only look down upon any guests in the back-room without any great
hazard of being observed (the glass being in a dark angle of the wall,
between which and a large upright beam the observer had to thrust
himself), but could, by applying his ear to the partition, ascertain
with tolerable distinctness their subject of conversation. The landlord
of the house had not withdrawn his eye from this place of espial
for five minutes, and Barney had only just returned from making the
communication above related, when Fagin, in the course of his evening’s
business came into the bar to inquire after some of his young pupils.
“Hush!” said Barney: “stradegers id the next roob.”
“Strangers!” repeated the old man in a whisper.
“Ah! ad rub uds too,” added Barney. “Frob the cuttry, but subthig in
your way, or I’b bistaked.”
Fagin appeared to receive this communication with great interest, and,
mounting on a stool, cautiously applied his eye to the pane of glass,
from which secret post he could see Mr. Claypole taking cold beef from
the dish and porter from the pot, and administering homœopathic doses
of both to Charlotte, who sat patiently by, eating and drinking at his
pleasure.
“Aha!” whispered the Jew, looking round to Barney, “I like the fellow’s
looks. He’d be of use to us; he knows how to train the girl already.
Don’t make as much noise as a mouse, my dear, and let me hear ’em
talk—let me hear ’em.”
The Jew again applied his eye to the glass, and turning his ear to the
partition, listened attentively, with a subtle and eager look upon his
face that might have appertained to some old goblin.
“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 you 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 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.
[Illustration: _The Jew & Morris Bolter begin to understand each
other._]
“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 the Jew, 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.”
The Jew 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.”
“In what way?” asked Mr. Claypole, a little recovering.
“In that way of business,” rejoined Fagin, “and so are the people of
the house. You’ve hit the right nail upon the head, and are as safe
here as you could be. There is not a safer place in all this town than
is the Cripples; that is, when I like to make it so, and I’ve taken a
fancy to you and the young woman; so I’ve said the word, and you may
make your minds easy.”
Noah Claypole’s mind might have been at ease after this assurance, but
his body certainly was not, for he shuffled and writhed about into
various uncouth positions, eyeing his new friend meanwhile with mingled
fear and suspicion.
“I’ll tell you more,” said the Jew, after he had reassured the girl, by
dint of friendly nods and muttered encouragements. “I have got a friend
that I think can gratify your darling wish and put you in the right
way, where you can take whatever department of the business you think
will suit you best at first, and be taught all the others.”
“Yer speak as if yer were in earnest,” replied Noah.
“What advantage would it be to me to be anything else?” inquired the
Jew, shrugging his shoulders. “Here. Let me have a word with you
outside.”
“There’s no occasion to trouble ourselves to move,” said Noah, getting
his legs by gradual degrees abroad again. “She’ll take the luggage up
stairs the while. Charlotte, see to them bundles.”
This mandate, which had been delivered with great majesty, was obeyed
without the slightest demur, and Charlotte made the best of her way off
with the packages while Noah held the door open, and watched her out.
“She’s kept tolerably well under, ain’t she, sir?” he asked as he
resumed his seat, in the tone of a keeper who has tamed some wild
animal.
“Quite perfect,” rejoined Fagin, clapping him on the shoulder. “You’re
a genius, my dear.”
“Why, I suppose if I wasn’t I shouldn’t be here,” replied Noah. “But, I
say, she’ll be back if yer lose time.”
“Now, what do you think?” said the Jew. “If you was to like my friend,
could you do better than join him?”
“Is he in a good way of business, that’s where it is?” responded Noah,
winking one of his little eyes.
“The top of the tree,” said the Jew, “employs a power of hands; and has
the very best society in the profession.”
“Regular town-maders?” asked Mr. Claypole.
“Not a countryman among’em; and I don’t think he’d take you even on my
recommendation if he didn’t run rather short of assistants just now,”
replied the Jew.
“Should I have to hand over?” said Noah, slapping his breeches-pocket.
“It couldn’t possibly be done without,” replied Fagin, in a most
decided manner.
“Twenty pound, though,—it’s a lot of money!”
“Not when it’s in a note you can’t ged rid of,” retorted Fagin. “Number
and date taken, I suppose; payment stopped at the Bank? Ah! It’s not
worth much to him; it’ll have to go abroad, and he couldn’t sell it for
a great deal in the market.”
“When could I see him?” asked Noah doubtfully.
“To-morrow morning,” replied the Jew.
“Where?”
“Here.”
“Um!” said Noah. “What’s the wages?”
“Live like a gentleman,—board and lodging, pipes and spirits
free,—half of all you earn, and half of all the young woman earns,”
replied Mr. Fagin.
Whether Noah Claypole, whose rapacity was none of the least
comprehensive, would have acceded even to these glowing terms had he
been a perfectly free agent is very doubtful; but as he recollected
that, in the event of his refusal it was in the power of his new
acquaintance to give him up to justice immediately (and more unlikely
things had come to pass), he gradually relented, and said he thought
that would suit him.
“But, yer see,” observed Noah, “as she will be able to do a good deal,
I should like to take something very light.”
“A little fancy work?” suggested Fagin.
“Ah! something of that sort,” replied Noah. “What do you think would
suit me now? Something not too trying for the strength, and not very
dangerous, you know; that’s the sort of thing!”
“I heard you talk of something in the spy way upon the others, my
dear?” said the Jew. “My friend wants somebody who would do that well
very much.”
“Why, I did mention that, and I shouldn’t mind turning my hand to it
sometimes,” rejoined Mr. Claypole slowly; “but it wouldn’t pay by
itself, you know.”
“That’s true!” observed the Jew, ruminating or pretending to ruminate.
“No, it might not.”
“What do you think, then?” asked Noah, anxiously regarding him.
“Something in the sneaking way, where it was pretty sure work, and not
much more risk than being at home.”
“What do you think of the old ladies?” asked the Jew. “There’s a good
deal of money made in snatching their bags and parcels, and running
round the corner.”
“Don’t they holler out a good deal, and scratch sometimes?” asked Noah,
shaking his head. “I don’t think that would answer my purpose. Ain’t
there any other line open?”
“Stop,” said the Jew, laying his hand on Noah’s knee. “The kinchin lay.”
“What’s that?” demanded Mr. Claypole.
“The kinchins, my dear,” said the Jew, “is the young children that’s
sent on errands by their mothers, with sixpences and shillings, and
the lay is just to take their money away—they’ve always got it ready
in their hands,—and then knock ’em into the kennel, and walk off very
slow, as if there was nothing else the matter but a child fallen down
and hurt itself. Ha! ha! ha!”
“Ha! ha!” roared Mr. Claypole, kicking up his legs in an ecstasy.
“Lord, that’s the very thing!”
“To be sure it is,” replied Fagin; “and you can have a few good beats
chalked out in Camden-town, and Battle-bridge, and neighbourhoods like
that, where they’re always going errands, and upset as many kinchins as
you want any hour in the day. Ha! ha! ha!”
With this Fagin poked Mr. Claypole in the side, and they joined in a
burst of laughter both long and loud.
“Well, that’s all right!” said Noah, when he had recovered himself, and
Charlotte had returned. “What time to-morrow shall we say?”
“Will ten do?” asked the Jew, adding, as Mr. Claypole nodded assent,
“What name shall I tell my good friend?”
“Mr. Bolter,” replied Noah, who had prepared himself for such an
emergency. “Mr. Morris Bolter. This is Mrs. Bolter.”
“Mrs. Bolter’s humble servant,” said Fagin, bowing with grotesque
politeness. “I hope I shall know her better very shortly.”
“Do you hear the gentleman, Char-lotte?” thundered Mr. Claypole.
“Yes, Noah, dear!” replied Mrs. Bolter, extending her hand.
“She calls me Noah, as a sort of fond way of talking,” said Mr. Morris
Bolter, late Claypole, turning to the Jew. “You understand?”
“Oh yes, I understand—perfectly,” replied Fagin, telling the truth for
once. “Good night! Good night!”
With many adieus and good wishes Mr. Fagin went his way; and Noah
Claypole, bespeaking his good lady’s attention, proceeded to enlighten
her relative to the arrangement he had made, with all that haughtiness
and air of superiority becoming not only a member of the sterner sex,
but a gentleman who appreciated the dignity of a special appointment on
the kinchin lay in London and its vicinity.