replied Master Bates. “I must have a full suit of mourning, Fagin, and a hatband, to wisit him in, afore he sets out upon his travels. To think of Jack Dawkins—lummy Jack—the Dodger—the Artful Dodger—going abroad for a common twopenny-halfpenny sneeze-box! I never thought he’d a done it under a gold watch, chain, and seals, at the lowest. Oh, why didn’t he rob some rich old gentleman of all his walables, and go out as a gentleman, and not like a common prig, without no honour nor glory!”
With this expression of feeling for his unfortunate friend, Master Bates sat himself on the nearest chair with an aspect of chagrin and despondency.
“What do you talk about his having neither honour nor glory for?” exclaimed Fagin, darting an angry look at his pupil. “Wasn’t he always top-sawyer among you all! Is there one of you that could touch him or come near him on any scent? Eh?”
“Not one,” replied Master Bates, in a voice rendered husky by regret; “not one.”
“Then what do you talk of?” replied Fagin angrily; “what are you blubbering for?”
“ ’Cause it isn’t on the record, is it?” said Charley, chafed into perfect defiance of his venerable friend by the current of his regrets; “ ’cause it can’t come out in the ’dictment; ’cause nobody will never know half of what he was. How will he stand in the Newgate Calendar? P’raps not be there at all. Oh, my eye, my eye, wot a blow it is!”
“Ha! ha!” cried Fagin, extending his right hand, and turning to Mr. Bolter in a fit of chuckling which shook him as though he had the palsy; “see what a pride they take in their profession, my dear. Ain’t it beautiful?”