heaps of mildewy fragments of woollen-stuff and linen, rust and rot in the grimy cellars.
It was into this place that the Jew turned. He was well known to the sallow denizens of the lane; for such of them as were on the lookout to buy or sell, nodded, familiarly, as he passed along. He replied to their salutations in the same way; but bestowed no closer recognition until he reached the further end of the alley; when he stopped, to address a salesman of small stature, who had squeezed as much of his person into a child’s chair as the chair would hold, and was smoking a pipe at his warehouse door.
“Why, the sight of you, Mr. Fagin, would cure the hoptalmy!” said this respectable trader, in acknowledgment of the Jew’s inquiry after his health.
“The neighbourhood was a little too hot, Lively,” said Fagin, elevating his eyebrows, and crossing his hands upon his shoulders.
“Well, I’ve heerd that complaint of it, once or twice before,” replied the trader; “but it soon cools down again; don’t you find it so?”
Fagin nodded in the affirmative. Pointing in the direction of Saffron Hill, he inquired whether anyone was up yonder tonight.
“At the Cripples?” inquired the man.
The Jew nodded.
“Let me see,” pursued the merchant, reflecting. “Yes, there’s some half-dozen of ’em gone in, that I knows. I don’t think your friend’s there.”
“Sikes is not, I suppose?” inquired the Jew, with a disappointed countenance.