The Dodger nodded in the affirmative, and, shading the flame of

the candle with his hand, gave Charley Bates a private

intimation, in dumb show, that he had better not be funny just

then. Having performed this friendly office, he fixed his eyes

on the Jew's face, and awaited his directions.

The old man bit his yellow fingers, and meditated for some

seconds; his face working with agitation the while, as if he

dreaded something, and feared to know the worst. At length he