aid of a pair of tortoiseshell spectacles, a small piece of parchment which lay before him. Mr. Limbkins was standing in front of the desk on one side; and Mr. Gamfield, with a partially washed face, on the other; while two or three bluff-looking men, in top-boots, were lounging about.
The old gentleman with the spectacles gradually dozed off, over the little bit of parchment; and there was a short pause, after Oliver had been stationed by Mr. Bumble in front of the desk.
“This is the boy, your worship,” said Mr. Bumble.
The old gentleman who was reading the newspaper raised his head for a moment, and pulled the other old gentleman by the sleeve; whereupon, the last-mentioned old gentleman woke up.
“Oh, is this the boy?” said the old gentleman.
“This is him, sir,” replied Mr. Bumble. “Bow to the magistrate, my dear.”
Oliver roused himself, and made his best obeisance. He had been wondering, with his eyes fixed on the magistrates’ powder, whether all boards were born with that white stuff on their heads, and were boards from thenceforth on that account.
“Well,” said the old gentleman, “I suppose he’s fond of chimney-sweeping?”
“He doats on it, your worship,” replied Bumble; giving Oliver a sly pinch, to intimate that he had better not say he didn’t.
“And he will be a sweep, will he?” inquired the old gentleman.
“If we was to bind him to any other trade tomorrow, he’d run away simultaneous, your worship,” replied Bumble.