“Is he in a good way of business; that’s where it is!” responded Noah, winking one of his little eyes.
“The top of the tree; employs a power of hands; has the very best society in the profession.”
“Regular town-maders?” asked Mr. Claypole.
“Not a countryman among ’em; and I don’t think he’d take you, even on my recommendation, if he didn’t run rather short of assistants just now,” replied Fagin.
“Should I have to hand over?” said Noah, slapping his breeches-pocket.
“It couldn’t possibly be done without,” replied Fagin, in a most decided manner.
“Twenty pound, though—it’s a lot of money!”
“Not when it’s in a note you can’t get rid of,” retorted Fagin. “Number and date taken, I suppose? Payment stopped at the Bank? Ah! It’s not worth much to him. It’ll have to go abroad, and he couldn’t sell it for a great deal in the market.”
“When could I see him?” asked Noah doubtfully.
“Tomorrow morning.”