Stranica 69 [69]
41
yet the self-same senses were mentally
engaged at the same time, in busy action
with almost everybody he had ever known.
When the coffee was done, the Jew
drew the saucepan to the hob, and, stand¬
ing in an irresolute attitude for a few
minutes as if he did not. well know how
to employ himself, turned round and look¬
ed at Oliver, and called him by his name.
. He did not answer, and was to all appear¬
ance asleep.
After satisfying himself upon this head,
the Jew stepped gently to the door, which
he fastened; he then drew forth, as it
seemed to Oliver, from some trap in the
floor, a small box, which he placed care¬
fully on the table. His eyes glistened as
he raised the lid and looked in. Dragging
an old chair to the table, he sat down, and
took from it a magnificent gold watch,
sparkling with diamonds, |
. Aha!’said the Jew, shrugging up his
shoulders, and distorting every feature
with a hideous grin. “Clever dogs! cle¬
ver dogs! Staunch to the last! Never
told the old parson where they were;
never peached upon old Fagin. And why
should they? It wouldn’t have loosened
the knot, or kept the drop up a minute
longer. No, no, no! Fine fellows! fine
fellows!”
With these, and other muttered reflec¬
tions of the like nature, the Jew once more
. deposited the watch in its place of safety.
At least half a dozen more were severally
drawn forth from the same box, and sur¬
veyed with equal pleasure ; besides rings,
brooches, bracelets, and other articles of
jewellery, of such magnificent materials
and costly workmanship, that Oliver had
no idea even of their names.
Having replaced these trinkets, the Jew
took out another, so small that it lay in the
palm of his hand. There seemed to be
some very minute inscription on it, for the
Jew laid it flat upon the table, and, shading
it with his feels pored over it long and
if despairing of success, and, leaning back
in his chair, muttered,
“ What a fine thing capital punishment
is! Dead men never repent; dead men
never bring awkward stories to light. The
rospect of the gallows, too, makes them
ardy and bold. Ah! it’s a fine thing for
the trade! Five of them strung up in a
row, and none left to play booty or turn
white-livered !”
As the Jew uttered these words, his
bright dark eyes, which had been staring
vacantly before him, fell on Oliver’s face ;
the boy’s eyes were fixed on his in mute
4* F
curiosity, and, although the recognition
was only for an instant—for the briefest
space of time that can possibly be con¬
ceived,—it was enough to show the old
man that he had been observed. He closed
the lid of the box with a loud crash, and,
laying his hand on a bread-knife which
was on the table, started furiously up. He
trembled very much, though ; for, even m
his térror, Oliver could see that the knife
quivered in the air.
“ What’s that?" said the Jew. “ What
do you watch me for? Why are you
awake? What have you seen? Speak
out, boy! Quick—quick! for your life!”
“T wasn’t able to sleep any longer, sir,”
replied Oliver, meekly. “I am very sorry
if I have disturbed you, sir.”
c You were not awake an hour ago?”
said the Jew, scowling fi¢rcely on the boy.
“ No—no, indeed sir,” replied Oliver.
6 Are you sure?" cried the Jew, with a
still fiercer look than before, and a threat¬
ening attitude.
“Upon my word I was not, sir,” replied
Oliver, earnestly. “I was not, indeed,
sir.”
“ Tush, tush, my dear!” said the Jew,
suddenly resuming his old manner, and
playing with the knife a little before he
aid it down, as if to induce the belief
that he had caught it up in mere sport.
“Of course I know that, my dear. I only
tried to frighten you. You’re a brave
boy. Ha! ha! you’re a brave boy, Olr
ver!” and the Jew rubbed his hands with
a chuckle, but looked uneasily at the box
notwithstanding.
“Did you see any of these pretty things,
my dear?” said the Jew, laying his hand
upon it after a short pause.
“ Yes, sir,” replied Oliver.
“Ah!” said the Jew, turning rather
pale. " They—they "re mine, Oliver; my
little property. Alt I Have to live upon
inmy old age. The folks call me a miser,
my dear,—only a miser, that’s all.”
Oliver thought the old gentleman must
be a decided miser, to live in such a dirty
place, with so many watches; but, think¬
ing that perhaps his fondness for the
Dodger and the other boys cost him a
deal of money, he only cast a defe¬
might get up.
“Certainly, my dear,—certainly,” re¬
plied the old gentleman. “Stay. There’s
a pitcher of water in the corner by the
door. Bring it here, and I’ll give you a
basin to wash in, my dear.”
c Oliver got up, walked across the room,
and stooped for one instant to raise the