While these events were taking place in the country workhouse, Mr. Fagin sat in his old hideout—the same one from which the girl, Nancy, had taken Oliver. He was brooding over a dull, smoky fire. He held a pair of bellows on his knee, which he had apparently been using to try and stir the flames into something more cheerful. However, he had fallen into deep thought; with his arms folded over the bellows and his chin resting on his thumbs, he fixed his eyes abstractedly on the rusty bars of the fireplace.
At a table behind him sat the Artful Dodger, Master Charles Bates, and Mr. Chitling. They were all focused on a game of cards; the Dodger was playing against the other two. The Dodger’s face, which was naturally intelligent, looked even more serious as he observed the game. He watched Mr. Chitling’s hand with great attention, casting occasional sharp glances at his neighbor’s cards and wisely choosing his own moves based on what he saw. Because it was a cold night, the Dodger wore his hat, as was often his habit even indoors. He also held a clay pipe between his teeth, removing it only briefly when he needed to take a drink from a large pot of gin-and-water that stood on the table for the company’s refreshment.
Charley Bates was also paying close attention to the game, but since he was more excitable than his talented friend, he drank from the gin-and-water more frequently. Furthermore, he couldn't resist making jokes and irrelevant remarks, which were quite inappropriate for such a serious game. Indeed, the Dodger, taking advantage of their close friendship, more than once paused to lecture his companion on his behavior. Master Bates took these criticisms in good spirits, merely telling his friend to "go jump in a lake" or offering some other witty reply that Mr. Chitling greatly admired. It was remarkable that Mr. Chitling and his partner lost every single round; yet, rather than becoming angry, Charley Bates seemed to find it incredibly amusing. He laughed uproariously at the end of every deal, protesting that he had never seen such a "jolly" game in all his life.
"That’s two doubles and the match," said Mr. Chitling with a very long face, as he pulled a coin from his pocket. "I’ve never met anyone like you, Jack; you win everything. Even when we have good cards, Charley and I can't do anything with them."
Either the comment itself or the miserable way it was said delighted Charley Bates so much that his shout of laughter woke Fagin from his daydream. The old man looked around and asked what the matter was.
"The matter, Fagin!" cried Charley. "I wish you had watched the game. Tommy Chitling hasn't won a single point, even though I was his partner against the Dodger!"
"Ay, ay!" said the Jew with a grin, which showed he understood the reason for the lopsided score perfectly well. "Try them again, Tom; try them again."
"No more for me, thank you, Fagin," replied Mr. Chitling. "I’ve had enough. That Dodger has such a run of luck that there’s no point in playing against him."
"Ha! ha! my dear," replied the Jew. "You’d have to get up very early in the morning to beat the Dodger."
"Morning!" added Charley Bates. "You’d have to put your boots on the night before and use a telescope if you wanted to get the better of him!"
The Artful Dodger received these compliments with great calm. He offered to bet anyone a shilling on the next card, but when nobody accepted the challenge, he began to amuse himself by drawing a floor plan of Newgate Prison on the table with a piece of chalk. While he drew, he whistled a high, shrill tune.
"You’re awfully quiet, Tommy," said the Dodger, stopping his whistling after a long silence and turning to Mr. Chitling. "What do you think he’s thinking about, Fagin?"
"How should I know, my dear?" replied the Jew, looking around as he worked the bellows. "Perhaps about his losses, or the little 'retirement' in the country he just returned from? Ha! ha! Is that it, my dear?"
"Not at all," replied the Dodger, interrupting just as Mr. Chitling was about to speak. "What do you say, Charley?"
"I should say," replied Master Bates with a grin, "that he was thinking about Betsy. Look at him blushing! Oh, my goodness! Tommy Chitling is in love! Oh, Fagin, what a joke!"
Completely overwhelmed by the idea of Mr. Chitling being in love, Charley Bates threw himself back in his chair so violently that he lost his balance and fell onto the floor. This accident did not stop his laughter; he lay there at full length until he finished, then climbed back into his chair and started laughing all over again.
"Never mind him, my dear," said the Jew, winking at the Dodger and giving Charley a playful tap with the bellows. "Betsy is a fine girl. Don't give up on her, Tom."
"What I mean to say, Fagin," replied Mr. Chitling, his face turning very red, "is that it’s nobody’s business but mine."
"Of course it isn't," replied the Jew. "Charley just likes to talk. Don't mind him. Betsy is a fine girl. If you do as she says, Tom, you'll make your fortune."
"I do do what she says," replied Mr. Chitling. "I wouldn't have been sent to prison if it hadn't been for her advice. But it turned out well for you, didn't it, Fagin? And what’s six weeks of hard labor, anyway? You have to do it sooner or later, and why not in the winter when you don't feel like going for walks?"
"Ah, exactly, my dear," replied the Jew.
"You wouldn't mind doing it again, would you, Tom," asked the Dodger, winking at Charley, "if Bet was waiting for you?"
"I'm telling you I wouldn't!" replied Tom angrily. "There! Who else would say that, I’d like to know?"
"Nobody, my dear," replied the Jew. "Not a soul, Tom. I don't know anyone else who would do it for us, not one."
"I could have escaped if I had informed on her, couldn't I, Fagin?" continued the poor, simple-minded man. "One word from me would have done it."
"To be sure it would," agreed Fagin.
"But I didn't say a word, did I?" Tom asked, his questions coming faster and faster.
"No, no," replied the Jew. "You were too brave for that. Much too brave, my dear!"
"Perhaps I was," Tom said, looking around. "And if I was, what is there to laugh at?"
Fagin, noticing that Mr. Chitling was becoming truly angry, hurried to assure him that nobody was laughing. To prove how serious they were, he turned to Charley Bates, the main offender. Unfortunately, as soon as Charley opened his mouth to claim he had never been more serious, a violent roar of laughter escaped. The insulted Mr. Chitling rushed across the room and aimed a punch at Charley. However, Charley was skilled at avoiding trouble; he ducked at exactly the right moment. The blow landed instead on Fagin’s chest, causing the old man to stagger back against the wall, gasping for breath, while Mr. Chitling watched in horror.
"Hark!" cried the Dodger suddenly. "I heard the bell." Picking up the candle, he crept softly upstairs.
The bell rang again with some impatience while the room remained in darkness. After a short pause, the Dodger reappeared and whispered mysteriously to Fagin.
"What!" cried the Jew. "Alone?"
The Dodger nodded and, shading the candle flame with his hand, signaled to Charley Bates that he should stop being funny for a moment. Having done this, he looked at Fagin and waited for instructions. The old man bit his yellow fingernails and thought for a few seconds; his face showed deep agitation, as if he dreaded the news that was coming. Finally, he raised his head.
"Where is he?" he asked.
The Dodger pointed to the floor above.
"Yes," said the Jew. "Bring him down. Hush! Be quiet, Charley. Gently, Tom. Out of the way!"
The boys quickly and silently obeyed. There was no sound as the Dodger descended the stairs with the light, followed by a man in a rough laborer’s shirt. After a hurried glance around the room, the man pulled off a large scarf that had hidden his face, revealing the haggard, dirty, and unshaven features of Toby Crackit.
"How are you, Fagin?" said the man, nodding to the Jew. "Put my shawl in my hat, Dodger, so I can find it when I leave. You’ll be a fine burglar one day, kid."
He sat down by the fire and placed his muddy boots on the fireplace. "Look at that, Fagin," he said, pointing sadly to his boots. "Not a bit of polish on them for days. But don't look at me like that, man. All in good time. I can't talk business until I’ve eaten and drunk. Bring me some food; I haven't had a full meal in three days!"
Fagin signaled the Dodger to put what food they had on the table and sat down opposite the housebreaker, waiting for him to finish. Toby seemed in no hurry to speak. At first, the Jew watched his face patiently, hoping to find a clue to the news he brought, but he saw nothing. Toby looked exhausted, but his face still wore the same self-satisfied smirk it always did, despite the dirt and the beard.
Fagin, in an agony of impatience, watched every bite the man took, pacing up and down the room in excitement. It was no use. Toby continued to eat with total indifference until he was full. Then, ordering the Dodger to leave, he closed the door, mixed himself a glass of spirits, and prepared to talk.
"First and foremost, Fagin," said Toby.
"Yes, yes!" interrupted the Jew, pulling his chair closer.
Mr. Crackit stopped to take a drink and remarked that the gin was excellent. Then, putting his feet up on the mantelpiece, he quietly resumed. "First and foremost, Fagin—how’s Bill Sikes?"
"What!" screamed the Jew, jumping out of his chair.
"You don't mean to say—" Toby began, turning pale.
"Mean!" cried the Jew, stamping furiously on the floor. "Where are they? Sikes and the boy! Where are they? Where have they been hiding? Why haven't they come here?"
"The robbery failed," said Toby faintly.
"I know that!" replied the Jew, pulling a newspaper from his pocket and pointing to it. "What else?"
"They fired and hit the boy. We ran across the fields with him between us—straight through hedges and ditches. They chased us. The whole countryside was awake, and they set the dogs on us."
"The boy!" Fagin shouted.
"Bill had him on his back and ran like the wind. We stopped to carry him together; his head hung down, and he was cold. The pursuers were right behind us. It was every man for himself, or we’d all end up on the gallows! We split up and left the youngster lying in a ditch. Alive or dead, that’s all I know about him."
The Jew waited to hear no more. Letting out a loud yell and clutching his hair with both hands, he rushed from the room and out of the house into the night.