Oliver Twist. Volume 3 of 3. Чарльз Диккенс

then,” rejoined Mr. Sikes. “I wouldn’t. Why, damme, now, the girl’s whining again!”

      “It’s nothing,” said the girl, throwing herself into a chair. “Don’t you seem to mind me, and it’ll soon be over.”

      “What’ll be over?” demanded Mr. Sikes in a savage voice. “What foolery are you up to now again? Get up, and bustle about, and don’t come over me with your woman’s nonsense.”

      At any other time this remonstrance, and the tone in which it was delivered, would have had the desired effect; but the girl being really weak and exhausted, dropped her head over the back of the chair, and fainted, before Mr. Sikes could get out a few of the appropriate oaths with which on similar occasions he was accustomed to garnish his threats. Not knowing very well what to do in this uncommon emergency, for Miss Nancy’s hysterics were usually of that violent kind which the patient fights and struggles out of without much assistance, Mr. Sikes tried a little blasphemy, and finding that mode of treatment wholly ineffectual, called for assistance.

      “What’s the matter here, my dear?” said the Jew, looking in.

      “Lend a hand to the girl, can’t you?” replied Sikes impatiently, “and don’t stand chattering and grinning at me!”

      With an exclamation of surprise Fagin hastened to the girl’s assistance, while Mr. John Dawkins (otherwise the Artful Dodger), who had followed his venerable friend into the room, hastily deposited on the floor a bundle with which he was laden, and, snatching a bottle from the grasp of Master Charles Bates who came close at his heels, uncorked it in a twinkling with his teeth, and poured a portion of its contents down the patient’s throat; previously taking a taste himself to prevent mistakes.

      “Give her a whiff of fresh air with the bellows, Charley,” said Mr. Dawkins; “and you slap her hands, Fagin, while Bill undoes the petticuts.”

      These united restoratives, administered with great energy, especially that department consigned to Master Bates, who appeared to consider his share in the proceeding a piece of unexampled pleasantry, were not long in producing the desired effect. The girl gradually recovered her senses, and, staggering to a chair by the bedside, hid her face upon the pillow, leaving Mr. Sikes to confront the new-comers, in some astonishment at their unlooked-for appearance.

      “Why, what evil wind has blowed you here?” he asked of Fagin.

      “No evil wind at all, my dear,” replied the Jew; “for ill winds blow nobody any good, and I’ve brought something good with me that you’ll be glad to see. Dodger, my dear, open the bundle, and give Bill the little trifles that we spent all our money on this morning.”

      In compliance with Mr. Fagin’s request, the Artful untied his bundle, which was of large size, and formed of an old tablecloth, and handed the articles it contained, one by one, to Charley Bates, who placed them on the table, with various encomiums on their rarity and excellence.

      “Sitch a rabbit pie, Bill!” exclaimed that young gentleman, disclosing to view a huge pasty; “sitch delicate creeturs, with sitch tender limbs, Bill, that the wery bones melt in your mouth, and there’s no occasion to pick ’em; half a pound of seven and sixpenny green, so precious strong that if you mix it with boiling water, it’ll go nigh to blow the lid of the teapot off; a pound and a half of moist sugar that the niggers didn’t work at all at afore they got it to sitch a pitch of goodness, – oh no! two half-quartern brans; pound of best fresh; piece of double Glo’ster; and, to wind up all, some of the richest sort you ever lushed.” Uttering this last panegyric, Master Bates produced from one of his extensive pockets a full-sized wine-bottle, carefully corked, while Mr. Dawkins at the same instant poured out a wine glassful of raw spirits from the bottle he carried, which the invalid tossed down his throat without a moment’s hesitation.

      “Ah!” said the Jew, rubbing his hands with great satisfaction. “You’ll do, Bill; you’ll do now.”

      “Do!” exclaimed Mr. Sikes; “I might have been done for twenty times over, afore you’d have done any thing to help me. What do you mean by leaving a man in this state three weeks and more, you false-hearted wagabond?”

      “Only hear him, boys!” said the Jew, shrugging his shoulders; “and us come to bring him all these beautiful things.”

      “The things is well enough in their way,” observed Mr. Sikes, a little soothed as he glanced over the table; “but what have you got to say for yourself why you should leave me here, down in the mouth, health, blunt, and every thing else, and take no more notice of me all this mortal time than if I was that ’ere dog. – Drive him down, Charley.”

      “I never see such a jolly dog as that,” cried Master Bates, doing as he was desired. “Smelling the grub like a old lady a-going to market! He’d make his fortun on the stage that dog would, and rewive the drayma besides.”

      “Hold your din,” cried Sikes, as the dog retreated under the bed, still growling angrily. “And what have you got to say for yourself, you withered old fence, eh?”

      “I was away from London a week and more, my dear, on a plant,” replied the Jew.

      “And what about the other fortnight?” demanded Sikes. “What about the other fortnight that you’ve left me lying here, like a sick rat in his hole?”

      “I couldn’t help it, Bill,” replied the Jew. “I can’t go into a long explanation before company; but I couldn’t help it, upon my honour.”

      “Upon your what?” growled Sikes with excessive disgust. “Here, cut me off a piece of the pie, one of you boys, to take the taste of that out of my mouth, or it’ll choke me dead.”

      “Don’t be out of temper, my dear,” urged the Jew submissively. “I have never forgot you, Bill; never once.”

      “No, I’ll pound it, that you han’t,” replied Sikes with a bitter grin. “You’ve been scheming and plotting away every hour that I’ve laid shivering and burning here; and Bill was to do this, and Bill was to do that, and Bill was to do it all dirt cheap, as soon as he got well, and was quite poor enough for your work. If it hadn’t been for the girl, I might have died.”

      “There now, Bill,” remonstrated the Jew, eagerly catching at the word. “If it hadn’t been for the girl! Who was the means of your having such a handy girl about you but me?”

      “He says true enough there, God knows!” said Nancy, coming hastily forward. “Let him be, let him be.”

      Nancy’s appearance gave a new turn to the conversation, for the boys, receiving a sly wink from the wary old Jew, began to ply her with liquor, of which, however, she partook very sparingly; while Fagin, assuming an unusual flow of spirits, gradually brought Mr. Sikes into a better temper, by affecting to regard his threats as a little pleasant banter, and, moreover, laughing very heartily at one or two rough jokes, which, after repeated applications to the spirit-bottle, he condescended to make.

      “It’s all very well,” said Mr. Sikes; “but I must have some blunt from you to-night.”

      “I haven’t a piece of coin about me,” replied the Jew.

      “Then you’ve got lots at home,” retorted Sikes, “and I must have some from there.”

      “Lots!” cried the Jew, holding up his hands. “I haven’t so much as would – ”

      “I don’t know how much you’ve got, and I dare say you hardly know yourself, as it would take a pretty long time to count it,” said Sikes; “but I must have some to-night, and that’s flat.”

      “Well, well,” said the Jew, with a sigh, “I’ll send the Artful round presently.”

      “You won’t do nothing of the kind,” rejoined Mr. Sikes. “The Artful’s a deal too artful, and would forget to come, or lose his way, or get dodged by traps and so be perwented, or any thing for an excuse, if you put him up to it. Nancy shall go to the ken and fetch it, to make all sure, and I’ll lie down and have a snooze while she’s gone.”

      After a great deal of