‘Yes,’ said the Jew, answering the mute inquiry; ‘bring him down. Hush! Quiet, Charley! Gently, Tom! Scarce, scarce!’ This brief direction to Charley Bates, and his recent antagonist, was softly and immediately obeyed. There was no sound of their whereabout, when the Dodger descended the stairs, bearing the light in his hand, and followed by a man in a coarse smock-frock; who, after casting a hurried glance round the room, pulled off a large wrapper which had concealed the lower portion of his face, and disclosed: all haggard, unwashed, and unshorn: the features of flash Toby Crackit. ‘How are you, Faguey?’ said this worthy, nodding to the Jew. ‘Pop that shawl away in my castor, Dodger, so that I may know where to find it when I cut; that’s the time of day! You’ll be a fine young cracksman afore the old file now.’ With these words he pulled up the smock-frock; and, winding it round his middle, drew a chair to the fire, and placed his feet upon the hob. ‘See there, Faguey,’ he said, pointing disconsolately to his top boots; ‘not a drop of Day and Martin since you know when; not a bubble of blacking, by Jove! But don’t look at me in that way, man. All in good time. I can’t talk about business till I’ve eat and drank; so produce the sustainance, and let’s have a quiet fill-out for the first time these three days!’ The Jew motioned to the Dodger to place what eatables there were, upon the table; and, seating himself opposite the housebreaker, waited his leisure. To judge from appearances, Toby was by no means in a hurry to open the conversation. At first, the Jew contented himself with patiently watching his countenance, as if to gain from its expression some clue to the intelligence he brought; but in vain. He looked tired and worn, but there was the same complacent repose upon his features that they always wore: and through dirt, and beard, and whisker, there still shone, unimpaired, the self-satisfied smirk of flash Toby Crackit. Then the Jew, in an agony of impatience, watched every morsel he put into his mouth; pacing up and down the room, meanwhile, in irrepressible excitement. It was all of no use. Toby continued to eat with the utmost outward indifference, until he could eat no more; then, ordering the Dodger out, he closed the door, mixed a glass of spirits and water, and composed himself for talking. ‘First and foremost, Faguey,’ said Toby. ‘Yes, yes!’ interposed the Jew, drawing up his chair. Mr. Crackit stopped to take a draught of spirits and water, and to declare that the gin was excellent; then placing his feet against the low mantelpiece, so as to bring his boots to about the level of his eye, he quietly resumed. ‘First and foremost, Faguey,’ said the housebreaker, ‘how’s Bill?’ ‘What!’ screamed the Jew, starting from his seat. ‘Why, you don’t mean to say--’ began Toby, turning pale.