“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 best to be done. Don’t spare him, Bumble.”

“No, I will not, sir,” replied the beadle. And the cocked hat and cane having been, by this time, adjusted to their owner’s satisfaction, Mr. Bumble and Noah Claypole betook themselves with all speed to the undertaker’s shop.