“No; not even by flash Toby Crackit,” replied Sikes. “He says he’s worn sham whiskers, and a canary waistcoat, the whole blessed time he’s been loitering down there, and it’s all of no use.”

“He should have tried mustachios and a pair of military trousers, my dear,” said the Jew.

“So he did,” rejoined Sikes, “and they warn’t of no more use than the other plant.”

The Jew looked blank at this information. After ruminating for some minutes with his chin sunk on his breast, he raised his head and said, with a deep sigh, that if flash Toby Crackit reported aright, he feared the game was up.

“And yet,” said the old man, dropping his hands on his knees, “it’s a sad thing, my dear, to lose so much when we had set our hearts upon it.”

“So it is,” said Mr. Sikes. “Worse luck!”