‘To be sure it is,’ replied Fagin; ’and
you can have a few good beats chalked out in Camden
Town, and Battle Bridge, and neighborhoods like that,
where they’re always going errands; and you
can 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 Fagin, adding, as
Mr. Claypole nodded assent, ‘What name shall
I tell my good friend.’
‘Mr. Bolter,’ replied Noah, who had prepared
himself for such 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, Charlotte?’
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 Fagin. ’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. 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.
WHEREIN IS SHOWN HOW THE ARTFUL DODGER GOT INTO TROUBLE
‘And so it was you that was your own friend,
was it?’ asked Mr. Claypole, otherwise Bolter,
when, by virtue of the compact entered into between
them, he had removed next day to Fagin’s house.
‘’Cod, I thought as much last night!’
‘Every man’s his own friend, my dear,’
replied Fagin, with his most insinuating grin.
’He hasn’t as good a one as himself anywhere.’
‘Except sometimes,’ replied Morris Bolter,
assuming the air of a man of the world. ’Some
people are nobody’s enemies but their own, yer
know.’
‘Don’t believe that,’ said Fagin.
’When a man’s his own enemy, it’s
only because he’s too much his own friend; not
because he’s careful for everybody but himself.
Pooh! pooh! There ain’t such a thing
in nature.’
‘There oughn’t to be, if there is,’
replied Mr. Bolter.
’That stands to reason. Some conjurers
say that number three is the magic number, and some
say number seven. It’s neither, my friend,
neither. It’s number one.
‘Ha! ha!’ cried Mr. Bolter. ‘Number
one for ever.’
‘In a little community like ours, my dear,’
said Fagin, who felt it necessary to qualify this
position, ’we have a general number one, without
considering me too as the same, and all the other
young people.’
