“So do I,” cried Charley Bates. “Ha! ha! ha! so do I. I see it all afore me, upon my soul I do, Fagin. What a game! What a regular game! All the big-wigs trying to look solemn, and Jack Dawkins addressing of 'em as intimate and comfortable as if he was the judge's own son making a speech arter dinner – ha! ha! ha!”

In fact, Mr. Fagin had so well humoured his young friend's eccentric disposition, that Master Bates, who had at first been disposed to consider the imprisoned Dodger rather in the light of a victim, now looked upon him as the chief actor in a scene of most uncommon and exquisite humour, and felt quite impatient for the arrival of the time when his old companion should have so favourable an opportunity of displaying his abilities.

“We must know how he gets on to-day, by some handy means or other,” said Fagin. “Let me think.”

“Shall I go?” asked Charley.

“Not for the world,” replied Fagin. “Are you mad, my dear, stark mad, that you'd walk into the very place where – No, Charley, no. One is enough to lose at a time.”

“You don't mean to go yourself, I suppose?” said Charley with a humorous leer.

“That wouldn't quite fit,” replied Fagin shaking his head.

“Then why don't you send this new cove?” asked Master Bates, laying his hand on Noah's arm. “Nobody knows him.”

“Why, if he didn't mind – ” observed Fagin.

“Mind!” interposed Charley. “What should he have to mind?”

“Really nothing, my dear,” said Fagin, turning to Mr. Bolter, “really nothing.”

“Oh, I dare say about that, yer know,” observed Noah, backing towards the door, and shaking his head with a kind of sober alarm. “No, no – none of that. It's not in my department, that ain't.”

“Wot department has he got, Fagin?” inquired Master Bates, surveying Noah's lank form with much disgust. “The cutting away when there's anything wrong, and the eating all the wittles when there's everything right; is that his branch?”

“Never mind,” retorted Mr. Bolter; “and don't yer take liberties with yer superiors, little boy, or yer'll find yerself in the wrong shop.”

Master Bates laughed so vehemently at this magnificent threat, that it was some time before Fagin could interpose, and represent to Mr. Bolter that he incurred no possible danger in visiting the police-office; that, inasmuch as no account of the little affair in which he had been engaged, nor any description of his person, had yet been forwarded to the metropolis, it was vey probable that he was not even suspected of having resorted to it for shelter; and that, if he were properly disguised, it would be as safe a spot for him to visit as any in London, inasmuch as it would be, of all places, the very last, to which he could be supposed likely to resort of his own free will.

Persuaded, in part, by these representations, but overborne in a much greater degree by his fear of Fagin, Mr. Bolter at length consented, with a very bad grace, to undertake the expedition. By Fagin's directions, he immediately substituted for his own attire, a waggoner's frock, velveteen breeches, and leather leggings: all of which articles the Jew had at hand. He was likewise furnished with a felt hat well garnished with turnpike tickets; and a carter's whip. Thus equipped, he was to saunter into the office, as some country fellow from Covent Garden market might be supposed to do for the gratification of his