“Never mind him, my dear,” said the Jew, winking at Mr. Dawkins, and giving Master Bates a reproving tap with the nozzle of the bellows. “Betsy’s a fine girl. Stick up to her, Tom: stick up to her.” “What I mean to say, Fagin,” replied Mr. Chitling, very red in the face, “is, that that isn’t anything to anybody here.” “No more it is,” replied the Jew “Charley will talk. Don’t mind him, my dear; don’t mind him. Betsy’s a fine girl. Do as she bids you, Tom, and you’ll make your fortune.” “So I _do_ do as she bids me,” replied Mr. Chitling; “I shouldn’t have been milled if it hadn’t been for her advice. But it turned out a good job for you, didn’t it, Fagin? And what’s six weeks of it? It must come some time or another; and why not in the winter time when you don’t want to go out a-walking so much; eh, Fagin?” “Ah, to be sure, my dear,” replied the Jew. “You wouldn’t mind it again, Tom, would you,” asked the Dodger, winking upon Charley and the Jew, “if Bet was all right?” “I mean to say that I shouldn’t,” replied Tom, angrily; “there, now! Ah! Who’ll say as much as that, I should like to know; eh, Fagin?” “Nobody, my dear,” replied the Jew; “not a soul, Tom. I don’t know one of ’em that would do it besides you; not one of ’em, my dear.” “I might have got clear off if I’d split upon her; mighn’t I, Fagin?” angrily pursued the poor half-witted dupe. “A word from me would have done it; wouldn’t it, Fagin?” “To be sure it would, my dear,” replied the Jew. “But I didn’t blab it, did I, Fagin?” demanded Tom, pouring question upon question with great volubility. “No, no, to be sure,” replied the Jew; “you were too stout-hearted for that,—a deal too stout, my dear.” “Perhaps I was,” rejoined Tom, looking round; “and if I was, what’s to laugh at in that; eh, Fagin?” The Jew, perceiving that Mr. Chitling was considerably roused, hastened to assure him that nobody was laughing, and, to prove the gravity of the company, appealed to Master Bates, the principal offender; but unfortunately Charley, in opening his mouth to reply that he was never more serious in his life, was unable to prevent the escape of such a violent roar that the abused Mr. Chitling, without any preliminary ceremonies rushed across the room, and aimed a blow at the offender, who, being skilful in evading pursuit, ducked to avoid it, and chose his time so well that it lighted on the chest of the merry old gentleman, and caused him to stagger to the wall, where he stood panting for breath, while Mr. Chitling looked on in intense dismay. “Hark!” cried the Dodger at this moment, “I heard the tinkler.” Catching up the light, he crept softly up stairs. The bell rang again with some impatience while the party were in darkness. After a short pause, the Dodger reappeared, and whispered Fagin mysteriously. “What!” cried the Jew, “alone?”