"What's the matter?" demanded Oliver.
"Hush!" replied the Dodger. "Do you see that old cove at the book-stall?"
"The 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 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 gentleman was a very respectable-looking person who had taken up a book from the stall and was reading away as hard as if he were in his own study.
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 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!
Oliver saw in a flash that they were pickpockets, and that he would be classed among them! He turned to run—the worst possible thing to do—for just then the gentleman missed his handkerchief and glanced around in time to see Oliver scudding away for dear life; and shouting "Stop thief!" made off after him, book in hand.
He was not alone in the cry, for Bates and Dawkins, willing to divert attention from themselves, also shouted "Stop thief!" and joined in the pursuit like good citizens.