Dodger

right you are
.
    When it was clear that warfare would not break out, and two pints of porter, for once in clean glasses, what with there being a gentleman here, were put in front of them, Charlie said, ‘Young man, I made great haste to my office after finishing our business with Angela, and what did I find but that my friend Mister Dodger the hero is a very rich man.’ He leaned closer and said, ‘In fact, I have in my pocket, carefully wrapped so that they should not jingle, specie to the tune of fifty sovereigns and what you might now call small change, with the promise of more to come.’
    At last Dodger got control of his own mouth, which for a few seconds had totally been beyond him. He managed to whisper, ‘But I ain’t no hero, Charlie.’
    Charlie put a finger to his lips and said, ‘Do be careful about protesting; you know who and what you are, and I suppose so do I, although I suspect I am kinder to you than you are to yourself. But right now the good people of London have contributed this money to someone they consider to be a hero. Who are we to deprive them of their hero, especially since it might be that a hero can get things done?’
    Dodger glanced around the bar. Nobody was listening and he hissed, ‘And poor old Todd is a villain, right?’
    ‘Well, now,’ said Charlie. ‘A hero, a man might think, is a man who might protest that the so-called villain is nothing more than a sad, mad man in torment because of what war has done to him, and indeed suggest that Bedlam would be more sensible than the gallows. Who would deny a hero, especially if said hero sprang some of his newfound wealth seeing to it that the poor man had a reasonable time there.’
    Dodger thought of Mister Todd in Bedlam, where the poor devil would presumably be locked in somewhere with his demons and with no comforts unless he could afford to pay for them. The thought made Dodger’s flesh crawl, because surely that would be much worse than the gallows in Newgate, especially since they were getting the art of putting the knot in the rope in such a way that the neck was broken instantly, which saved a lot of hanging around for all concerned and meant that people no longer had to rely on their friends swinging on their heels as they danced the hemp fandango. Reportedly, a good pickpocket could get his lunch just by strolling behind people who were intent on making the most of the entertainment. Dodger had himself tried this out once and hadn’t done too badly, but he had been surprised to find himself feeling a little ashamed at using such an occasion for profit and so he had re-distributed the money he had expertly filched to a couple of beggars.
    ‘No one’s going to listen to me,’ he said now.
    ‘You undersell yourself, my friend. And you undersell the power of the press. Now close your mouth before something flies into it, and remember, tomorrow morning you must come to see me at the offices of
Punch
magazine so that Mister Tenniel can make a very droll likeness of you, for our readers would like to see the hero of the day.’
    He slapped Dodger on the back – an action he immediately regretted as his hand encountered an especially fruity patch of Dodger’s suit.
    ‘The coach,’ said Dodger. ‘I heard it again. Nearly caught it too. I’ll find them coves, Charlie. Simplicity will be safe from
them
.’
    ‘Well, she’s certainly safe right now at Angela’s.’ Charlie smiled. ‘And I believe I can keep Ben quiet for a day or so whilst I make further enquiries. We make a team, Mister Dodger, a team! The game is on, so let us hope we are on the winning side.’
    With that, he left the pub, heading fast for the next wide road that might contain a cab and leaving Dodger standing there with his mouth open and a pocket full of glorious, shiny specie. After a few seconds, the goddesses of reality and self-preservation ganged up on him, and a man holding a fortune raced through Seven Dials and hammered on Solomon’s door.
    He gave the special knock, heard the joyful bark of Onan followed by the shuffling of Solomon’s slippers, followed by the rattle of bolts. Dodger knew that at the Tower of London – a place he never wanted to see the inside of – there was a great ceremony of the Yeoman warders, known by some as the Beefeaters, when the place was locked up at nights. But however complicated their ceremony was, it probably wasn’t as careful and meticulous as Solomon opening or closing his door. This was,