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 ha' 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 the Jew angrily; "what are you blubbering for?"
"'Cause it isn't on the rec-ord, is it?" said
