The strange boy whistled; and put his arms into his pockets, as
far as the big coat-sleeves would let them go.

'Do you live in London?' inquired Oliver.

'Yes. I do, when I'm at home,' replied the boy. 'I suppose you
want some place to sleep in to-night, don't you?'

'I do, indeed,' answered Oliver. 'I have not slept under a roof
since I left the country.'

'Don't fret your eyelids on that score,' said the young
gentleman. 'I've got to be in London to-night; and I know a
'spectable old gentleman as lives there, wot'll give you lodgings
for nothink, and never ask for the change--that is, if any
genelman he knows interduces you. And don't he know me? Oh, no!
Not in the least! By no means. Certainly not!'

The young gentleman smiled, as if to intimate that the latter
fragments of discourse were playfully ironical; and finished the
beer as he did so.

This unexpected offer of shelter was too tempting to be resisted;
especially as it was immediately followed up, by the assurance
that the old gentleman referred to, would doubtless provide
Oliver with a comfortable place, without loss of time. This led
to a more friendly and confidential dialogue; from which 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.