“Officer!” said Mr. Fang, tossing the card contemptuously away with the newspaper, “who is this fellow?” “My name, sir,” said the old gentleman, speaking _like_ a gentleman,—“my name, sir, is Brownlow. Permit me to inquire the name of the magistrate who offers a gratuitous and unprovoked insult to a respectable man, under the protection of the bench.” Saying this, Mr. Brownlow looked round the office as if in search of some person who would afford him the required information. “Officer!” said Mr. Fang, throwing the paper on one side, “what’s this fellow charged with?” “He’s not charged at all, your worship,” replied the officer. “He appears against the boy, your worship.” His worship knew this perfectly well; but it was a good annoyance, and a safe one. “Appears against the boy, does he?” said Fang, surveying Mr. Brownlow contemptuously from head to foot. “Swear him!” “Before I am sworn I must beg to say one word,” said Mr. Brownlow; “and that is, that I never, without actual experience, could have believed——” “Hold your tongue, sir!” said Mr. Fang peremptorily. “I will not, sir!” replied the old gentleman. “Hold your tongue this instant, or I’ll have you turned out of the office!” said Mr. Fang. “You’re an insolent, impertinent fellow. How dare you bully a magistrate!” “What!” exclaimed the old gentleman, reddening. “Swear this person!” said Fang to the clerk. “I’ll not hear another word. Swear him.” Mr. Brownlow’s indignation was greatly roused; but, reflecting that he might only injure the boy by giving vent to it, he suppressed his feelings, and submitted to be sworn at once. “Now,” said Fang, “what’s the charge against this boy? What have you got to say, sir?” “I was standing at a book-stall—” Mr. Brownlow began. “Hold your tongue, sir!” said Mr. Fang. “Policeman!—where’s the policeman? Here, swear this man. Now, policeman, what is this?” The policeman with becoming humility related how he had taken the charge, how he had searched Oliver, and found nothing on his person; and how that was all he knew about it. “Are there any witnesses?” inquired Mr. Fang. “None, your worship,” replied the policeman. Mr. Fang sat silent for some minutes, and then, turning round to the prosecutor, said in a towering passion, “Do you mean to state what your complaint against this boy is, fellow, or do you not? You have been sworn. Now, if you stand there, refusing to give evidence, I’ll punish you for disrespect to the bench; I will, by——” By what or by whom, nobody knows, for the clerk and jailer coughed very loud just at the right moment, and the former dropped a heavy book upon the floor; thus preventing the word from being heard—accidentally, of course.