“That’s for our share of the trouble,” said Sikes; “and not half enough, neither. You may keep the books, if you’re fond of reading, and if not, you can sell ’em.”
“They’re very pretty,” said Charley Bates, who with sundry grimaces had been affecting to read one of the volumes in question; “beautiful writing, isn’t it, Oliver?” and at sight of the dismayed look with which Oliver regarded his tormentors, Master Bates, who was blessed with a lively sense of the ludicrous, fell into another ecstasy more boisterous than the first.
“They belong to the old gentleman,” said Oliver, wringing his hands,—“to the good kind old gentleman who took me into his house, and had me nursed when I was near dying of the fever. Oh, pray send them back; send him back the books and money. Keep me here all my life long; but pray, pray send them back. He’ll think I stole them;—the old lady, all of them that were so kind to me, will think I stole them. Oh, do have mercy upon me, and send them back!”
With these words, which were uttered with all the energy of passionate grief, Oliver fell upon his knees at the Jew’s feet, and beat his hands together in perfect desperation.
“The boy’s right,” remarked Fagin, looking covertly round, and knitting his shaggy eyebrows into a hard knot. “You’re right, Oliver, you’re right; they will think you have stolen ’em. Ha! ha!” chuckled the Jew, rubbing his hands; “it couldn’t have happened better if we had chosen our time!”
“Of course it couldn’t,” replied Sikes; “I know’d that, directly I see him coming through Clerkenwell with the books under his arm. It’s all right enough. They’re soft-hearted psalm-singers, or they wouldn’t have taken him in at all, and they’ll ask no questions arter him, fear they should be obliged to prosecute, and so get him lagged. He’s safe enough.”
Oliver had looked from one to the other while these words were being spoken, as if he were bewildered, and could scarcely understand what passed; but when Bill Sikes concluded, he jumped suddenly to his feet, and tore wildly from the room, uttering shrieks for help which made the bare old house echo to the roof.
“Keep back the dog, Bill!” cried Nancy, springing before the door, and closing it as the Jew and his two pupils darted out in pursuit; “keep back the dog; he’ll tear the boy to pieces.”
“Serve him right!” cried Sikes, struggling to disengage himself from the girl’s grasp. “Stand off from me, or I’ll split your skull against the wall.”
“I don’t care for that, Bill; I don’t care for that,” screamed the girl, struggling violently with the man: “the child shan’t be torn down by the dog, unless you kill me first.”