for nothink, and never ask for
the change--that is, if any genelman he knows interduces you."

This unexpected offer of shelter was too tempting to be resisted, and on
the way to London, where they arrived at nightfall, Oliver learnt that
his friend's name was Jack Dawkins, but that he was known among his
intimates as "The Artful Dodger."

In Field Lane, in the slums of Saffron Hill, the Dodger pushed open the
door of a house, and drew Oliver within.

"Now, then," cried a voice, in reply to his whistle.

"Plummy and slam," said the Dodger.

This seemed to be a watchword, for a man at once appeared with a candle.

"There's two on you," said the man. "Who's the t'other one, and where
does he come from?"

"A new pal from Greenland," replied Jack Dawkins. "Is Fagin upstairs?"

"Yes, he's sortin the wipes. Up with you."

The room that Oliver was taken into was black with age and dirt. Several
rough beds, made of old sacks, were huddled side by side on the floor.
Seated round the table were four or five boys, none older than the
Dodger, smoking long clay pipes, and drinking spirits with the air of
middle-aged men. An old shrivelled Jew, of repulsive face, was standing
over the fire, dividing his attention between a frying-pan and a
clothes-horse full of silk handkerchiefs.

The Dodger whispered a few words to the Jew, and then said aloud, "This
is him, Fagin, my friend Oliver Twist."

The Jew grinned. "We are very glad to see you, Oliver--very."

A good supper Oliver had that night, and a heavy sleep, and a hearty
breakfast next morning.

When the breakfast was cleared away, Fagin, who was quite a merry old
gentleman, and the Dodger and another boy named Charley Bates, played at
a very curious game. The merry old gentleman, placing a snuffbox in one
pocket of his trousers, a note-book in the other, and a watch in his
waistcoat, and sticking a mock diamond pin in his shirt, and
spectacle-case and handkerchief in his coat-pocket, trotted up and down
the room in imitation of the manner in which old gentlemen walk about
the streets; while the Dodger and Charley Bates had to get all these
things out of his pockets without being observed. It was so very funny
that Oliver laughed till the tears ran down his face.

A few days later, and he understood the full meaning of the game.

The Dodger and Charley Bates had taken Oliver out for a walk, and after
sauntering along, they suddenly pulled up short on Clerkenwell Gre