“Well, here I am,” returned Noah. “What’s the matter? Don’t yer ask me to do anything till I have done eating. That’s a great fault in this place. Yer never get time enough over yer meals.”
“You can talk as you eat, can’t you?” said Fagin, cursing his dear young friend’s greediness from the very bottom of his heart.
“Oh yes, I can talk; I get on better when I talk,” said Noah, cutting a monstrous slice of bread. “Where’s Charlotte?”
“Out,” said Fagin. “I sent her out this morning with the other young woman, because I wanted us to be alone.”
“Oh!” said Noah, “I wish yer’d ordered her to make some buttered toast first. Well. Talk away. Yer won’t interrupt me.”
There seemed indeed no great fear of anything interrupting him, as he had evidently sat down with a determination to do a great deal of business.
“You did well yesterday, my dear,” said the Jew, “beautiful! Six shillings and ninepence halfpenny on the very first day! The kinchin lay will be a fortune to you.”
“Don’t yer forget to add three pint-pots and a milk-can,” said Mr. Bolter.
“No, no, my dear,” replied the Jew. “The pint-pots were great strokes of genius, but the milk-can was a perfect masterpiece.”
“Pretty well, I think, for a beginner,” remarked Mr. Bolter complacently. “The pots I took off airy railings, and the milk-can was standing by itself outside a public-house, so I thought it might get rusty with the rain, or catch cold, yer know. Ha! ha! ha!”