Mr. Bolter nodded assent, and Fagin, after contemplating the grief of Charley Bates for some seconds with evident satisfaction, stepped up to that young gentleman and patted him on the shoulder.
“Never mind, Charley,” said Fagin soothingly; “it’ll come out, it’ll be sure to come out. They’ll all know what a clever fellow he was; he’ll show it himself, and not disgrace his old pals and teachers. Think how young he is, too! What a distinction, Charley, to be lagged at his time of life!”
“Well, it is a honour that is!” said Charley, a little consoled.
“He shall have all he wants,” continued the Jew. “He shall be kept in the Stone Jug, Charley, like a gentleman. Like a gentleman! With his beer every day, and money in his pocket to pitch and toss with, if he can’t spend it.”
“No, shall he though?” cried Charley Bates.
“Ay, that he shall,” replied Fagin, “and we’ll have a bigwig, Charley: one that’s got the greatest gift of the gab: to carry on his defence; and he shall make a speech for himself too, if he likes; and we’ll read it all in the papers—‘Artful Dodger—shrieks of laughter—here the court was convulsed’—eh, Charley, eh?”
“Ha! ha!” laughed Master Bates, “what a lark that would be, wouldn’t it, Fagin? I say, how the Artful would bother ’em, wouldn’t he?”
“Would!” cried Fagin. “He shall—he will!”
“Ah, to be sure, so he will,” repeated Charley, rubbing his hands.
“I think I see him now,” cried the Jew, bending his eyes upon his pupil.
“So do I,” cried Charley Bates. “Ha! ha! ha! so do I. I see it all afore me, upon my soul I do, Fagin. What a game! What a regular game! All