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It was a clouded cane, made of malacca, with a rounded metal grip and a small strap which he could loop around his wrist to make certain that it did not slip away. It became a permanent part of his appearance, the gentle tap- tapping of its end signaling his approach when he was predisposed to make his imminent arrival known to all within hearing.
    As for his face, it became less rounded and rather more mature , whereas his eyes—uncharitably described in the past as ugly—became more thoughtful, although they were still capable of narrowing in thought or calculation when the opportunity called for it.
    But however much his physical stature may have remained unchanged and unimpressive, the same could not be said of his reputation amongst the more lowly denizens that populated Drury Lane, particularly—it should be noted—amongst the ladies of the evening who worked their wares there. With them, the stature of his reputation continued to grow, and one had been heard to comment—not without cause—that the Artful Dodger stood fully six feet tall if he were perched atop his own charisma.
    Just so you do not misapprehend: The Artful did not make arrangements for the ladies or profit in any manner from their activities. Mostly what he did, the service that he offered them, consisted of nothing other than treating them with simple respect. You might think that this would be their birthright as living beings, but ponder: With how much respect do people treat slabs of beef? Beef is pounded, sates the appetite, and is extended no particular consideration beyond that. The sad truth is that oftentimes the ladies are seen as similar objects in that they are pounded in a variety of ways for the purpose of satisfying certain appetites, albeit unwholesome ones, and the remains are left behind for someone else to worry about.
    And the ladies were accustomed to this. What they were unaccustomed to was the Artful’s consistent treatment of them in his daily interactions. He would routinely bring them little sweets and trinkets that happened to come into his acquisition, courtesy of the inability of London’s more prominent citizens to be wary about who happened to be dipping his fingers into their pockets. Snuffboxes; small bottles of perfume; and, of course, handkerchiefs were always popular and gratefully received. Of particular pleasure and interest to the ladies was that the Artful expected naught in return for all his favors, which was something of an unusual experience for them. In fact, a few of them even offered to compensate Dodger for his efforts in the only way they knew how, and every time the Artful explained to them that, while he appreciated their generosity, it was of no interest to him. “It is not,” he would say, “how a gen’leman behaves.” This caused great merriment to the ladies, whose primary clientele consisted of gentlemen, and when they pointed that out to him, Dodger said airily, “The measure of a gen’leman is how he treats ladies. They can call themselves what they wants, but if what they says don’t match up with how they behaves, well, what they do says far more of who they are than what they says they are does, if you gets my drift.” Which the ladies did—or thought they did—and that was generally sufficient.
    So did Mr. Jack Dawkins live his life, without any general direction or clear idea of where he was going or what he was doing. He made some effort to check into the whereabouts of his former fellow gang members, but had no luck in locating any of them save one: He discovered where Mr. Brownlow had taken Oliver Twist to live out the remainder of his youth (as was detailed in his biography by Mr. Dickens. Anyone wishing to learn more can seek out the book, which can be found more or less anywhere). This he found to be ironic, learning the whereabouts of the one individual he did not particularly care about.
    One day was very much like the next, as he continued to reside in the