Oliver meets the Artful Dodger

Oliver Twist, exhausted and starving after a seven-day walk from his hometown, encounters Jack Dawkins, a streetwise boy who calls himself the Artful Dodger, on a doorstep in Barnet. The Dodger, a snub-nosed, bow-legged youth dressed in a man's coat, immediately takes charge of the famished boy, buying him food and drink at a nearby public house, and then offers him free lodging in London with a respectable old gentleman he knows. This meeting is the decisive threshold in Oliver's journey, pulling him from the open road into the hidden criminal underworld of London and into the orbit of Fagin and his gang.

The Encounter in Barnet

Early on the seventh morning after leaving his native place, Oliver limped slowly into the little town of Barnet. The street was empty, and he sat, with bleeding feet and covered with dust, upon a doorstep. After some time, a boy who had passed him carelessly returned and began surveying him most earnestly from the opposite side of the way. This boy, about Oliver's own age, was one of the queerest looking boys Oliver had ever seen: snub-nosed, flat-browed, with bow-legs and little, sharp, ugly eyes. He wore a man's coat which reached nearly to his heels, with the cuffs turned back half-way up his arm, and his hat was stuck on the top of his head so lightly that it threatened to fall off every moment. He was altogether as roystering and swaggering a young gentleman as ever stood four feet six, or something less, in his bluchers. The boy crossed over and, walking close up to Oliver, said, "Hullo, my covey! What's the row?"

The Dodger's Hospitality and Proposal

Oliver replied that he was very hungry and tired, having walked for seven days. The strange young gentleman, noticing Oliver's look of surprise at his slang, explained that a "beak" was a magistrate and that walking by a beak's order meant going to prison. He then declared that Oliver wanted "grub" and should have it, stating he was "at low-water-mark myself—only one bob and a magpie" but would "fork out and stump." Assisting Oliver to rise, he took him to an adjacent chandler's shop, where he purchased ready-dressed ham and a half-quartern loaf, ingeniously keeping the ham clean by making a hole in the loaf and stuffing it therein. Taking the bread under his arm, the young gentleman turned into a small public-house and led the way to a tap-room in the rear. Here, a pot of beer was brought in, and Oliver, falling to at his new friend's bidding, made a long and hearty meal, during which the strange boy eyed him from time to time with great attention. When Oliver had concluded, the boy asked if he was going to London, and upon learning that Oliver had no lodgings and no money, he whistled and put his arms into his pockets. He then offered Oliver a place to sleep that night, saying he knew a "'spectable old gentleman" in London who would give him lodgings for nothing, provided some gentleman he knew introduced him. This unexpected offer of shelter was too tempting to be resisted, especially as it was followed by the assurance that the old gentleman would provide Oliver with a comfortable place without loss of time.

The Artful Dodger's Identity and the Journey to London

In the ensuing friendly and confidential dialogue, Oliver discovered that his friend's name was Jack Dawkins and that he was a peculiar pet and protege of the elderly gentleman before mentioned. Dawkins further avowed that among his intimate friends he was better known by the sobriquet of "The Artful Dodger." Oliver concluded that, being of a dissipated and careless turn, the moral precepts of his benefactor had been thrown away upon him, and he secretly resolved to cultivate the good opinion of the old gentleman as quickly as possible. As John Dawkins objected to their entering London before nightfall, it was nearly eleven o'clock when they reached the turnpike at Islington. They crossed from the Angel into St. John's Road, struck down the small street which terminates at Sadler's Wells Theatre, through Exmouth Street and Coppice Row, down the little court by the side of the workhouse, across the classic ground which once bore the name of Hockley-in-the-Hole, thence into Little Saffron Hill, and so into Saffron Hill the Great, along which the Dodger scudded at a rapid pace, directing Oliver to follow close at his heels. As they passed through these streets, Oliver saw a dirtier or more wretched place than he had ever seen: the street was very narrow and muddy, the air was impregnated with filthy odours, and the only places that seemed to prosper were the public-houses, where the lowest orders of Irish were wrangling. Oliver was just considering whether he hadn't better run away when they reached the bottom of the hill, and his conductor, catching him by the arm, pushed open the door of a house near Field Lane and drew him into the passage.

Arrival at Fagin's Den

A voice from below responded to a whistle from the Dodger with the watchword "Plummy and slam!" A man's face peeped out from where a balustrade of the old kitchen staircase had been broken away, and upon seeing two of them, he asked who the other one was. Jack Dawkins pulled Oliver forward and said, "A new pal." The man asked where he came from, and the Dodger replied, "Greenland," before asking if Fagin was upstairs. Told that he was "sortin' the wipes," the man directed them up. Oliver, groping his way with one hand and having the other firmly grasped by his companion, ascended with much difficulty the dark and broken stairs. The Dodger threw open the door of a back-room and drew Oliver in after him. The walls and ceiling were perfectly black with age and dirt. There was a deal table before the fire, upon which were a candle stuck in a ginger-beer bottle, pewter pots, a loaf and butter, and a plate. In a frying-pan on the fire, some sausages were cooking, and standing over them with a toasting-fork in his hand was a very old shrivelled Jew, whose villainous-looking and repulsive face was obscured by a quantity of matted red hair. He was dressed in a greasy flannel gown, with his throat bare, and seemed to be dividing his attention between the frying-pan and a clothes-horse over which a great number of silk handkerchiefs were hanging. Several rough beds made of old sacks were huddled side by side on the floor, and seated round the table were four or five boys, none older than the Dodger, smoking long clay pipes and drinking spirits with the air of middle-aged men. These all crowded about their associate as he whispered a few words to the Jew, and then turned round and grinned at Oliver. The Jew himself grinned, toasting-fork in hand, and said, "This is him, Fagin—my friend Oliver Twist." The Jew then made a low obeisance to Oliver, took him by the hand, and hoped he should have the honour of his intimate acquaintance. The young gentlemen with the pipes came round him and shook both his hands very hard, especially the one in which he held his little bundle, and one was very anxious to hang up his cap for him, while another put his hands in his pockets, so that Oliver might not have the trouble of emptying them himself when he went to bed. These civilities were cut short by a liberal exercise of the Jew's toasting-fork on the heads and shoulders of the affectionate youths. The Jew then told Oliver they were very glad to see him, and after the Dodger took off the sausages and drew a tub near the fire for Oliver, they all went to supper. Oliver ate his share, and the Jew then mixed him a glass of hot gin-and-water, telling him he must drink it off directly because another gentleman wanted the tumbler. Oliver did as he was desired, and immediately afterwards he felt himself gently lifted on to one of the sacks and then sunk into a deep sleep.