Before the Artful Dodger

A new tale

That day, the Artful Dodger, or Jack,  swaggered his way through town. Now the second oldest of Fagin's gang, he was the leader, the role model, everything Lil had been to him. He still wore that bracelet and, although the tragedy had occurred eight years ago, still held himself guilty of his beloved sister's death.

So far, the Artful had nabbed: seven handkerchiefs, a couple of heavy wallets, a pearl necklace, and a diamond ring. This was quite below his usual standards, but being fair to him, he hadn't breakfasted yet.

 Well, that's about to change, he thought to himself, as a cart of oranges was wheeled past. And raw sausages can't kill you, can they?

Certainly, Dodger did not care whether they could or not, as he sat down on a wall. He considered the orange not quite ripe enough, for such a gentleman as himself, and the sausages were quite soggy. He stared longingly at the children who skipped alongside their parents, lollipops in their hands.

Actually, now he thought about it, Dodger rather fancied one himself. But which flavour to go for?

Yum. Jack was pleased he'd grabbed the yellow one. It looked so much better than the red ones that the rich kids had had. And it would've been more expensive, had he not used his own means of getting what he wanted. Now, the clock struck eleven. As though he had not stuffed himself enough, the Artful immediately knew what he wanted.

"Right," he muttered to himself. "Time for elevenses."

Dodger glanced up. A boy was standing about two metres away from him. He looked to be about nine or ten, and wore a dirty black cap. His clothes were ripped and filthy, his face not much better. Dismissing this, Dodger shook his head, and went back to business.

 A man walked by, pocket wide open. This made Jack shake his head, yet again. Did nobody learn to keep their pockets closed around here? Especially since Dodger was probably in the top five on the wanted lists, he'd made sure of that himself. Jack followed the man, and was about to grab the wallet, when he noticed a policeman. Quickly, he turned, pretending to be examining the wheels of a cart. Once the policeman had gone, Dodger looked up again.

The boy was still in the exact same position he had been in before, still staring at Jack. The Artful placed his hands on his hips, and said,

"Wotchoo starin' at? 'Aven't ya ever seen a toff?"

=-D 'Ello me flash mates! Sorry to say, but dat was da last chap'er! Ya know wot to do, I've said it afore, 's all the same. I will be writin' another Oliver! fanfic, ASAP, so keep an eye out for it. 'Ope ya enjoyed da book, an' I'll be back soon! So long, fair thee well, pip pip, cheerio, I'll be back soon! XOXO