“I did that, sir,” said a great lubberly fellow, stepping forward; “and preciously I cut my knuckle gain’ his mouth. I stopped him, sir.”
The fellow touched his hat with a grin, expecting something for his pains; but the old gentleman eyeing him with an expression of disgust, looked anxiously round, as if he contemplated running away himself: which it is very possible he might have attempted to do, and thus afforded another chase, had not a police officer (who is generally the last person to arrive in such cases) at that moment made his way through the crowd, and seized Oliver by the collar. “Come, get up,” said the man roughly.
“It wasn’t me indeed, sir. Indeed, indeed, it was two other boys,” said Oliver, clasping his hands passionately, and looking round: “they are here somewhere.”
“Oh no, they ain’t,” said the officer. He meant this to be ironical, but it was true besides, for the Dodger and Charley Bates had filed off down the first convenient court they came to. “Come, get up.”
“Don’t hurt him,” said the old gentleman compassionately.
“Oh no, I won’t hurt him,” replied the officer, tearing his jacket half off his back in proof thereof. “Come, I know you; it won’t do. Will you stand upon your legs, you young devil?”
Oliver, who could hardly stand, made a shift to raise himself upon his feet, and was at once lugged along the streets by the jacket-collar at a rapid pace. The gentleman walked on with them by the officer’s side; and as many of the crowd as could, got a little a-head, and stared back at Oliver from time to time. The boys shouted in triumph, and on they went.