"As soon as the little affair, which had driven me up into St. Giles's, was blown over, I returned to my old haunts, and fell in again with my old companions. I was now ten years old, and was considered so cunning and clever that Old Death began to employ me in other ways besides thieving. If he required to know any thing concerning a particular party, he would set me to dog and watch him, or to make inquiries about him. Sometimes I was sent to the flash public-houses frequented by gentlemen's servants who were accustomed to arrange with the cracksmen for burglaries in their master's houses—or '_put up cracks_,' as they are called. These public-houses are principally at the West End:—the most famous are in Duke Street (Manchester Square), and Portland Street. There I got into conversation with the servants, or merely acted the part of a listener; and all the information I could glean was of course conveyed to Mr. Bones, who no doubt knew how to turn it to his greatest advantage. "I was also a visitor to every flash-house in London, at different times, and on various errands for Old Death. The more his business increased, the more necessary did I become to him; and at that period he was not so near and stingy as he since became. Whenever I succeeded in any difficult undertaking, he would reward me with something like liberality; and I don't know whether I actually liked him—but it is certain that he exercised an immense power over my mind. I was, in my turn, much looked up to by my companions: they considered me Old Death's lieutenant; and moreover I was so skilful as a pickpocket, that no one could excel, and few equal me. I had all the qualifications necessary for the art—a light tread, a delicate sense of touch, and firm nerves. For I was then strong and healthy: now I am sickly—wasted—and have within me the seeds of an incurable malady! I used at that time to wear shoes of a very light make—as indeed do nearly all professional pickpockets. It is very easy for one who is any thing of an acute observer, to recognise juvenile pickpockets in the street. Their countenances wear an affected determination of purpose, and they always seem to be walking forward, as if bent on some urgent object of business. They never stop in the street, save to '_work_.' If they wish to confer with their pals, or if they meet a friend, they dive into some low public-house, or court, or alley. A knowing pickpocket never loiters about in the street; because that is the very first thing that draws suspicions glances towards lads. I have read—(and how I came to be able to read, I shall presently tell you)—in the newspapers that many people have a notion that pickpockets use instruments in easing gentlemen or ladies of their purses or other articles of value: but the only instrument I ever knew a pickpocket to use, or used myself, is a good pair of small scissors, which will either rip a pocket up or cut it off in a twinkling.