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“In a little community like ours； my dear；” said Fagin； who felt
it necessary to qualify his position； “we have a general number
one； that is； you can’t consider yourself as number one； without
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considering me too as the same； and all the other young people。”
“Oh； the devil！” exclaimed Mr。 Bolter。
“You see；” pursued Fagin； affecting to disregard this
interruption； awe are so mixed up together； and identified in our
interests； that it must be so。 For instance； it’s your object to take
care of number one—meaning yourself。”
“Certainly；” replied Mr。 Bolter。 “Yer about right there。”
“Well！ You can’t take care of yourself； number one； without
taking care of me； number one。”
“Number two； you mean；” said Mr。 Bolter； who was largely
endowed with the quality of selfishness。
“No； I don’t！” retorted Fagin。 “I’m of the same importance to
you； as you are to yourself。”
“I say；” interrupted Mr。 Bolter； “yer a very nice man； and I’m
very fond of yer； but we ain’t quite so thick together； as all that
comes to。”
“Only think；” said Fagin； shrugging his shoulders； and
stretching out his hands； “only consider。 You’ve done what’s a
very pretty thing； and what I love you for doing； but what at the
same time would put the cravat round your throat； that’s so very
easily tied and so very difficult to unloose—in plain English； the
halter！”
Mr。 Bolter put his hand to his neckerchief； as if he felt it
inconveniently tight； and murmured an assent； qualified in tone
but not in substance。
“The gallows；” continued Fagin—“the gallows； my dear； is an
ugly finger…post； which points out a very short and sharp turning
that has stopped many a bold fellow’s career on the broad
highway。 To keep in the easy road； and keep it at a distance； is
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object number one with you。”
“Of course it is；” replied Mr。 Bolter。 “What do yer talk about
such things for？”
“Only to show you my meaning clearly；” said the Jew； raising
his eyebrows。 “To be able to do that； you depend upon me。 To
keep my little business all snug； I depend upon you。 The first is
your number one； the second my number one。 The more you value
your number one； the more careful you must be of mine； so we
come at last to what I told you at first—that a regard for number
one holds us all together； and must do so； unless we would all go to
pieces in company。”
“That’s true；” rejoined Mr。 Bolter thoughtfully。 “Oh！ yer a
cunning old codger！”
Mr。 Fagin saw； with delight； that this tribute to his powers was
no mere compliment； but that he had really impressed his recruit
with a sense of his wily genius； which it was most important that
he should entertain in the outset of their acquaintance。 To
strengthen an impression so desirable and useful； he followed up
the blow by acquainting him； in some detail； with the magnitude
and extent of his operations； blending truth and fiction together；
as best served his purpose； and bringing both to bear； with so
much art； that Mr。 Bolter’s respect visibly increased； and became
tempered at the same time； with a degree of wholesome fear；
which it was highly desirable to awaken。
“It’s this mutual trust we have in each other that consoles me
under heavy losses；” said Fagin。 “My best hand was taken from
me； yesterday morning。”
“You don’t mean to say he died？” cried Mr。 Bolter。
“No； no；” replied Fagin； “not so bad as that。 Not quite so bad。”
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“What； I suppose he was—”
“Wanted；” interposed Fagin。 “Yes； he was wanted。”
“Very particular？” inquired Mr。 Bolter。
“No；” replied Fagin； “not very。 He was charged with attempting
to pick a pocket； and they found a silver snuff…box on him—his
own； my dear； his own； for he took snuff himself； and was very
fond of it。 They remanded him till today； for they thought they
knew the owner。 Ah！ he was worth fifty boxes； and I’d give the
price of as many to have him back。 You should have known the
Dodger； my dear； you should have known the Dodger。”
“Well； but I shall know him； I hope； don’t yer think so？” said
Mr。 Bolter。
“I’m doubtful about it；” replied Fagin； with a sigh。 “If they don’t
get any fresh evidence； it’ll only be a summary conviction； and we
shall have him back again after six weeks or so； but； if they do； it’s
a case of lagging。 They know what a clever lad he is； he’ll be a lifer。
They’ll make the Artful nothing less than a lifer。”
“What do yer mean by lagging and a lifer？” demanded Mr。
Bolter。 “What’s the good of talking in that way to me； why don’t
yer speak so as I can understand yer？”
Fagin was about to translate these mysterious expressions into
the vulgar tongue； and； being interpreted； Mr。 Bolter would have
been informed that they represented that combination of words；
“transportation for life；” when the dialogue was cut short by the
entry of Master Bates； with his hands in his breeches pockets； and
his face twisted into a look of semi…comical woe。
“It’s all up； Fagin；” said Charley； when he and his new
companion had been made known to each other。
“What do you mean？”
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“They’ve found the gentleman as owns the box； two or three
more’s a…coming to ’dentify him； and the Artful’s booked for a
passage out；” replied Master Bates。 “I must have a full suit of
mourning； Fagin； and a hatband； to wisit him in； afore he sets out
upon his travels。 To think of Jack Dawkins—lummy Jack—the
Dodger—the Artful Dodger—going abroad for a common
twopenny…halfpenny sneeze…box！ I never thought he’d a done it
under a gold watch； chain； and seals； at the lowest。 Oh； why didn’t
he rob some rich old gentleman of all his walables； and go out as a
gentleman； and not like a common prig； without no honour nor
glory！”
With this expression of feeling for his unfortunate friend；
Master Bates sat himself on the nearest chair with an aspect of
chagrin and despondency。
“What do you talk about his having neither honour nor glory
for！” exclaimed Fagin； darting an angry look at his pupil。 “Wasn’t
he always top…sawyer among you all！ Is there one of you that could
touch him or come near him on any scent！ Eh？”
“Not one；” replied Master Bates； in a voice rendered husky by
regret； “not one。”
“Then what do you talk of？” replied Fagin angrily； “what are
you blubbering for？”
“‘Cause it isn’t on the record； is it？” said Charley； chafed into
perfect defiance of his venerable friend by the current of his
regrets； “’cause it can’t come out in the ’dictment； ’cause nobody
will never know half of what he was。 How will be stand in the
Newgate Calendar？ P’r’aps not be there at all。 Oh； my eye； my eye；
wot a blow it is！”
“Ha！ ha！” cried Fagin； extending his right hand； and turning to
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Mr。 Bolter in a fit of chuckling which shook him as though he had
the palsy； “see what a pride they take in their profession； my dear。
Ain’t it beautiful？”
Mr。 Bolter nodded assent； and Fagin； after contemplating the
grief of Charley Bates for some seconds with evident satisfaction；
stepped up to that young gentleman and patted him on the
shoulder。
“Never mind； Charley；” said Fagin soothingly； “it’ll come out；
it’ll be sure to come out。 They’ll all know what a clever fellow he
was； he’ll show it himself； and not disgrace his old pals and
teachers。 Think how young he is too！ What a distinction； Charley；
to be lagged at his time of life！”
“Well； it is a honour； that is！” said Charley； a little consoled。
“He shall have all he wants；” continued the Jew。 “He shall be
kept in the stone jug； Charley； like a gentleman。 Like a gentleman！
With his beer every day； and money in his pocket to pitch and toss
with； if he can’t spend it。”
“No； shall he though？” cried Charley Bates。
“Ay； that he shall；” replied Fagin； “and we’ll have a bigwig；
Charley—one that’s got the greatest gift of the gab—to carry on his
defence； and he shall make a speech for himself too； if he likes；
and we’ll read it all in the papers—‘Artful Dodger shrieks of
laughter—here the court was convulsed’—eh； Charley； eh？”
“Ha！ ha！” laughed Master Bates； “what a lark that would be；
wouldn’t it； Fagin？ I say； how the Artful would bother ’em；
wouldn’t he？”
“Would！” cried Fagin。 “He shall—he will！”
“Ah； to be sure； so he will；” repeated Charley； rubbing his
hands。
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“I think I see him now；” cried the Jew； bending his eyes upon
his pupil。
“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 bigwigs trying to look solemn； and Jack Dawkins