“Mr. Bolter,” replied Noah, who Toms Cordones Women had prepared himself for such
an emergency. “Mr. Morris Bolter. This is Mrs. Bolter.”
“Mrs. Bolter’s humble servant,” said Fagin, bowing with
grotesque politeness. “I hope I shall know her better very shortly.”
“Do you hear the gentleman, Charlotte?” thundered Mr.
Claypole.
“Yes, Noah, dear!” replied Mrs. Bolter, extending her hand.
“She calls me Noah, as a sort of fond way of talking,” said Mr.
Morris Bolter, late Claypole, turning to Fagin. “You understand?”
“Oh, yes, I understand—perfectly,” replied Fagin, telling the
truth for once. “Good-night! Good-night!”
With many adieus and good wishes, Mr. Fagin went his way.
Noah Claypole, bespeaking his good lady’s attention, proceeded to
enlighten her relative to the arrangement he had made, with all
that haughtiness and air of superiority, becoming, not only a
member of the sterner sex, but a gentleman who appreciated the
dignity of a special appointment on the kinchin lay, in London and
its vicinity.