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."