gentleman,
buried them again in the pages of the musty book.

He was roused by a touch on the shoulder, and a request from the man
with the keys to follow him into the office. He closed his book
hastily; and was at once ushered into the imposing presence of the
renowned Mr. Fang.

The office was a front parlour, with a panelled wall. Mr. Fang sat
behind a bar, at the upper end; and on one side the door was a sort of
wooden pen in which poor little Oliver was already deposited; trembling
very much at the awfulness of the scene.

Mr. Fang was a lean, long-backed, stiff-necked, middle-sized man, with
no great quantity of hair, and what he had, growing on the back and
sides of his head. His face was stern, and much flushed. If he were
really not in the habit of drinking rather more than was exactly good
for him, he might have brought action against his countenance for
libel, and have recovered heavy damages.

The old gentleman bowed respectfully; and advancing to the magistrate's
desk, said, suiting the action to the word, 'That is my name and
address, sir.' He then withdrew a pace or two; and, with another
polite and gentlemanly inclination of the head, waited to be questioned.

Now, it so happened that Mr. Fang was at that moment perusing a leading
article in a newspaper of the morning, adverting to some recent
decision of his, and commending him, for the three hundred and fiftieth
time, to the special and particular notice of the Secretary of State
for the Home Department. He was out of temper; and he looked up with
an angry scowl.

'Who are you?' said Mr. Fang.

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

'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 person, under the protection of the bench.' Saying this,
Mr. Brownlow looked around 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 this boy, your worship.'

His worship knew this perfectly well; but it was a good annoyance, and
a safe one.

'Appears ag