“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 perhaps, 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 bookstall—” 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, 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, man, 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—”