“Yes sir,” said Oliver.

“See if you can take it out, without my feeling it:  as you saw them do when we were at play.”

Oliver held up the bottom of the pocket with one hand, as he had seen the Dodger hold it, and drew the handkerchief lightly out of it with the other.

“Is it gone?” cried the Jew.

“Here it is, sir,” said Oliver, showing it in his hand.

“You’re a clever boy, my dear,” said the playful old gentleman, patting Oliver on the head approvingly.  “I never saw a sharper lad.  Here’s a shilling for you.  If you go on in this way, you’ll be the greatest man of the time.  And now come here, and I’ll show you how to take the marks out of the handkerchiefs.”

Oliver wondered what picking the old gentleman’s pocket in play, had to do with his chances of being a great man.  But, thinking that the Jew, being so much his senior, must know best, he followed him quietly to the table, and was soon deeply involved in his new study.

For many days Oliver remained in the Jew’s room, picking marks out of the pocket-handkerchiefs.  But at length, he began to languish, and entreated Fagin to allow him to go out to work with his two companions.  So, one morning, he obtained permission to go out, under the guardianship of Charley Bates and the Dodger.

The three boys sallied out; the Dodger with his coat-sleeves tucked up, and his hat cocked as usual; Master Bates sauntering along with his hands in his pockets; and Oliver between them, wondering where they were going, and what branch of manufacture he would be instructed in, first.

They were just emerging from a narrow court, when the Dodger made a sudden stop; and, laying his finger on his lip, drew his companions back again with the greatest caution.

“What’s the matter?” demanded Oliver.

“Hush!” replied the Dodger.  “Do you see that old cove at the book-stall?”

“The old gentleman over the way?” said Oliver.  “Yes, I see him.”

“He’ll do,” said the Dodger.

“A prime plant,” observed Master Charley Bates.

Oliver looked from one to the other, with the greatest surprise; but could not ask any questions, for the two boys walked stealthily across the road, and slunk close behind the old gentleman.  Oliver walked a few paces behind them, looking on in silent amazement.

The old gentleman had taken up a book from the stall; and there he stood:  reading away, perfectly absorbed, and saw not the book-stall, nor the street, nor the boys, nor anything but the book itself.  What was Oliver’s horror and alarm to see the Dodger plunge his hand into the old gentleman’s pocket, and draw from thence a handkerchief!  To see him hand the same to Charley Bates; and finally to behold them, both, running away round the corner at full speed!

In an instant the whole mystery of the handkerchiefs, and the watches, and the jewels, and the Jew, rushed upon the boy’s mind.  He stood, for a moment, with the blood tingling through all his veins from terror; then, confused and frightened, he took to his heels.