The morning came when Catherine received the permission she had so zealously sought. No handkerchiefs had been brought in for two or three days, she had nothing to do, and dinners had become rather meager. Anyway, she let him go and entrusted him to the care of Charlie Bates and his friend Dodger. The four of them set off. The rogue, as usual, walked with his sleeves rolled up and his hat turned on one side; young Bates walked with his hand in his pockets, and Oliver walked between them, followed by Catherine. when suddenly the Doger stopped and, putting his finger to his lips, dragged his comrades back with the greatest care."
What happened?" Oliver asked.
"Those..." The Dodger whispered. "Do you see that old man over there at the book stall?"
"Do you see the gentleman on the other side?" Oliver asked.
"I see."
"Good enough! — said the Dodger.
First grade! Young Charlie Bates remarked.
Oliver looked from one to the other with the greatest amazement, but there was no need to aska question, as both boys ran across the road unnoticed and crept up behind the old gentleman who had been shown to him earlier. Oliver took a few steps, and not knowing whether to follow them or go back, stopped and looked at them with speechless old gentleman with a powdered head and gold-rimmed glasses looked very respectable. He was wearing a bottle-colored tailcoat with a black velvet collar and light trousers, and under his arm he held an elegant bamboo cane. He took a book from the counter and stood reading it with such attention, as if he was sitting in an armchair in his office. It is very possible that he really imagined that he was sitting there: judging by his concentrated look, it was clear that he did not notice either the counter, the street, or the boys—in short, nothing but a book that he was diligently reading; when he reached the end of the page, he turned the page, began with the top line of the next page and continued to read with the greatest interest and attention. The dodger put his hand in the old gentleman's pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, saw how he handed this handkerchief to Charlie Bates and, finally, how the three of them ran and turned the corner. Dodger and young Bates, and PussyCat, not wanting to run down the street and thereby attract everyone's attention, hid in the first entrance around the corner. When they heard the scream and saw Oliver running, they immediately guessed what had happened, hurried out of the entrance and shouted:
"Stop the thief!" took part in the chase, as befits good citizens.
"Where's Oliver?" the Jew asked with a menacing look and jumped up.
The young thieves looked at their mentor, alarmed by his impetuous movement, and looked at each other with concern. But they didn't say anything.
"What happened to the boy?" — shouted the Jew, firmly grabbing the Rascal by the collar and showering him with disgusting curses. "Answer me, or I'll strangle you!"
Mr. Fagin was not joking at all, and Charlie Bates, who thought it wise to take care of his own safety and saw nothing improbable in the fact that then it would be his turn to die from suffocation, fell to his knees and let out a loud, long, incessant roar — something between the roar of a mad bull and the roar of a megaphone."Will you talk?" the Jew barked, shaking the Rascal with such force that it seemed truly miraculous how he would not jump out of his wide coat. "The bloodhounds have got him, and that's the end of it!" said the Dodger angrily. — Let me go, do you hear!Jerking and slipping out of the wide coat, which remained in the hands of the Jew. The rascal seized a toasting fork and swung it at the jolly old gentleman's waistcoat; if this had been successful, the old man would have lost some of his gaiety, which would not have been easy to replace. At this critical moment, the Jew jumped back with such agility that it was difficult to expect from a man apparently so infirm and decrepit, and, seizing the jug, swung to throw it at the opponent's head. But as at that moment Charlie Bates attracted his attention with a truly terrifying howl, he suddenly changed his mind and threw the jug at this young gentleman. "What the hell!" someone's bass growled.
"Who threw it?" What are you doing here: torturing boys, greedy, stingy, insatiable old man, hiding stolen goods? "I wonder how they haven't finished you off yet!" the big man asked, sitting down very calmly. I would have done it in their place!"
"Hush!" the Jew said, trembling. "Mr. Sykes, don't talk so loud.
"You always have something unkind on your mind when you start to express yourself like that. You know my name, so call me that! I won't disgrace him when the hour strikes!"
"That's right, that's right, Bill Sykes," the Jew said with vile obsequiousness. "You seem to be in a bad mood, Bill?"
"Maybe so—" Sykes replied." I would say that you are not at ease either, or you think that you are not causing a loss to anyone when you throw pitchers or give out..."
"Are you crazy?" the Jew cried, grabbing him by the sleeve and pointing at the boys.
Mr. Sykes contented himself with tightening an imaginary knot under his left ear and bending his head to his right shoulder—apparently the Jew understood this pantomime perfectly. Then, in the jargon with which all his speeches were abundantly seasoned—if you had brought him here, he would have been decidedly incomprehensible— Mr. Sykes demanded a glass for himself.
"Just don't think about putting poison in there," he said.
I'm afraid," said the Jew, "that he might say something that will get us into trouble...
"It may be," replied Sikes with a malicious grin. "You will be betrayed, Fagin."
"And, you know, I'm afraid," the Jew continued, as if not paying attention to the fact that he was interrupted, and at the same time looking intently at his interlocutor, "I'm afraid that if our game is lost, then this may happen to someone else, and for you it will turn out, perhaps worse than for me, my dear."
Mr. Sykes started and turned sharply to the Jew. But the old gentleman raised his shoulders to his ears, and his eyes stared absently at the opposite wall.
There was a long silence. It seemed that every member of the respectable society was immersed in his own thoughts, not excluding the dog, who was licking his lips maliciously, as if thinking about attacking the legs of the first gentleman or lady she happened to meet when she went outside.
"Someone should find out what happened in the judge's cell," Mr. Sykes said, noticeably moderating his tone.
The Jew nodded his head in agreement.
"If he doesn't report and is put in jail, there's nothing to be afraid of until he's released," Mr. Sykes said, "and then you need to take care of him. You have to get your hands on it somehow.
The Jew nodded his head again.
Nancy, my dear," the Jew cajoled her, "what do you say?
"I'll say it's no good, so there's nothing to insist on, Feijin!" Nancy replied.
"What do you mean by that?" Mr. Sykes intervened, giving her a dark look.
"What I said, Bill," the lady replied calmly.
"Why, you're the best person for this," Mr. Sykes said. "Nobody here knows anything about you."
"And since I don't want them to know," Nancy replied with the same calmness, "I'd rather say no than yes, Bill.
"She'll go, Fagin," said Sykes.
"No, she won't go, Fagin," said Nancy.
"Pussy, my dear," the Jew cajoled her, —well, what do you say?
"No, I'm not going, Feijin!" said Pussy.
And so, having tied a clean white apron over her dress and hidden the curlers under a straw hat — these toilet accessories were extracted from the inexhaustible reserves of the Jew — Miss Nancy prepared to carry out the errand.
"Wait a minute, my dear," said the Jew, handing her a basket with a lid." Hold it in your hands. It will give you a more decent look."
"Fagin, give her the key to the door, let her hold it in her hand," said Sykes." It will seem natural and decent."
"That's right, my dear," said the Jew, hanging a large door key on the index finger of the young lady's right hand. "That's it!" "Fine! Fine, my dear!" said the Jew, rubbing his hands.
"Oh, brother! My poor, sweet, innocent brother!" exclaimed Pussy, bursting into tears and desperately fiddling with the basket and the door key. "What happened to him? Where did they take him? Oh, have pity on me!"
Having uttered these words, to the infinite admiration of the listeners, in a very plaintive, heartbreaking voice, Miss Pussy fell silent, winked at the whole company, smiled, nodded her head and disappeared.
"Ah, my dears, what a clever girl!" the Jew exclaimed, turning to his young friends