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' Having by this time recovered a little
breath, the worthy book-stall keeper proceeded to relate, in a
more coherent manner the exact circumstances of the robbery.

'Why didn't you come here before?' said Fang, after a pause.

'I hadn't a soul to mind the shop,' replied the man. 'Everybody
who could have helped me, had joined in the pursuit. I could get
nobody till five minutes ago; and I've run here all the way.'

'The prosecutor was reading, was he?' inquired Fang, after
another pause.

'Yes,' replied the man. 'The very book he has in his hand.'

'Oh, that book, eh?' said Fang. 'Is it paid for?'

'No, it is not,' replied the man, with a smile.

'Dear me, I forgot all about it!' exclaimed the absent old
gentleman, innocently.

'A nice person to prefer a charge against a poor boy!' said Fang,
with a comical effort to look humane. 'I consider, sir, that you
have obtained possession of that book, under very suspicious and
disreputable circumstances; and you may think yourself very
fortunate that the owner of the property declines to prosecute.
Let this be a lesson to you, my man, or the law will overtake you
yet. The boy is discharged. Clear the office!'

'D--n me!' cried the old gentleman, bursting out with the rage he
had kept down so long, 'd--n me! I'll--'

'Clear the office!' said the magistrate. 'Officers, do you hear?
Clear the office!'

The mandate was obeyed; and the indignant Mr. Brownlow was
conveyed out, with the book in one hand, and the bamboo cane in
the other: in a perfect phrenzy of rage and defiance. He
reached the yard; and his passion vanished in a moment. Little
Oliver Twist lay on his back on the pavement, with his shirt
unbuttoned, and his temples bathed with water; his face a deadly
white; and a cold tremble convulsing his whole frame.

'Poor boy, poor boy!' said Mr. Brownlow, bending over him. 'Call
a coach, somebody, pray. Directly!'

A coach was obtained, and Oliver having been carefully laid on
the seat, the old gentleman got in and sat himself on the other.

'May I accompany you?' said the book-stall keeper, looking in.

'Bless me, yes, my dear sir,' said Mr. Brownlow quickly. 'I
forgot you. Dear, dear! I have this unhappy book still! Jump
in. Poor fellow! There's no time to lose.'

The book-stall keeper got into the coach; and away they drove.




CHAPTER XII

IN WHICH OLIVER IS TAKEN BETTER CARE OF THAN HE EVER WAS BEFORE.
AND IN WHICH THE NARRATIVE REVERTS TO THE MERRY OLD GENTLEMAN AND
HIS YOUTHFUL FRIENDS.

The coach rattled away, over nearly the same ground as that which
Oliver had traversed when he first entered London in company with
the Dodger; and, turning a different way when it reached the
Angel at Islington, stopped at length before a neat house, in a
quiet shady street near Pentonville. Here, a bed was prepared,
without loss of time, in which Mr. Brownlow saw his young charge
carefully and comfortably deposited; and here, he was tended with
a kindness and solicitude that knew no bounds.

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