Accordingly, with a clean white apron tied over her gown, and her curl-papers tucked up under a straw bonnet—both articles of dress being provided from the Jew’s inexhaustible stock—Miss Nancy prepared to issue forth on her errand.
“Stop a minute, my dear,” said the Jew, producing a little covered basket. “Carry that in one hand. It looks more respectable, my dear.”
“Give her a door-key to carry in her t’other one, Fagin,” said Sikes; “it looks real and genivine like.”
“Yes, yes, my dear, so it does,” said the Jew, hanging a large street-door key on the forefinger of the young lady’s right hand. “There; very good! Very good indeed, my dear!” said the Jew, rubbing his hands.
“Oh, my brother! My poor, dear, sweet, innocent little brother!” exclaimed Nancy, bursting into tears, and wringing the little basket and the street-door key in an agony of distress. “What has become of him! Where have they taken him to! Oh, do have pity, and tell me what’s been done with the dear boy, gentlemen; do, gentlemen, if you please, gentlemen!”
Having uttered those words in a most lamentable and heartbroken tone: to the immeasurable delight of her hearers: Miss Nancy paused, winked to the company, nodded smilingly round, and disappeared.
“Ah, she’s a clever girl, my dears,” said the Jew, turning round to his young friends, and shaking his head gravely, as if in mute admonition to them to follow the bright example they had just beheld.