with such violence, that he lost his balance, and pitched over upon the floor; where (the accident abating nothing of his merriment) he lay at full length until his laugh was over, when he resumed his former position, and began another laugh.
“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 will 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; mightn’t I, Fagin?” angrily pursued the poor half-witted dupe. “A word from me would have done it; wouldn’t it, Fagin?”