Chapter 8 London at Last Oliver could not believe his eyes when they entered the city.
There were so many people, so much activity.
He could not decide which way to look first.
There were tall buildings everywhere with black smoke pouring out of the chimneys.
Men and women shouted to each other and passerbys as they tried to sell their goods.
There were baskets of fish, fruit, and vegetable stands, bread, fabric, and butcher stalls.
Oliver slowly stepped off the cart.
He thanked the farmer before wandering out into the crowd.
It was quite dangerous for Oliver at first.
He was so caught up in his surroundings that he did not pay attention to where he was walking.
He had barely gone ten feet before a strange man pulled him from the path of a cart.
Watch where you're going, boy, he said.
You're going to lose your head.
Oliver tipped his hat to the man to say thanks.
He tried to be more careful, but it was hard.
There was so much to look at.
He decided it would be best if he sat on the curb for a while.
He would have plenty of time to watch without getting hurt.
After several minutes of staring into the street, he realized that someone was staring right back at him.
It was a strange-looking boy, not much older than Oliver.
However, he was dressed very differently.
His clothes were much too big for his small body.
Even his hat was far too large.
The suit jacket must have belonged to a gentleman at one time, but was now ragged and worn.
The boy was not bothered by his tattered hand-me-downs, though.
He seemed quite confident and sure of himself.
He stuck his thumbs in the vest pockets and walked across the street to Oliver.
"'Hello there,'
What's the row? the strange boy asked.
Oliver looked behind him, wondering who this boy was addressing.
The boy must be talking to someone else.
Oliver did not even understand the question.
Hey, the boy said.
He put his hand on Oliver's shoulder.
I asked how you're doing.
Oh, Oliver replied.
Now that was a question he understood.
Fine, thank you.
I am very tired and hungry.
Tears were forming in Oliver's eyes, but he fought them back.
He did not want to cry in front of this new boy.
After all, this was the only person he knew in the city.
I've been walking for five days, he added.
Five days, the boy said.
Whatever for?
Are you running from the law?
Oliver looked confused.
Why ever would the law be chasing him?
Never mind, the boy said.
Makes no difference to me.
He stuck his hand out.
Pleasure to meet you.
My name's Jack Dawkins, but everyone calls me the Artful Dodger.
Dodger for short.
Oliver stood up to shake his hand.
It's a pleasure to meet you, too.
My name's Oliver Twist.
I've come to London to make my fortune.
Dodger raised his eyebrows.
You have, have you?
Dodger seemed lost in thought.
He circled Oliver a few times while repeating, well, well, well.
At last he stopped and put his hands on the smaller boy's shoulders.
I would imagine that you're also in need of a place to stay tonight.
Unless, of course, you already have friends or family in London.
Oh no, Oliver said quickly.
You're the only soul I know here.
I only arrived a few minutes ago.
Dodger smiled.
He slapped Oliver on the back.
It just so happens that I know a nice old gentleman who might be of help.
He's very good about letting young lads sleep at his home.
Oliver's eyes lit up.
Of course, Dodger added, he doesn't let just anyone stay with him.
He watched a look of disappointment cross Oliver's face.
Luckily, though, I'm a special friend of his, and I'm sure I can put in a good word for you.
Oh, please do, Oliver exclaimed.
That would make me ever so happy.
Then it's all settled, Dodger said.
He put his hands on his hips.
He looked very pleased with himself.
We can't head over there just yet.
We'll have to wait until dark.
Whatever for?
Oliver asked.
This gentleman, Dodger said slowly, he's very busy during the day.
We can't just go by any time.
Oliver thought this made sense.
He followed Dodger through the market and into the back streets of London.
He told his new friend about his life at the workhouse, and the undertaker's Dodger listened to his stories, but he seemed distracted.
Every once in a while, Dodger disappeared.
He returned a few moments later with bread, cheese, or some fruit.
Oliver did not see him pay for any of these items.
He assumed Dodger knew the storekeepers.
As day turned into night, Dodger pulled Oliver into darker and narrower streets.
Without being told, Oliver understood they were on their way to the old gentleman's house.
