lcome, which did not tend to reassure him,
and then the sausages were passed around. The Jew gave Oliver a glass of
something to drink, and as soon as he drank it he became very sleepy and
knew nothing more till the following morning.

The next few days Oliver saw much to wonder at. When he woke up, Fagin
was sorting over a great box full of watches, which he hid away when he
saw Oliver was looking. Every day the boy who had brought him there,
whom they called "the Artful Dodger," came in and gave the Jew some
pocketbooks and handkerchiefs. Oliver thought he must have made the
pocketbooks, only they did not look new, and some seemed to have money
in them. He noticed, too, that whenever the Artful Dodger came home
empty-handed Fagin seemed angry and cuffed and kicked him and sent him
to bed supperless; but when he brought home a good number everything was
very jolly.

Whenever there was nothing else to do, the old Jew played a very curious
game with the boys. This was the way they played it:

Fagin would put a snuff-box in one pocket, a watch in another and a
handkerchief in a third; then he would walk about the room just as any
old gentleman would walk about the street, stopping now and then, as if
he were looking into shop-windows. All the time the boys followed him
closely, sometimes treading on his toes or stumbling against him, and
when this happened one of them would slip a hand into his pocket and
take out either the watch or the snuff-box or the handkerchief. If the
Jew felt a hand in his pocket he cried out which it was, and then the
game began all over again. At last Fagin made Oliver try if he could
take something out of his pocket without his knowing it, and when Oliver
succeeded he patted his head and seemed well pleased.

But Oliver grew very tired of the dirty room and the same game. He
longed for the open air and begged to be allowed to go out; so one day
the Jew put him in charge of the Artful Dodger and they went upon the
streets, Oliver wondering where in the world he was going to be taught
to make pocketbooks.

He was on the point of asking, when the Artful Dodger signed to him to
be silent, and slunk behind an old gentleman who was reading a book in
front of a book-stall. You can imagine Oliver's horror when he saw him
thrust his hand into the old gentleman's pocket, draw out a silk
handkerchief and run off at full speed.

In an instant Oliver understood the mystery of the handkerchiefs, the
w