"It's a poor boy from the free-school, sir," replied Mr. Bumble, "who has been nearly murdered—all but murdered, sir—by young Twist."
"By Jove!" exclaimed the gentleman in the white waistcoat, stopping short. "I knew it! I felt from the very first that that terrible young savage would come to be hung!"
"He has likewise attempted, sir, to murder the female servant," said Mr. Bumble, with a face of ashy paleness.
"And his missis," interposed Noah.
"And his master, too. I think you said, Noah?" added Mr. Bumble.
"No! he's out, or he would have murdered him," replied Noah. "He said he wanted to."
"Ah! Said he wanted to, did he, my boy?" inquired the gentleman in the white waistcoat.
"Yes, sir. And please, sir," replied Noah, "missis wants to know whether Mr. Bumble can spare time to step up there, directly, and flog him—'cause master's out."
"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 to be done. Don't spare him, Bumble."
"No, I will not, sir," replied the beadle as he hurried away.