‘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.
‘To-morrow morning.’