oliver twist(雾都孤儿(孤星血泪))-第95章

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work；　and　not　much　more　risk　than　being　at　home。”　

“What　do　you　think　of　the　old　ladies？”　asked　Fagin。　“There’s　a　
good　deal　of　money　made　in　snatching　their　bags　and　parcels；　and　
running　round　the　corner。”　

“Don’t　they　holler　out　a　good　deal；　and　scratch　sometimes？”　
asked　Noah；　shaking　his　head。　“I　don’t　think　that　would　answer　
my　purpose。　Ain’t　there　any　other　line　open？”　

“Stop！”　said　Fagin；　laying　his　hand　on　Noah’s　knee。　“The　
kinchin　lay。”　

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“What’s　that？”　demanded　Mr。　Claypole。　

“The　kinchins；　my　dear；”　said　Fagin；　“is　the　young　children　
that’s　sent　on　errands　by　their　mothers；　with　sixpences　and　
shillings；　and　the　lay　is　just　to　take　their　money　away—they’ve　
always　got　it　ready　in　their　hands—then　knock　’em　into　a　kennel；　
and　walk　off　very　slow；　as　if　there　were　nothing　else　the　matter　but　
a　child　fallen　down　and　hurt　itself。　Ha！　ha！　ha！”　

“Ha！　ha！”　roared　Mr。　Claypole；　kicking　up　his　legs　in　an　ecstasy。　
“Lord；　that’s　the　very　thing！”　

“To　be　sure　it　is；”　replied　Fagin；　“and　you　can　have　a　few　good　
beats　chalked　out　in　Camden　Town；　and　Battle　Bridge；　and　
neighbourhoods　like　that；　where　they’re　always　going　errands；　and　
you　can　upset　as　many　kinchins　as　you　want；　any　hour　in　the　day。　
Ha！　ha！　ha！”　

With　this；　Fagin　poked　Mr。　Claypole　in　the　side；　and　they　joined　
in　a　burst　of　laughter　both　long　and　loud。　

“Well；　that’s　all　right！”　said　Noah；　when　he　had　recovered　
himself；　and　Charlotte　had　returned。　“What　time　tomorrow　shall　
we　say？”　

“Will　ten　do？”　asked　Fagin；　adding；　as　Mr。　Claypole　nodded　
assent；　“What　name　shall　I　tell　my　good　friend？”　

“Mr。　Bolter；”　replied　Noah；　who　had　prepared　himself　for　such　
an　emergency。　“Mr。　Morris　Bolter。　This　is　Mrs。　Bolter。”　

“Mrs。　Bolter’s　humble　servant；”　said　Fagin；　bowing　with　
grotesque　politeness。　“I　hope　I　shall　know　her　better　very　shortly。”　

“Do　you　hear　the　gentleman；　Charlotte？”　thundered　Mr。　
Claypole。　

“Yes；　Noah；　dear！”　replied　Mrs。　Bolter；　extending　her　hand。　

“She　calls　me　Noah；　as　a　sort　of　fond　way　of　talking；”　said　Mr。　

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Morris　Bolter；　late　Claypole；　turning　to　Fagin。　“You　understand？”　

“Oh；　yes；　I　understand—perfectly；”　replied　Fagin；　telling　the　
truth　for　once。　“Good…night！　Good…night！”　

With　many　adieus　and　good　wishes；　Mr。　Fagin　went　his　way。　
Noah　Claypole；　bespeaking　his　good　lady’s　attention；　proceeded　to　
enlighten　her　relative　to　the　arrangement　he　had　made；　with　all　
that　haughtiness　and　air　of　superiority；　becoming；　not　only　a　
member　of　the　sterner　sex；　but　a　gentleman　who　appreciated　the　
dignity　of　a　special　appointment　on　the　kinchin　lay；　in　London　and　
its　vicinity。　

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Chapter　43　

Wherein　Is　Shown　How　The　Artful　Dodger　Got　Into
Trouble。


　“A　nd　so　it　was　you　that　was　your　own　friend；　was　
it？”　asked　Mr。　Claypole；　otherwise　Bolter；　when；　
by　virtue　of　the　compact　entered　into　between　
them；　he　had　removed　next　day　to　Fagin’s　house。　“’Cod；　I　thought　
as　much　last　night！”　

“Every　man’s　his　own　friend；　my　dear；”　replied　Fagin；　with　his　
most　insinuating　grin。　“He　hasn’t　as　good　a　one　as　himself　
anywhere。”　

“Except　sometimes；”　replied　Morris　Bolter；　assuming　the　air　of　
a　man　of　the　world。　“Some　people　are　nobody’s　enemies　but　their　
own；　yer　know。”　

“Don’t　believe　that；”　said　Fagin。　“When　a　man’s　his　own　enemy；　
it’s　only　because　he’s　too　much　his　own　friend；　not　because　he’s　
careful　for　everybody　but　himself。　Pooh！　pooh！　There　ain’t　such　a　
thing　in　nature。”　

“There　oughtn’t　to　be；　if　there　is；”　replied　Mr。　Bolter。　

“That　stands　to　reason；”　said　Fagin。　“Some　conjurers　say　that　
number　three　is　the　magic　number；　and　some　say　number　seven。　
It’s　neither；　my　friend；　neither。　It’s　number　one。”　

“Ha！　ha！”　cried　Mr。　Bolter。　“Number　one　for　ever。”　

“In　a　little　community　like　ours；　my　dear；”　said　Fagin；　who　felt　
it　necessary　to　qualify　his　position；　“we　have　a　general　number　
one；　that　is；　you　can’t　consider　yourself　as　number　one；　without

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considering　me　too　as　the　same；　and　all　the　other　young　people。”　

“Oh；　the　devil！”　exclaimed　Mr。　Bolter。　

“You　see；”　pursued　Fagin；　affecting　to　disregard　this　
interruption；　awe　are　so　mixed　up　together；　and　identified　in　our　
interests；　that　it　must　be　so。　For　instance；　it’s　your　object　to　take　
care　of　number　one—meaning　yourself。”　

“Certainly；”　replied　Mr。　Bolter。　“Yer　about　right　there。”　

“Well！　You　can’t　take　care　of　yourself；　number　one；　without　
taking　care　of　me；　number　one。”　

“Number　two；　you　mean；”　said　Mr。　Bolter；　who　was　largely　
endowed　with　the　quality　of　selfishness。　

“No；　I　don’t！”　retorted　Fagin。　“I’m　of　the　same　importance　to　
you；　as　you　are　to　yourself。”　

“I　say；”　interrupted　Mr。　Bolter；　“yer　a　very　nice　man；　and　I’m　
very　fond　of　yer；　but　we　ain’t　quite　so　thick　together；　as　all　that　
comes　to。”　

“Only　think；”　said　Fagin；　shrugging　his　shoulders；　and　
stretching　out　his　hands；　“only　consider。　You’ve　done　what’s　a　
very　pretty　thing；　and　what　I　love　you　for　doing；　but　what　at　the　
same　time　would　put　the　cravat　round　your　throat；　that’s　so　very　
easily　tied　and　so　very　difficult　to　unloose—in　plain　English；　the　
halter！”　

Mr。　Bolter　put　his　hand　to　his　neckerchief；　as　if　he　felt　it　
inconveniently　tight；　and　murmured　an　assent；　qualified　in　tone　
but　not　in　substance。　

“The　gallows；”　continued　Fagin—“the　gallows；　my　dear；　is　an　
ugly　finger…post；　which　points　out　a　very　short　and　sharp　turning　
that　has　stopped　many　a　bold　fellow’s　career　on　the　broad　
highway。　To　keep　in　the　easy　road；　and　keep　it　at　a　distance；　is　

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object　number　one　with　you。”　

“Of　course　it　is；”　replied　Mr。　Bolter。　“What　do　yer　talk　about　
such　things　for？”　

“Only　to　show　you　my　meaning　clearly；”　said　the　Jew；　raising　
his　eyebrows。　“To　be　able　to　do　that；　you　depend　upon　me。　To　
keep　my　little　business　all　snug；　I　depend　upon　you。　The　first　is　
your　number　one；　the　second　my　number　one。　The　more　you　value　
your　number　one；　the　more　careful　you　must　be　of　mine；　so　we　
come　at　last　to　what　I　told　you　at　first—that　a　regard　for　number　
one　holds　us　all　together；　and　must　do　so；　unless　we　would　all　go　to　
pieces　in　company。”　

“That’s　true；”　rejoined　Mr。　Bolter　thoughtfully。　“Oh！　yer　a　
cunning　old　codger！”　

Mr。　Fagin　saw；　with　delight；　that　this　tribute　to　his　powers　was　
no　mere　compliment；　but　that　he　had　really　impressed　his　recruit　
with　a　sense　of　his　wily　genius；　which　it　was　most　important　that　
he　should　entertain　in　the　outset　of　their　acquaintance。　To　
strengthen　an　impression　so　desirable　and　useful；　he　followed　up　
the　blow　by　acquainting　him；　in　some　detail；　with　the　magnitude　
and　extent　of　his　operations；　blending　truth　and　fiction　together；　
as　best　served　his　purpose；　and　bringing　both　to　bear；　with　so　
much　art；　that　Mr。　Bolter’s　respect　visibly　increased；　and　became　
tempered　at　the　same　time；　with　a　degree　of　wholesome　fear；　
which　it　was　highly　desirable　to　awaken。　

“It’s　this　mutual　trust　we　have　in　each　other　that　consoles　me　
under　heavy　losses；”　said　Fagin。　“My　best　hand　was　taken　from　
me；　yesterday　morning。”　

“You　don’t　mean　to　say　he　died？”　cried　Mr。　Bolter。　

“No；　no；”　replied　Fagin；　“not　so　bad　as　that。　Not　quite　so　bad。”　

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“What；　I　suppose　he　was—”　

“Wanted；”　interposed　Fagin。　“Yes；　he　was　wanted。”　

“Very　particular？”　inquired　Mr。　Bolter。　

“No；”　replied　Fagin；　“not　very。　He　was　charged　with　attempting　
to　pick　a　pocket；　and　they　found　a　silver　snuff…box　on　him—his　
own；　my　dear；　his　own；　for　he　took　snuff　himself；　and　was　very　
fond　of　it。　They　remanded　him　till　today；　for　they　thought　they　
knew　the　owner