On their way to the magistrate's, Mr. Bumble instructed Oliver that all he would have to do, would be to look very happy, and say, when the gentleman asked him if he wanted to be apprenticed, that he should like it very much indeed; both of which injunctions Oliver promised to obey, the more readily as Mr. Bumble threw in a gentle hint, that if he failed in either particular, there was no telling what would be done to him. When they arrived at the office, he was shut up in a little room by himself and admonished by Mr. Bumble to stay there, until he came back to fetch him. There the boy remained with a palpitating heart for half an hour, at the expiration of which time Mr. Bumble thrust in his head, unadorned with the cocked-hat, and said aloud, "Now, Oliver, my dear, come to the gentleman." As Mr. Bumble said this, he put on a grim and threatening look, and added in a low voice, "Mind what I told you, you young rascal." Oliver stared innocently in Mr. Bumble's face at this somewhat contradictory style of address; but that gentleman prevented his offering any remark thereupon, by leading him at once into an adjoining room, the door of which was open. It was a large room with a great window; and behind a desk sat two old gentlemen with powdered heads, one of whom was reading the newspaper, while the other was perusing, with the aid of a pair of tortoise-shell spectacles, a small piece of parchment which lay before him. Mr. Limbkins was standing in front of the desk, on one side; and Mr. Gamfield, with a partially washed face, on the other; while two or three bluff-looking men in top-boots were lounging about. The old gentleman with the spectacles gradually dozed off, over the little bit of parchment; and there was a short pause after Oliver had been stationed by Mr. Bumble in front of the desk. "This is the boy, your worship," said Mr. Bumble. The old gentleman who was reading the newspaper raised his head for a moment, and pulled the other old gentleman by the sleeve, whereupon the last-mentioned old gentleman woke up. "Oh, is this the boy?" said the old gentleman. "This is him, sir," replied Mr. Bumble. "Bow to the magistrate, my dear." Oliver roused himself, and made his best obeisance. He had been wondering, with his eyes fixed on the magistrates' powder, whether all boards were born with that white stuff on their heads, and were boards from thenceforth, on that account. "Well," said the old gentleman, "I suppose he's fond of chimney-sweeping?" "He dotes on it, your worship," replied Bumble, giving Oliver a sly pinch, to intimate that he had better not say he didn't. "And he _will_ be a sweep, will he?" inquired the old gentleman. "If we was to bind him to any other trade to-morrow, he'd run away simultaneously, your worship," replied Bumble. "And this man that's to be his master,--you, sir,--you'll treat him well, and feed him, and do all that sort of thing,--will you?" said the old gentleman.