“Have you anything to say at all?”
“Do you hear his worship ask if you’ve anything to say?” inquired the jailer nudging the silent Dodger with his elbow.
“I beg your pardon,” said the Dodger, looking up with an air of abstraction. “Did you address yourself to me, my man?”
“I never see such an out-and-out young wagabond, your worship,” observed the officer with a grin. “Do you mean to say anything, you young shaver?”
“No,” replied the Dodger, “not here, for this ain’t the shop for justice; besides which my attorney is a-breakfasting this morning with the Wice President of the House of Commons; but I shall have something to say elsewhere, and so will he, and so will a wery numerous and respectable circle of acquaintance as’ll make them beaks wish they’d never been born, or that they’d got their footman to hang ’em up to their own hat-pegs, ’afore they let ’em come out this morning to try it upon me. I’ll——”
“There, he’s fully committed!” interposed the clerk. “Take him away.”
“Come on,” said the jailer.
“Oh ah! I’ll come on,” replied the Dodger, brushing his hat with the palm of his hand. “Ah! (to the Bench) it’s no use your looking frightened; I won’t show you no mercy, not a ha’porth of it. You’ll pay for this, my fine fellers; I wouldn’t be you for something. I wouldn’t go free now if you was to fall down on your knees and ask me. Here, carry me off to prison. Take me away.”