‘Oh, my wig, my wig!’ cried Master Charles Bates, from whose lungs the laughter had proceeded: ‘here he is! oh, cry, here he is! Oh, Fagin, look at him! Fagin, do look at him! I can’t bear it; it is such a jolly game, I cant’ bear it. Hold me, somebody, while I laugh it out.’ With this irrepressible ebullition of mirth, Master Bates laid himself flat on the floor: and kicked convulsively for five minutes, in an ectasy of facetious joy.
