"Well," said the Jew, "I hope you've been at work this morning, my dears?" "Hard," replied the Dodger. "As Nails," added Charley Bates. "Good boys, good boys!" said the Jew. "What have _you_ got, Dodger?" "A couple of pocket-books," replied the young gentleman. "Lined?" inquired the Jew, with eagerness. "Pretty well," replied the Dodger, producing two pocket-books. "And what have you got, my dear?" said Fagin to Charley Bates. "Wipes," replied Master Bates; at the same time producing four pocket-handkerchiefs. "Well," said the Jew, inspecting them closely; "they 're very good ones, very. You haven't marked them well, though, Charley; so the marks shall be picked out with a needle, and we'll teach Oliver how to do it. Shall us, Oliver, eh?" "If you please, sir," said Oliver. "You'd like to be able to make pocket-handkerchiefs as easy as Charley Bates, wouldn't you, my dear?" said the Jew. "Very much indeed, if you'll teach me, sir," replied Oliver. Master Bates saw something so exquisitely ludicrous in this reply, that he burst into a laugh; which laugh, meeting the coffee he was drinking, and carrying it down some wrong channel, very nearly terminated in his suffocation. "He is so jolly green!" said Charley, when he recovered, as an apology to the company for his unpolite behaviour. When the breakfast was cleared away, the merry old gentleman and the two boys played at a very curious and uncommon game, which was performed in this way. Fagin, placing a snuff-box in one pocket of his trousers, a notecase in the other, and a watch in his waistcoat pocket, with a guard-chain round his neck, and sticking a mock diamond pin in his shirt, buttoned his coat tight round him, and putting his spectacle-case and handkerchief in his pockets, trotted up and down with a stick, in imitation of the manner in which old gentlemen walk about the streets. Sometimes he stopped at the fire-place, and sometimes at the door, making believe that he was staring with all his might into shop windows. At such times he would look constantly round him, for fear of thieves, and would keep slapping all his pockets in turn, to see that he hadn't lost anything, in such a very funny and natural manner, that Oliver laughed till the tears ran down his face. All this time, the two boys followed him closely about; getting out of his sight so nimbly, that it was impossible to follow their motions. At last, the Dodger trod upon his toes 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 one of his pockets, he cried out where it was; and then the game began all over again.