getting out of his sight, so nimbly, every time he turned round that it
was impossible to follow their motions. At last the Dodger trod upon his
toes or ran upon his boot accidentally, while Charley Bates stumbled up
against him behind; and in that one moment they took from him, with the
most extraordinary rapidity, snuff-box, note-case, watch-guard, chain,
shirt-pin, pocket handkerchief, even the spectacle-case. If the old
gentleman felt a hand in any one of his pockets, he cried out where it
was, and then the game began all over again.
When this game had been played a great many times, Charley Bates
expressed his opinion that it was time to pad the hoof. This, it
occurred to Oliver, must be French for going out; for, directly
afterward, the Dodger and Charley went away together, having been kindly
furnished by the amiable old Jew with money to spend.
"There, my dear," said Fagin. "That's a pleasant life, isn't it? They
have gone out for the day."
"Have they done work, sir?" inquired Oliver.
"Yes," said the Jew; "that is, unless they should unexpectedly come
across any when they are out; and they won't neglect it, if they do, my
dear, depend upon it. Make 'em your models, my dear. Make 'em your
models," tapping the fire-shovel on the hearth to add force to his
words; "do everything they bid you, and take their advice in all
matters--especially the Dodger's my dear. He'll be a great man himself,
and will make you one too, if you take pattern by him. Is my
handkerchief hanging out of my pocket, my dear?" said the Jew, stopping
short.
"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 this morning."
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 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 handkerchief."
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 older must know best, he followed him quietly to the
table, and was soon deeply at work in his new study.
For many days Oliver remained in the Jew's room, picking the marks out
of the pocket-handkerchiefs (of which a great number were brought home),
and sometimes taking part in the game already described, which the two
boys and the Jew played, regularly, every morning.
At length, one morning, Oliver obtained the permission to go out with
the boys. There had been no handkerchiefs to work upon for two or three
days, and the dinners had been rather meager. Perhaps these were reasons
for the old gentleman giving his assent; but, whether they were or no,
he told Oliver he might go, and placed him under the joint care of
Charley Bates and his friend, the Dodger.
The three boys started 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 they would teach him to make first.
They were just coming from a narrow court not far from an open square,
which is yet called "The Green," 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 he
was not permitted to make any inquiries; for the two boys walked
stealthily across the road and slunk close behind the old gentleman.
Oliver walked a few paces after them, and, not knowing whether to
advance or retire, stood looking on in silent amazement.
The old gentleman was a very respectable-looking personage, with a
powdered head and gold spectacles, as he stood reading a book; and what
was Oliver's horror and alarm as he stood a few paces off, looking on
with his eyelids as wide open as they would possibly go, 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.
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 so tingling through all his veins from terror
that he felt as if he were in a burning fire; then, confused and
frightened, he took to his heels, and, not knowing what he did, made off
as fast as he could lay his feet to the ground.
This was all done in a minute's space. In the very instant when Oliver
began to run, the old gentleman, putting his hand to his pocket, and
missing his handkerchief, turned sharp round. Seeing the boy scudding
away at such a rapid pace, he very naturally concluded him to be the
thief; and, shouting "Stop thief!" with all his might, made off after
him, book in hand.
But the old gentleman was not the only person who raised the
hue-and-cry. The Dodger and Master Bates, unwilling to attract public
attention by running down the open street, had merely retired into the
very first doorway round the corner. They no sooner heard the cry, and
saw Oliver running, than, guessing exactly how the matter stood, they
issued forth with great quickness; and shouting "Stop thief!" too,
joined in the pursuit like good citizens.
Away they ran, pell-mell, helter-skelter, slap-dash; tearing, yelling,
screaming, knocking down the passengers as they turn the corners,
rousing up the dogs, and astonishing the fowls; and making streets,
squares, and courts re-echo with the sound.
At last a burly fellow struck Oliver a terrible blow and he went down
upon the pavement; and the crowd eagerly gathered round him, each
newcomer jostling and struggling with the others to catch a glimpse.
"Stand aside!" "Give him a little air!" "Nonsense! he don't deserve it!"
"Where's the gentleman?" "Here he is, coming down the street." "Make
room there for the gentleman!" "Is this the boy, sir?"
Oliver lay covered with mud and dust, and bleeding from the mouth,
looking wildly round upon the heap of faces that surrounded him, when
the old gentleman was officiously dragged and pushed into the circle by
the foremost of the pursuers.
"Yes," said the gentleman, "I am afraid it is the boy."
"Afraid!" murmured the crowd. "That's a good 'un!"
"Poor fellow!" said the gentleman, "he has hurt himself."
"I did that, sir," said a great lubberly fellow, stepping forward; "and
preciously I cut my knuckle agin his mouth. I stopped him, sir."
The fellow touched his hat with a grin, expecting something for his
pains; but the old gentleman, eyeing him with an expression of dislike,
looked anxiously round, as if he contemplated running away himself;
which it is very possible he might have attempted to do, and thus have
afforded another chase, had not a police officer (who is generally the
last person to arrive in such cases) at that moment made his way through
the crowd, and seized Oliver by the collar.
"Come, get up," said the man, roughly.
"It wasn't me, indeed, sir. Indeed, indeed, it was two other boys," said
Oliver, clasping his hands passionately and looking round. "They are
here somewhere."
"Oh no, they ain't," said the officer. He meant this to be ironical, but
it was true besides; for the Dodger and Charley Bates had filed off down
the first convenient court they came to. "Come, get up!"
"Don't hurt him," said the old gentleman, compassionately.
"Oh no, I won't hurt him," replied the officer, tearing his jacket half
off his back, in proof thereof. "Come, I know you; it won't do. Will you
stand upon your legs, you young devil?"
Oliver, who could hardly stand, made a shift to raise himself on his
feet, and was at once lugged along the streets by the jacket-collar at a
rapid pace. The gentleman walked on with them by the officer's side.
At last they came to a place called Mutton Hill. Here he was led beneath
a low archway, and up a dirty court, where they saw a stout man with a
bunch of whiskers on his face and a bunch of keys in his hand.
"What's the matter now?" said the man carelessly.
"A young fogle-hunter," replied the officer who had Oliver in charge.
"Are you the party that's been robbed, sir?" inquired the man with the
keys.
"Yes, I am," replied the old gentleman; "but I am not sure that this boy
actually took the handkerchief. I would rather not press the case."
"Must go before the magistrate now, sir," replied the man. "His worship
will be disengaged in half a minute. Now, young gallows!"
This was an invitation for Oliver to enter through a door which he
unlocked as he spoke, and which led into a stone cell. Here he was
searched, and, nothing being found upon him, locked up.
The old gentleman looked almost as unhappy as Oliver when the key grated
in the lock.
At last this gentleman, Mr. Brownlow, was summoned before the
magistrate--a very mean man, whose name was Fang. Oliver was brought in,
and the magistrate, after using very abusive language to Mr. Brownlow,
had him sworn, but would not let him tell his story. He flew into a rage
and told the policeman to tell what happened.
The policeman, with becoming humility, related how he had taken the boy;
how he had searched Oliver, and found nothing on his person; and how
that was all he knew about it.
"Are there any witnesses?" inquired Mr. Fang.
"None, your worship," replied the policeman.
Mr. Fang sat silent for some minutes, and then, turning round to Mr.
Brownlow, said in a towering passion:
"Do you mean to state what your complaint against this boy is, man, or
do you not? You have been sworn. Now, if you stand there, refusing to
give evidence, I'll punish you for disrespect to the bench."
With many interruptions, and repeated insults, Mr. Brownlow contrived to
state his case; observing that, in the surprise of the moment, he had
run after the boy because he saw him running away.
"He has been hurt already," said the old gentleman, in conclusion. "And
I fear," he added, with great energy, looking toward the bar, "I really
fear that he is ill."
"Oh! yes, I dare say!" said Mr. Fang, with a sneer. "Come, none of your
tricks here, you young vagabond; they won't do. What's your name?"
Oliver tried to reply, but his tongue failed him. He was deadly pale;
and the whole place seemed turning round and round.
"What's your name, you hardened scoundrel?" demanded Mr. Fang.
At this point of the inquiry, Oliver raised his head, and, looking
round with imploring eyes, asked feebly for a drink of water.
"Stuff and nonsense!" said Fang; "don't try to make a fool of me."
"I think he really is ill, your worship," said the officer.
"I know better," said Mr. Fang.
"Take care of him, officer," said the old gentleman, raising his hands
instinctively; "he'll fall down."
"Stand away, officer," cried Fang; "let him, if he likes."
Oliver availed himself of the kind permission, and fell to the floor in
a fainting fit. The men in the office looked at each other, but no one
dared to stir.
"I knew he was shamming," said Fang, as if this were enough proof of the
fact. "Let him lie there; he'll soon be tired of that."
"How do you propose to deal with the case, sir?" inquired the clerk in a
low voice.
"Summarily," replied Mr. Fang. "He stands committed for three
months--hard labor, of course. Clear the office."
The door was opened for this purpose, and a couple of men were preparing
to carry the insensible boy to his cell, when an elderly man of decent
but poor appearance, clad in an old suit of black, rushed in.
"Stop! stop! Don't take him away! For heaven's sake stop a moment!"
cried the newcomer, breathless with haste.
"What is this? Who is this? Turn this man out. Clear the office," cried
Mr. Fang.
"I _will_ speak," cried the man; "I will not be turned out. I saw it
all. I keep the book-stall. I demand to be sworn. I will not be put
down. Mr. Fang, you must hear me. You must not refuse, sir."
The man was right. His manner was determined; and the matter was growing
rather too serious to be hushed up.
"Swear the man," growled Mr. Fang, with a very ill grace. "Now, man,
what have you to say?"
"This," said the man: "I saw three boys--two two others and the prisoner
here--loitering on the opposite side of the way, when this gentleman was
reading. The robbery was committed by another boy. I saw it done; and I
saw this boy was perfectly amazed and stupefied by it."
"Why didn't you come here before?" said Fang, after a pause.
"I hadn't a soul to mind the shop," replied the man. "Everybody who
could have helped me had joined in the pursuit. I could get nobody till
five minutes ago; and I have run here all the way to speak the truth."
"The boy is discharged. Clear the office!" shouted the angry magistrate.
The command was obeyed; and as Oliver was taken out he fainted away
again in the yard, and lay with his face a deadly white and a cold
tremble convulsing his frame.
"Poor boy! poor boy!" said Mr. Brownlow, bending over him. "Call a
coach, somebody, pray. Directly!"
A coach was obtained, and Oliver, having been carefully laid on one
seat, the old gentleman got in and sat himself on the other.
"May I go with you?" said the book-stall keeper, looking in.
"Bless me, yes, my dear sir," said Mr. Brownlow quickly. "I forgot you.
Dear, dear! I have this unhappy book still! Jump in. Poor fellow! No
time to lose."
The book-stall keeper got into the coach, and it rattled away. It
stopped at length before a neat house, in a quiet shady street. Here a
bed was prepared, without loss of time, in which Mr. Brownlow saw his
young charge carefully and comfortably laid; and here he was tended
with a kindness and solicitude that knew no bounds.
At last the sick boy began to recover, and one day Mr. Brownlow came to
see him. You may imagine how happy Oliver was to see his good friend;
but he was no more delighted than was Mr. Brownlow. The old gentleman
came to spend a short time with him every day; and, when he grew
stronger, Oliver went up to the learned gentleman's study and talked
with him by the hour and was astonished at the books he saw, and which
Mr. Brownlow told him to look at and read as much as he liked.
Oliver was soon well, and no thought was in Mr. Brownlow's mind but that
he should keep him, and raise him and educate him to be a splendid man;
for no father loves his own son better than Mr. Brownlow had come to
love Oliver.
Now, I know, you want to ask me what became of Oliver Twist. But I
cannot tell you here. Let us leave him in this beautiful home of good
Mr. Brownlow; and, if you want to read the rest of his wonderful story,
get Dickens' big book called _Oliver Twist_, and read it there. There
were many surprises and much trouble yet in store for Oliver, but he was
always noble, honest, and brave.
------THE------
Famous Standard Juveniles
* * * * *
Published by
THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO.
Philadelphia
* * * * *
EDWARD S. ELLIS
Edward S. Ellis, the popular writer of boys' books, is a native of
Ohio, where he was born somewhat more than a half-century ago. His
father was a famous hunter and rifle shot, and it was doubtless his
exploits and those of his associates, with their tales of adventure
which gave the son his taste for the breezy backwoods and for depicting
the stirring life of the early settlers on the frontier.
Mr. Ellis began writing at an early age and his work was acceptable from
the first. His parents removed to New Jersey while he was a boy and he
was graduated from the State Normal School and became a member of the
faculty while still in his teens. He was afterward principal of the
Trenton High School, a trustee and then superintendent of schools. By
that time his services as a writer had become so pronounced that he gave
his entire attention to literature. He was an exceptionally successful
teacher and wrote a number of text-books for schools, all of which met
with high favor. For these and his historical productions, Princeton
College conferred upon him the degree of Master of Arts.
The high moral character, the clean, manly tendencies and the admirable
literary style of Mr. Ellis' stories have made him as popular on the
other side of the Atlantic as in this country. A leading paper remarked
some time since, that no mother need hesitate to place in the hands of
her boy any book written by Mr. Ellis. They are found in the leading
Sunday-school libraries, where, as may well be believed, they are in
wide demand and do much good by their sound, wholesome lessons which
render them as acceptable to parents as to their children. Nearly all of
the Ellis books published by The John C. Winston Company are reissued in
London, and many have been translated into other languages. Mr. Ellis is
a writer of varied accomplishments, and, in addition to his stories, is
the author of historical works, of a number of pieces of popular music,
and has made several valuable inventions. Mr. Ellis is in the prime of
his mental and physical powers, and great as have been the merits of his
past achievements, there is reason to look for more brilliant
productions from his pen in the near future.
* * * * *
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Two Boys in Wyoming
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Shod with Silence
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Jim and Joe
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The Flying Boys in the Sky
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THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO., _Publishers_
WINSTON BUILDING PHILADELPHIA
EVERY CHILD'S LIBRARY
Books "That Every Child Can Read" for Four Reasons:
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anything that might prove objectionable for
children's reading has been eliminated.
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This Series of Books comprises subjects that appeal to all young
people. Besides the historical subjects that are necessary to the
education of children, it also contains standard books written in
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Carefully Edited. Each work is carefully edited by Rev. Jesse Lyman
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Dr. Hurlbut's large and varied experience in the instruction of young
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Issued in uniform style of binding.
Cloth, 12mo. Illustrated. Price, 75 cents
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LIST OF TITLES
DICKENS' STORIES ABOUT CHILDREN. Every Child can read
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LEATHER STOCKING TALES. Every Child can read
PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. Every Child can read
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HURLBUT'S STORY OF THE BIBLE
***FROM GENESIS TO REVELATION
BY REV. JESSE LYMAN HURLBUT, D.D.
* * * * *
A BOOK FOR OLD AND YOUNG
Told in language that interests both Old and Young. "Supersedes all
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168 separate stories, each complete in itself, yet forming a continuous
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THE FLEXIBLE MOROCCO STYLE
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questions and answers, based on the stories in the book, by which the
Old Testament story can be taught in a year, and the New Testament story
can be taught in a year. This edition also contains 17 Maps printed in
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Those additional features are not included in the Cloth bound book, but
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Critics uniformly agree that parents can safely
place in the hands of boys and girls any book
written by Edward S. Ellis
The "FLYING BOYS" Series
By EDWARD S. ELLIS
Author of the Renowned "Deerfoot" Books, and 100
other famous volumes for young people
During his trip abroad last summer, Mr. Ellis became intensely
interested in aeroplane and airship flying in France, and this new series
from his pen is the visible result of what he would call a "vacation."
He has made a study of the science and art of aeronautics, and these
books will give boys just the information they want about this marvelous
triumph of man.
First Volume: THE FLYING BOYS IN THE SKY
Second Volume: THE FLYING BOYS TO THE RESCUE
The stories are timely and full of interest and stirring events.
Handsomely illustrated and with appropriate cover design.
Price Per volume, 60 cents. Postpaid
* * * * *
This series will appeal to up-to-date American
Girls. The subsequent volumes will carry the Ranch
Girls through numerous ups and downs of fortune
and adventures in America and Europe
THE "RANCH GIRLS" SERIES IS A
NEW LINE OF BOOKS FOR GIRLS
----THE----
Ranch Girls at Rainbow Lodge
By MARGARET VANDERCOOK