Fagin sighed, and shook his head despondingly.
“We must make up for lost time when we’ve got things into a good train. That’s all I know,” said Sikes.
“That’s the way to talk, my dear,” replied Fagin, venturing to pat him on the shoulder. “It does me good to hear you.”
“Does you good, does it!” cried Sikes. “Well, so be it.”
“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed Fagin, as if he were relieved by even this concession. “You’re like yourself tonight, Bill. Quite like yourself.”
“I don’t feel like myself when you lay that withered old claw on my shoulder, so take it away,” said Sikes, casting off the Jew’s hand.
“It make you nervous, Bill,—reminds you of being nabbed, does it?” said Fagin, determined not to be offended.
“Reminds me of being nabbed by the devil,” returned Sikes. “There never was another man with such a face as yours, unless it was your father, and I suppose he is singeing his grizzled red beard by this time, unless you came straight from the old ’un without any father at all betwixt you; which I shouldn’t wonder at, a bit.”
Fagin offered no reply to this compliment: but, pulling Sikes by the sleeve, pointed his finger towards Nancy, who had taken advantage of the foregoing conversation to put on her bonnet, and was now leaving the room.
“Hallo!” cried Sikes. “Nance. Where’s the gal going to at this time of night?”