“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?”

“To be sure it would, my dear,” replied the Jew.

“But I didn’t blab it; did I, Fagin?” demanded Tom, pouring question upon question with great volubility.

“No, no, to be sure,” replied the Jew; “you were too stouthearted for that. A deal too stout, my dear!”

“Perhaps I was,” rejoined Tom, looking round; “and if I was, what’s to laugh at, in that; eh, Fagin?”