Oliver Twist; or, The Parish Boy's Progress. IllustratedDickens, Charles
General
Oliver Twist; or, The Parish Boy's Progress. Illustrated
Dickens, Charles
Bildungsromans; Boys -- Fiction; Criminals -- Fiction; Kidnapping victims -- Fiction; London (England) -- Fiction; Orphans -- Fiction
‘To be sure you can, and the sooner you go the better, Tom; so make
up your loss at once, and don’t lose any more time. Dodger! Charley!
It’s time you were on the lay. Come! It’s near ten, and nothing done
yet.’
In obedience to this hint, the boys, nodding to Nancy, took up
their hats, and left the room; the Dodger and his vivacious friend
indulging, as they went, in many witticisms at the expense of Mr.
Chitling; in whose conduct, it is but justice to say, there was
nothing very conspicuous or peculiar: inasmuch as there are a great
number of spirited young bloods upon town, who pay a much higher
price than Mr. Chitling for being seen in good society: and a great
number of fine gentlemen (composing the good society aforesaid)
who established their reputation upon very much the same footing as
flash Toby Crackit.
‘Now,’ said Fagin, when they had left the room, ‘I’ll go and get you
that cash, Nancy. This is only the key of a little cupboard where
I keep a few odd things the boys get, my dear. I never lock up my
money, for I’ve got none to lock up, my dear--ha! ha! ha!--none to
lock up. It’s a poor trade, Nancy, and no thanks; but I’m fond of
seeing the young people about me; and I bear it all, I bear it all.
Hush!’ he said, hastily concealing the key in his breast; ‘who’s
that? Listen!’
The girl, who was sitting at the table with her arms folded,
appeared in no way interested in the arrival: or to care whether the
person, whoever he was, came or went: until the murmur of a man’s
voice reached her ears. The instant she caught the sound, she tore
off her bonnet and shawl, with the rapidity of lightning, and thrust
them under the table. The Jew, turning round immediately afterwards,
she muttered a complaint of the heat: in a tone of languor that
contrasted, very remarkably, with the extreme haste and violence of
this action: which, however, had been unobserved by Fagin, who had
his back towards her at the time.
‘Bah!’ he whispered, as though nettled by the interruption; ‘it’s
the man I expected before; he’s coming downstairs. Not a word
about the money while he’s here, Nance. He won’t stop long. Not ten
minutes, my dear.’
Laying his skinny forefinger upon his lip, the Jew carried a candle
to the door, as a man’s step was heard upon the stairs without. He
reached it, at the same moment as the visitor, who, coming hastily
into the room, was close upon the girl before he observed her.
It was Monks.
‘Only one of my young people,’ said Fagin, observing that Monks drew
back, on beholding a stranger. ‘Don’t move, Nancy.’
The girl drew closer to the table, and glancing at Monks with an
air of careless levity, withdrew her eyes; but as he turned towards
Fagin, she stole another look; so keen and searching, and full of
purpose, that if there had been any bystander to observe the change,
he could hardly have believed the two looks to have proceeded from
the same person.
‘Any news?’ inquired Fagin.
‘Great.’
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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