CHAPTER IX

Oliver is Released

Oliver and the old gentleman were taken to the office of the magistrate, Mr. Fang; a thin, stern, hot-tempered man who was in the habit of drinking more than was good for him.

The old gentleman bowed respectfully and, advancing to the magistrate's desk, put his card on it, saying:

"That's my name and address, sir." But the magistrate was out of temper; he looked up angrily from the newspaper he was reading.

"Who are you?" said Mr. Fang.

The old gentleman pointed, with some surprise, to the card.

"Officer!" said Mr. Fang, tossing the card contemptuously away, "who is this fellow?"

"My name, sir," said the old gentleman, "is Brownlow. Permit me to inquire the name of the magistrate who insults a respectable person under the protection of the bench."

"Officer!" said Mr. Fang, "what's this fellow charged with?"

"He's not charged at all, your worship," replied the officer. "He appears against the boy, your worship."

"Appears against the boy, does he?" said Mr. Fang, looking contemptuously at Mr. Brownlow 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 really never, without actual experience, could have believed—"

"Hold your tongue, sir!" said Mr. Fang.

"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. "Swear this person!" he added to the clerk.

Mr. Brownlow's anger was roused; but reflecting perhaps that he might only injure the boy by expressing his anger, he suppressed his feelings and submitted to be sworn at once.

"Now," said Mr. Fang, "what's the charge against the boy? What have you got to say, sir?"

"I was standing at a bookshop—" Mr. Brownlow began.

"Hold your tongue, sir," said Mr. Fang. "Policeman! Where's the policeman? Here, swear this policeman. Now, policeman, what is this?"

The policeman humbly related how he had arrested Oliver, and how he had searched him and found nothing on his person.

"Are there any witnesses?" inquired Mr. Fang.

"None, your worship," replied the policeman.

Mr. Fang sat silent for some minutes, and then, turning round angrily to Mr. Brownlow, he said:

"Do you mean to state your complaint against this boy, or do you not? You have been sworn. Now, if you stand there refusing to give evidence I'll punish you for disrespect of the court."

With many interruptions, and repeated insults, Mr. Brownlow managed to state his case; observing that, in the surprise of the moment, he had run after the boy because he saw him running away. He begged the magistrate to deal as gently with him as justice would allow.

"He has been hurt already," said the old gentleman in conclusion. "And I fear," he added, "that he is ill."

"Oh, yes, I dare say!" said Mr. Fang, mockingly. "Come, none of your tricks here, you young rascal; they won't do. What's your name?"

Oliver tried to reply, but his tongue failed him. He was deadly pale; and the whole place seemed to be turning round and round.

The officer being a kind-hearted man and seeing that Oliver was too weak and afraid to answer for himself, answered the magistrate's questions and told him that he thought the boy was really ill.

But the magistrate sentenced him to three months' imprisonment, with hard labour, and the boy would have been taken away to prison had it not been for the owner of the bookshop, who rushed hastily into the office and advanced towards the bench.

"StopI Stop! Don't take him away! For heaven's sake stop a moment!" cried the newcomer, breathless with haste.

"What's this? Who is this man? Turn this man out. Clear the office!" cried Mr. Fang.

"I will speak," cried the man; "I will not be turned out. I saw it all. I keep the bookshop. I demand to be sworn."

"Swear the man," growled Mr. Fang. "Now, man, what have you got to say?"

The bookseller related how he had seen the three boys, the prisoner and two others, loitering on the opposite side of the road, when Mr. Brownlow was reading. He said that the robbery had been committed by another boy; that Oliver was perfectly amazed by it.

Having listened to his story the magistrate ordered the boy to be released and the office to be cleared.

A coach was obtained and Oliver having been carefully laid on one seat, the old gentleman got in and sat on the other, and away the coach drove to Mr. Brownlow's house.