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<h2 id="pgepubid00048">
      CHAPTER XLI — CONTAINING FRESH DISCOVERIES, AND SHOWING THAT
      SUPRISES, LIKE MISFORTUNES, SELDOM COME ALONE
    </h2>
<p>
      Her situation was, indeed, one of no common trial and difficulty. While
      she felt the most eager and burning desire to penetrate the mystery in
      which Oliver’s history was enveloped, she could not but hold sacred the
      confidence which the miserable woman with whom she had just conversed, had
      reposed in her, as a young and guileless girl. Her words and manner had
      touched Rose Maylie’s heart; and, mingled with her love for her young
      charge, and scarcely less intense in its truth and fervour, was her fond
      wish to win the outcast back to repentance and hope.
    </p>
<p>
      They purposed remaining in London only three days, prior to departing for
      some weeks to a distant part of the coast. It was now midnight of the
      first day. What course of action could she determine upon, which could be
      adopted in eight-and-forty hours? Or how could she postpone the journey
      without exciting suspicion?
    </p>
<p>
      Mr. Losberne was with them, and would be for the next two days; but Rose
      was too well acquainted with the excellent gentleman’s impetuosity, and
      foresaw too clearly the wrath with which, in the first explosion of his
      indignation, he would regard the instrument of Oliver’s recapture, to
      trust him with the secret, when her representations in the girl’s behalf
      could be seconded by no experienced person. These were all reasons for the
      greatest caution and most circumspect behaviour in communicating it to
      Mrs. Maylie, whose first impulse would infallibly be to hold a conference
      with the worthy doctor on the subject. As to resorting to any legal
      adviser, even if she had known how to do so, it was scarcely to be thought
      of, for the same reason. Once the thought occurred to her of seeking
      assistance from Harry; but this awakened the recollection of their last
      parting, and it seemed unworthy of her to call him back, when—the
      tears rose to her eyes as she pursued this train of reflection—he
      might have by this time learnt to forget her, and to be happier away.
    </p>
<p>
      Disturbed by these different reflections; inclining now to one course and
      then to another, and again recoiling from all, as each successive
      consideration presented itself to her mind; Rose passed a sleepless and
      anxious night. After more communing with herself next day, she arrived at
      the desperate conclusion of consulting Harry.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘If it be painful to him,’ she thought, ‘to come back here, how painful it
      will be to me! But perhaps he will not come; he may write, or he may come
      himself, and studiously abstain from meeting me—he did when he went
      away. I hardly thought he would; but it was better for us both.’ And here
      Rose dropped the pen, and turned away, as though the very paper which was
      to be her messenger should not see her weep.
    </p>
<p>
      She had taken up the same pen, and laid it down again fifty times, and had
      considered and reconsidered the first line of her letter without writing
      the first word, when Oliver, who had been walking in the streets, with Mr.
      Giles for a body-guard, entered the room in such breathless haste and
      violent agitation, as seemed to betoken some new cause of alarm.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘What makes you look so flurried?’ asked Rose, advancing to meet him.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I hardly know how; I feel as if I should be choked,’ replied the boy. ‘Oh
      dear! To think that I should see him at last, and you should be able to
      know that I have told you the truth!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I never thought you had told us anything but the truth,’ said Rose,
      soothing him. ‘But what is this?—of whom do you speak?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I have seen the gentleman,’ replied Oliver, scarcely able to articulate,
      ‘the gentleman who was so good to me—Mr. Brownlow, that we have so
      often talked about.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Where?’ asked Rose.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Getting out of a coach,’ replied Oliver, shedding tears of delight, ‘and
      going into a house. I didn’t speak to him—I couldn’t speak to him,
      for he didn’t see me, and I trembled so, that I was not able to go up to
      him. But Giles asked, for me, whether he lived there, and they said he
      did. Look here,’ said Oliver, opening a scrap of paper, ‘here it is;
      here’s where he lives—I’m going there directly! Oh, dear me, dear
      me! What shall I do when I come to see him and hear him speak again!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      With her attention not a little distracted by these and a great many other
      incoherent exclamations of joy, Rose read the address, which was Craven
      Street, in the Strand. She very soon determined upon turning the discovery
      to account.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Quick!’ she said. ‘Tell them to fetch a hackney-coach, and be ready to go
      with me. I will take you there directly, without a minute’s loss of time.
      I will only tell my aunt that we are going out for an hour, and be ready
      as soon as you are.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Oliver needed no prompting to despatch, and in little more than five
      minutes they were on their way to Craven Street. When they arrived there,
      Rose left Oliver in the coach, under pretence of preparing the old
      gentleman to receive him; and sending up her card by the servant,
      requested to see Mr. Brownlow on very pressing business. The servant soon
      returned, to beg that she would walk upstairs; and following him into an
      upper room, Miss Maylie was presented to an elderly gentleman of
      benevolent appearance, in a bottle-green coat. At no great distance from
      whom, was seated another old gentleman, in nankeen breeches and gaiters;
      who did not look particularly benevolent, and who was sitting with his
      hands clasped on the top of a thick stick, and his chin propped thereupon.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Dear me,’ said the gentleman, in the bottle-green coat, hastily rising
      with great politeness, ‘I beg your pardon, young lady—I imagined it
      was some importunate person who—I beg you will excuse me. Be seated,
      pray.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Mr. Brownlow, I believe, sir?’ said Rose, glancing from the other
      gentleman to the one who had spoken.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘That is my name,’ said the old gentleman. ‘This is my friend, Mr.
      Grimwig. Grimwig, will you leave us for a few minutes?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I believe,’ interposed Miss Maylie, ‘that at this period of our
      interview, I need not give that gentleman the trouble of going away. If I
      am correctly informed, he is cognizant of the business on which I wish to
      speak to you.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Mr. Brownlow inclined his head. Mr. Grimwig, who had made one very stiff
      bow, and risen from his chair, made another very stiff bow, and dropped
      into it again.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I shall surprise you very much, I have no doubt,’ said Rose, naturally
      embarrassed; ‘but you once showed great benevolence and goodness to a very
      dear young friend of mine, and I am sure you will take an interest in
      hearing of him again.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Indeed!’ said Mr. Brownlow.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Oliver Twist you knew him as,’ replied Rose.
    </p>
<p>
      The words no sooner escaped her lips, than Mr. Grimwig, who had been
      affecting to dip into a large book that lay on the table, upset it with a
      great crash, and falling back in his chair, discharged from his features
      every expression but one of unmitigated wonder, and indulged in a
      prolonged and vacant stare; then, as if ashamed of having betrayed so much
      emotion, he jerked himself, as it were, by a convulsion into his former
      attitude, and looking out straight before him emitted a long deep whistle,
      which seemed, at last, not to be discharged on empty air, but to die away
      in the innermost recesses of his stomach.
    </p>
<p>
      Mr. Browlow was no less surprised, although his astonishment was not
      expressed in the same eccentric manner. He drew his chair nearer to Miss
      Maylie’s, and said,
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Do me the favour, my dear young lady, to leave entirely out of the
      question that goodness and benevolence of which you speak, and of which
      nobody else knows anything; and if you have it in your power to produce
      any evidence which will alter the unfavourable opinion I was once induced
      to entertain of that poor child, in Heaven’s name put me in possession of
      it.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘A bad one! I’ll eat my head if he is not a bad one,’ growled Mr. Grimwig,
      speaking by some ventriloquial power, without moving a muscle of his face.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘He is a child of a noble nature and a warm heart,’ said Rose, colouring;
      ‘and that Power which has thought fit to try him beyond his years, has
      planted in his breast affections and feelings which would do honour to
      many who have numbered his days six times over.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I’m only sixty-one,’ said Mr. Grimwig, with the same rigid face. ‘And, as
      the devil’s in it if this Oliver is not twelve years old at least, I don’t
      see the application of that remark.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Do not heed my friend, Miss Maylie,’ said Mr. Brownlow; ‘he does not mean
      what he says.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Yes, he does,’ growled Mr. Grimwig.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘No, he does not,’ said Mr. Brownlow, obviously rising in wrath as he
      spoke.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘He’ll eat his head, if he doesn’t,’ growled Mr. Grimwig.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘He would deserve to have it knocked off, if he does,’ said Mr. Brownlow.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘And he’d uncommonly like to see any man offer to do it,’ responded Mr.
      Grimwig, knocking his stick upon the floor.
    </p>
<p>
      Having gone thus far, the two old gentlemen severally took snuff, and
      afterwards shook hands, according to their invariable custom.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Now, Miss Maylie,’ said Mr. Brownlow, ‘to return to the subject in which
      your humanity is so much interested. Will you let me know what
      intelligence you have of this poor child: allowing me to promise that I
      exhausted every means in my power of discovering him, and that since I
      have been absent from this country, my first impression that he had
      imposed upon me, and had been persuaded by his former associates to rob
      me, has been considerably shaken.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Rose, who had had time to collect her thoughts, at once related, in a few
      natural words, all that had befallen Oliver since he left Mr. Brownlow’s
      house; reserving Nancy’s information for that gentleman’s private ear, and
      concluding with the assurance that his only sorrow, for some months past,
      had been not being able to meet with his former benefactor and friend.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Thank God!’ said the old gentleman. ‘This is great happiness to me, great
      happiness. But you have not told me where he is now, Miss Maylie. You must
      pardon my finding fault with you,—but why not have brought him?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘He is waiting in a coach at the door,’ replied Rose.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘At this door!’ cried the old gentleman. With which he hurried out of the
      room, down the stairs, up the coach-steps, and into the coach, without
      another word.
    </p>
<p>
      When the room-door closed behind him, Mr. Grimwig lifted up his head, and
      converting one of the hind legs of his chair into a pivot, described three
      distinct circles with the assistance of his stick and the table; sitting
      in it all the time. After performing this evolution, he rose and limped as
      fast as he could up and down the room at least a dozen times, and then
      stopping suddenly before Rose, kissed her without the slightest preface.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Hush!’ he said, as the young lady rose in some alarm at this unusual
      proceeding. ‘Don’t be afraid. I’m old enough to be your grandfather.
      You’re a sweet girl. I like you. Here they are!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      In fact, as he threw himself at one dexterous dive into his former seat,
      Mr. Brownlow returned, accompanied by Oliver, whom Mr. Grimwig received
      very graciously; and if the gratification of that moment had been the only
      reward for all her anxiety and care in Oliver’s behalf, Rose Maylie would
      have been well repaid.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘There is somebody else who should not be forgotten, by the bye,’ said Mr.
      Brownlow, ringing the bell. ‘Send Mrs. Bedwin here, if you please.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      The old housekeeper answered the summons with all dispatch; and dropping a
      curtsey at the door, waited for orders.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Why, you get blinder every day, Bedwin,’ said Mr. Brownlow, rather
      testily.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Well, that I do, sir,’ replied the old lady. ‘People’s eyes, at my time
      of life, don’t improve with age, sir.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I could have told you that,’ rejoined Mr. Brownlow; ‘but put on your
      glasses, and see if you can’t find out what you were wanted for, will
      you?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      The old lady began to rummage in her pocket for her spectacles. But
      Oliver’s patience was not proof against this new trial; and yielding to
      his first impulse, he sprang into her arms.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘God be good to me!’ cried the old lady, embracing him; ‘it is my innocent
      boy!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘My dear old nurse!’ cried Oliver.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘He would come back—I knew he would,’ said the old lady, holding him
      in her arms. ‘How well he looks, and how like a gentleman’s son he is
      dressed again! Where have you been, this long, long while? Ah! the same
      sweet face, but not so pale; the same soft eye, but not so sad. I have
      never forgotten them or his quiet smile, but have seen them every day,
      side by side with those of my own dear children, dead and gone since I was
      a lightsome young creature.’ Running on thus, and now holding Oliver from
      her to mark how he had grown, now clasping him to her and passing her
      fingers fondly through his hair, the good soul laughed and wept upon his
      neck by turns.
    </p>
<p>
      Leaving her and Oliver to compare notes at leisure, Mr. Brownlow led the
      way into another room; and there, heard from Rose a full narration of her
      interview with Nancy, which occasioned him no little surprise and
      perplexity. Rose also explained her reasons for not confiding in her
      friend Mr. Losberne in the first instance. The old gentleman considered
      that she had acted prudently, and readily undertook to hold solemn
      conference with the worthy doctor himself. To afford him an early
      opportunity for the execution of this design, it was arranged that he
      should call at the hotel at eight o’clock that evening, and that in the
      meantime Mrs. Maylie should be cautiously informed of all that had
      occurred. These preliminaries adjusted, Rose and Oliver returned home.
    </p>
<p>
      Rose had by no means overrated the measure of the good doctor’s wrath.
      Nancy’s history was no sooner unfolded to him, than he poured forth a
      shower of mingled threats and execrations; threatened to make her the
      first victim of the combined ingenuity of Messrs. Blathers and Duff; and
      actually put on his hat preparatory to sallying forth to obtain the
      assistance of those worthies. And, doubtless, he would, in this first
      outbreak, have carried the intention into effect without a moment’s
      consideration of the consequences, if he had not been restrained, in part,
      by corresponding violence on the side of Mr. Brownlow, who was himself of
      an irascible temperament, and party by such arguments and representations
      as seemed best calculated to dissuade him from his hotbrained purpose.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Then what the devil is to be done?’ said the impetuous doctor, when they
      had rejoined the two ladies. ‘Are we to pass a vote of thanks to all these
      vagabonds, male and female, and beg them to accept a hundred pounds, or
      so, apiece, as a trifling mark of our esteem, and some slight
      acknowledgment of their kindness to Oliver?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Not exactly that,’ rejoined Mr. Brownlow, laughing; ‘but we must proceed
      gently and with great care.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Gentleness and care,’ exclaimed the doctor. ‘I’d send them one and all to—’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Never mind where,’ interposed Mr. Brownlow. ‘But reflect whether sending
      them anywhere is likely to attain the object we have in view.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘What object?’ asked the doctor.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Simply, the discovery of Oliver’s parentage, and regaining for him the
      inheritance of which, if this story be true, he has been fraudulently
      deprived.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Ah!’ said Mr. Losberne, cooling himself with his pocket-handkerchief; ‘I
      almost forgot that.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘You see,’ pursued Mr. Brownlow; ‘placing this poor girl entirely out of
      the question, and supposing it were possible to bring these scoundrels to
      justice without compromising her safety, what good should we bring about?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Hanging a few of them at least, in all probability,’ suggested the
      doctor, ‘and transporting the rest.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Very good,’ replied Mr. Brownlow, smiling; ‘but no doubt they will bring
      that about for themselves in the fulness of time, and if we step in to
      forestall them, it seems to me that we shall be performing a very Quixotic
      act, in direct opposition to our own interest—or at least to
      Oliver’s, which is the same thing.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘How?’ inquired the doctor.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Thus. It is quite clear that we shall have extreme difficulty in getting
      to the bottom of this mystery, unless we can bring this man, Monks, upon
      his knees. That can only be done by stratagem, and by catching him when he
      is not surrounded by these people. For, suppose he were apprehended, we
      have no proof against him. He is not even (so far as we know, or as the
      facts appear to us) concerned with the gang in any of their robberies. If
      he were not discharged, it is very unlikely that he could receive any
      further punishment than being committed to prison as a rogue and vagabond;
      and of course ever afterwards his mouth would be so obstinately closed
      that he might as well, for our purposes, be deaf, dumb, blind, and an
      idiot.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Then,’ said the doctor impetuously, ‘I put it to you again, whether you
      think it reasonable that this promise to the girl should be considered
      binding; a promise made with the best and kindest intentions, but really—’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Do not discuss the point, my dear young lady, pray,’ said Mr. Brownlow,
      interrupting Rose as she was about to speak. ‘The promise shall be kept. I
      don’t think it will, in the slightest degree, interfere with our
      proceedings. But, before we can resolve upon any precise course of action,
      it will be necessary to see the girl; to ascertain from her whether she
      will point out this Monks, on the understanding that he is to be dealt
      with by us, and not by the law; or, if she will not, or cannot do that, to
      procure from her such an account of his haunts and description of his
      person, as will enable us to identify him. She cannot be seen until next
      Sunday night; this is Tuesday. I would suggest that in the meantime, we
      remain perfectly quiet, and keep these matters secret even from Oliver
      himself.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Although Mr. Losberne received with many wry faces a proposal involving a
      delay of five whole days, he was fain to admit that no better course
      occurred to him just then; and as both Rose and Mrs. Maylie sided very
      strongly with Mr. Brownlow, that gentleman’s proposition was carried
      unanimously.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I should like,’ he said, ‘to call in the aid of my friend Grimwig. He is
      a strange creature, but a shrewd one, and might prove of material
      assistance to us; I should say that he was bred a lawyer, and quitted the
      Bar in disgust because he had only one brief and a motion of course, in
      twenty years, though whether that is recommendation or not, you must
      determine for yourselves.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I have no objection to your calling in your friend if I may call in
      mine,’ said the doctor.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘We must put it to the vote,’ replied Mr. Brownlow, ‘who may he be?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘That lady’s son, and this young lady’s—very old friend,’ said the
      doctor, motioning towards Mrs. Maylie, and concluding with an expressive
      glance at her niece.
    </p>
<p>
      Rose blushed deeply, but she did not make any audible objection to this
      motion (possibly she felt in a hopeless minority); and Harry Maylie and
      Mr. Grimwig were accordingly added to the committee.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘We stay in town, of course,’ said Mrs. Maylie, ‘while there remains the
      slightest prospect of prosecuting this inquiry with a chance of success. I
      will spare neither trouble nor expense in behalf of the object in which we
      are all so deeply interested, and I am content to remain here, if it be
      for twelve months, so long as you assure me that any hope remains.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Good!’ rejoined Mr. Brownlow. ‘And as I see on the faces about me, a
      disposition to inquire how it happened that I was not in the way to
      corroborate Oliver’s tale, and had so suddenly left the kingdom, let me
      stipulate that I shall be asked no questions until such time as I may deem
      it expedient to forestall them by telling my own story. Believe me, I make
      this request with good reason, for I might otherwise excite hopes destined
      never to be realised, and only increase difficulties and disappointments
      already quite numerous enough. Come! Supper has been announced, and young
      Oliver, who is all alone in the next room, will have begun to think, by
      this time, that we have wearied of his company, and entered into some dark
      conspiracy to thrust him forth upon the world.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      With these words, the old gentleman gave his hand to Mrs. Maylie, and
      escorted her into the supper-room. Mr. Losberne followed, leading Rose;
      and the council was, for the present, effectually broken up.
    </p>
<p>
<br/><br/>
</p>
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<p>
<a id="link2HCH0042"> </a>
</p>
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<h2 id="pgepubid00049">
      CHAPTER XLII — AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE OF OLIVER’S, EXHIBITING DECIDED
      MARKS OF GENIUS, BECOMES A PUBLIC CHARACTER IN THE METROPOLIS
    </h2>
<p>
      Upon the 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.
    </p>
<p>
      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 people, 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.
    </p>
<p>
      Thus, they had 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,
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Come on, can’t yer? What a lazybones yer are, Charlotte.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘It’s a heavy load, I can tell you,’ said the female, coming up, almost
      breathless with fatigue.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘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 anybody’s patience out, I don’t know what is!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Is it much farther?’ asked the woman, resting herself against a bank, and
      looking up with the perspiration streaming from her face.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Much farther! Yer as good as there,’ said the long-legged tramper,
      pointing out before him. ‘Look there! Those are the lights of London.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘They’re a good two mile off, at least,’ said the woman despondingly.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘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.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      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 onward by his side.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Where do you mean to stop for the night, Noah?’ she asked, after they had
      walked a few hundred yards.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘How should I know?’ replied Noah, whose temper had been considerably
      impaired by walking.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Near, I hope,’ said Charlotte.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘No, not near,’ replied Mr. Claypole. ‘There! Not near; so don’t think
      it.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Why not?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘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.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Well, you needn’t be so cross,’ said his companion.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘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
      thanks yer stars I’ve got a head; for if we hadn’t gone, at first, the
      wrong road a 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.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘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.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Yer took the money from the till, yer know yer did,’ said Mr. Claypole.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I took it for you, Noah, dear,’ rejoined Charlotte.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Did I keep it?’ asked Mr. Claypole.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘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.
    </p>
<p>
      This was indeed the case; but as it was not Mr. Claypole’s habit to repose
      a blind and foolish confidence in anybody, 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 innocence of any
      theft, and would 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.
    </p>
<p>
      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 numbers 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.
    </p>
<p>
      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; 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.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘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 spoke to. What’s the name of the house—t-h-r—three what?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Cripples,’ said Charlotte.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘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.
    </p>
<p>
      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.
    </p>
<p>
      If Noah had been attired in his charity-boy’s dress, there might have been
      some reason for the Jew 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.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Is this the Three Cripples?’ asked Noah.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘That is the dabe of this ‘ouse,’ replied the Jew.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘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.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I’b dot certaid you cad,’ said Barney, who was the attendant sprite; ‘but
      I’ll idquire.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Show us the tap, and give us a bit of cold meat and a drop of beer while
      yer inquiring, will yer?’ said Noah.
    </p>
<p>
      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.
    </p>
<p>
      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.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Hush!’ said Barney: ‘stradegers id the next roob.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Strangers!’ repeated the old man in a whisper.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Ah! Ad rub uds too,’ added Barney. ‘Frob the cuttry, but subthig in your
      way, or I’b bistaked.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Fagin appeared to receive this communication with great interest.
    </p>
<p>
      Mounting a stool, he 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 homeopathic doses of both
      to Charlotte, who sat patiently by, eating and drinking at his pleasure.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Aha!’ he whispered, looking round to Barney, ‘I like that 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.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      He 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.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘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.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘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.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Tills be blowed!’ said Mr. Claypole; ‘there’s more things besides tills
      to be emptied.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘What do you mean?’ asked his companion.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Pockets, women’s ridicules, houses, mail-coaches, banks!’ said Mr.
      Claypole, rising with the porter.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘But you can’t do all that, dear,’ said Charlotte.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘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.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Lor, how nice it is to hear yer say so!’ exclaimed Charlotte, imprinting
      a kiss upon his ugly face.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘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 gentleman 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.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      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 the appearance of a stranger, interrupted him.
    </p>
<p>
      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.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘A pleasant night, sir, but cool for the time of year,’ said Fagin,
      rubbing his hands. ‘From the country, I see, sir?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘How do yer see that?’ asked Noah Claypole.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘We have not so much dust as that in London,’ replied Fagin, pointing from
      Noah’s shoes to those of his companion, and from them to the two bundles.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Yer a sharp feller,’ said Noah. ‘Ha! ha! only hear that, Charlotte!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘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.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Fagin 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.
    </p>
<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
<img alt="0202m " src="1646223070011777107_0225m.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="id-6801940805613910278"/><br/>
</div>
<h5>
<a href="1646223070011777107_0225.jpg.id-260669265771604.wrap-0.html.html" style="width:100%;" id="id-260669265771604" title="linked image"><i>Original</i></a>
</h5>
<p>
      ‘Good stuff that,’ observed Mr. Claypole, smacking his lips.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘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.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      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.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘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.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘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.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘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.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘In what way?’ asked Mr. Claypole, a little recovering.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘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 have taken a fancy to
      you and the young woman; so I’ve said the word, and you may make your
      minds easy.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      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.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I’ll tell you more,’ said Fagin, 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.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Yer speak as if yer were in earnest,’ replied Noah.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘What advantage would it be to me to be anything else?’ inquired Fagin,
      shrugging his shoulders. ‘Here! Let me have a word with you outside.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘There’s no occasion to trouble ourselves to move,’ said Noah, getting his
      legs by gradual degrees abroad again. ‘She’ll take the luggage upstairs
      the while. Charlotte, see to them bundles.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      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.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘She’s kept tolerably well under, ain’t she?’ he asked as he resumed his
      seat: in the tone of a keeper who had tamed some wild animal.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Quite perfect,’ rejoined Fagin, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘You’re a
      genius, my dear.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘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.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Now, what do you think?’ said Fagin. ‘If you was to like my friend, could
      you do better than join him?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Is he in a good way of business; that’s where it is!’ responded Noah,
      winking one of his little eyes.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘The top of the tree; employs a power of hands; has the very best society
      in the profession.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Regular town-maders?’ asked Mr. Claypole.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘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 Fagin.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Should I have to hand over?’ said Noah, slapping his breeches-pocket.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘It couldn’t possibly be done without,’ replied Fagin, in a most decided
      manner.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Twenty pound, though—it’s a lot of money!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Not when it’s in a note you can’t get 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.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘When could I see him?’ asked Noah doubtfully.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘To-morrow morning.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Where?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Here.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Um!’ said Noah. ‘What’s the wages?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘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.
    </p>
<p>
      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.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘But, yer see,’ observed Noah, ‘as she will be able to do a good deal, I
      should like to take something very light.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘A little fancy work?’ suggested Fagin.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘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!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I heard you talk of something in the spy way upon the others, my dear,’ 
      said Fagin. ‘My friend wants somebody who would do that well, very much.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘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.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘That’s true!’ observed the Jew, ruminating or pretending to ruminate.
      ‘No, it might not.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘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.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘What do you think of the old ladies?’ asked Fagin. ‘There’s a good deal
      of money made in snatching their bags and parcels, and running round the
      corner.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘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?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Stop!’ said Fagin, laying his hand on Noah’s knee. ‘The kinchin lay.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘What’s that?’ demanded Mr. Claypole.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘The kinchins, my dear,’ said Fagin, ‘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,—then knock ‘em into the kennel, and walk off very slow, as if
      there were nothing else the matter but a child fallen down and hurt
      itself. Ha! ha! ha!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Ha! ha!’ roared Mr. Claypole, kicking up his legs in an ecstasy. ‘Lord,
      that’s the very thing!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘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!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      With this, Fagin poked Mr. Claypole in the side, and they joined in a
      burst of laughter both long and loud.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Well, that’s all right!’ said Noah, when he had recovered himself, and
      Charlotte had returned. ‘What time to-morrow shall we say?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Will ten do?’ asked Fagin, adding, as Mr. Claypole nodded assent, ‘What
      name shall I tell my good friend.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Mr. Bolter,’ replied Noah, who had prepared himself for such emergency.
      ‘Mr. Morris Bolter. This is Mrs. Bolter.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Mrs. Bolter’s humble servant,’ said Fagin, bowing with grotesque
      politeness. ‘I hope I shall know her better very shortly.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Do you hear the gentleman, Charlotte?’ thundered Mr. Claypole.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Yes, Noah, dear!’ replied Mrs. Bolter, extending her hand.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘She calls me Noah, as a sort of fond way of talking,’ said Mr. Morris
      Bolter, late Claypole, turning to Fagin. ‘You understand?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Oh yes, I understand—perfectly,’ replied Fagin, telling the truth
      for once. ‘Good-night! Good-night!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      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.
    </p>
<p>
<br/><br/>
</p>
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<p>
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</p>
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