“How should I know, my dear?”clarisonic mia replied the Jew, looking round
as he plied the bellows. “About his losses, maybe; or the little
retirement in the country, that he’s just left, eh? Ha! ha! ha! Is that
it, my dear?”
“Not a bit of it,” replied the Dodger, stopping the subject of
discourse as Mr. Chitling was about to reply. “What do you say,
Charley?”
“I should say,” replied Master Bates, with a grin, “that he was
uncommon sweet upon Betsy. See how he’s a-blushing! Oh, my
eye! here’s a merry-go-rounder! Tommy Chitling’s in love! Oh,
Fagin, Fagin! what a spree!”
Thoroughly overpowered with the notion of Mr. Chitling being
the victim of the tender passion, Master Bates threw himself back
in his chair with such violence, that he lost his balance, and
pitched over upon the floor; where (the accident abating nothing
of his merriment) he lay at full length until his laugh was over,
when he resumed his former position, and began another laugh.
“Never mind him, my dear,” said the Jew, winking at Mr.
Dawkins, and giving Master Bates a reproving tap with the nozzle
of the bellows. “Betsy’s a fine girl. Stick up to her, Tom. Stick up
to her.”
“What I mean to say, Fagin,” replied Mr. Chitling, very red in
the face, “is, that that isn’t anything to anybody here.”