"What? What?" interposed Mr. Bumble, with a gleam of pleasure in his steel-like eyes. "Not run away; he hasn't run away, has he, Noah?" "No, sir, no! Not run away, sir, but he's turned wicious," replied Noah. "He tried to murder me, sir; and then he tried to murder Charlotte; and then missis. Oh! what dreadful pain it is! Such agony, please, sir!" And here Noah writhed and twisted his body into an extensive variety of eel-like positions, by which the gentleman's notice was very soon attracted; for he had not walked three paces, when he turned angrily round and inquired what that young cur was howling for. "It's a poor boy from the free-school, sir," replied Mr. Bumble, "who has been nearly murdered--all but murdered, sir--by young Twist." "By Jove!" exclaimed the gentleman in the white waistcoat, stopping short. "I knew it! I felt from the very first that that terrible young savage would come to be hung!" "He has likewise attempted, sir, to murder the female servant," said Mr. Bumble, with a face of ashy paleness. "And his missis," interposed Noah. "And his master, too. I think you said, Noah?" added Mr. Bumble. "No! he's out, or he would have murdered him," replied Noah. "He said he wanted to." "Ah! Said he wanted to, did he, my boy?" inquired the gentleman in the white waistcoat. "Yes, sir. And please, sir," replied Noah, "missis wants to know whether Mr. Bumble can spare time to step up there, directly, and flog him--'cause master's out." "Certainly, my boy; certainly," said the gentleman in the white waistcoat, smiling benignly and patting Noah's head, which was about three inches higher than his own. "You're a good boy--a very good boy. Here's a penny for you. Bumble just step up to Sowerberry's with your cane, and see what's to be done. Don't spare him, Bumble." "No, I will not, sir," replied the beadle as he hurried away. Meantime, Oliver continued to kick, with undiminished vigor, at the cellar-door. The accounts of his ferocity, as related by Mrs. Sowerberry and Charlotte, were of so startling a nature that Mr. Bumble judged it prudent to parley before opening the door. With this view he gave a kick at the outside, by way of prelude; and then, putting his mouth to the keyhole, said, in a deep and impressive tone: "Oliver!" "Come, you let me out!" replied Oliver, from the inside. "Do you know this here voice, Oliver?" said Mr. Bumble. "Yes," replied Oliver. "Ain't you afraid of it, sir? Ain't you a-trembling while I speak, sir?" said Mr. Bumble. "No!" replied Oliver, boldly. An answer so different from the one he had expected to hear, and was in the habit of receiving, staggered Mr. Bumble not a little. "Oh, you know, Mr. Bumble, he must be mad," said Mrs. Sowerberry. "No boy in half his senses could venture to speak so to you." "It's not madness, ma'am," replied Mr. Bumble, after a few moments of deep meditation. "It's meat." "What?" exclaimed Mrs. Sowerberry.