At this point the Dodger, with a show of being very particular with a view to proceedings to be had thereafter, desired the jailer to communicate “the names of them two old files as was on the bench,” which so tickled the spectators that they laughed almost as heartily as Master Bates could have done if he had heard the request. “Silence there!” cried the jailer. “What is this?” inquired one of the magistrates. “A pick-pocketing case, your worship.” “Has that boy ever been here before?” “He ought to have been a many times,” replied the jailer. “He has been pretty well everywhere else. _I_ know him well, your worship.” “Oh! you know me, do you?” cried the Artful, making a note of the statement. “Wery good. That’s a case of deformation of character, any way.” Here there was another laugh, and another cry of silence. “Now then, where are the witnesses?” said the clerk. “Ah! that’s right,” added the Dodger. “Where are they? I should like to see ’em.” This wish was immediately gratified, for a policeman stepped forward who had seen the prisoner attempt the pocket of an unknown gentleman in a crowd, and indeed take a handkerchief therefrom, which being a very old one, he deliberately put back again, after trying it on his own countenance. For this reason he took the Dodger into custody as soon as he could get near him, and the said Dodger being searched had upon his person a silver snuff-box with the owner’s name engraved upon the lid. This gentleman had been discovered on reference to the Court Guide, and being then and there present, swore that the snuff-box was his, and that he had missed it on the previous day, the moment he had disengaged himself from the crowd before referred to. He had also remarked a young gentleman in the throng particularly active in making his way about, and that young gentleman was the prisoner before him. “Have you anything to ask this witness, boy?” said the magistrate. “I wouldn’t abase myself by descending to hold any conversation with him,” replied the Dodger. “Have you anything to say at all?” “Do you hear his worship ask if you’ve anything to say?” inquired the jailer nudging the silent Dodger with his elbow. “I beg your pardon,” said the Dodger, looking up with an air of abstraction. “Did you address yourself to me, my man?” “I never see such an out-and-out young wagabond, your worship,” observed the officer with a grin. “Do you mean to say anything, you young shaver?” “No,” replied the Dodger, “not here, for this ain’t the shop for justice; besides which my attorney is a-breakfasting this morning with the Wice President of the House of Commons; but I shall have something to say elsewhere, and so will he, and so will a wery numerous and respectable circle of acquaintance as’ll make them beaks wish they’d never been born, or that they’d got their footman to hang ’em up to their own hat-pegs, ’afore they let ’em come out this morning to try it upon me. I’ll——”