from being heard--accidently, of course.

With many interruptions, and repeated insults, Mr. Brownlow
contrived to state his case; observing that, in the surprise of
the moment, he had run after the boy because he had saw him
running away; and expressing his hope that, if the magistrate
should believe him, although not actually the thief, to be
connected with the thieves, he would deal as leniently with him
as justice would allow.

'He has been hurt already,' said the old gentleman in conclusion.
'And I fear,' he added, with great energy, looking towards the
bar, 'I really fear that he is ill.'

'Oh! yes, I dare say!' said Mr. Fang, with a sneer. 'Come, none
of your tricks here, you young vagabond; they won't do. What's
your name?'

Oliver tried to reply but his tongue failed him. He was deadly
pale; and the whole place seemed turning round and round.

'What's your name, you hardened scoundrel?' demanded Mr. Fang.
'Officer, what's his name?'

This was addressed to a bluff old fellow, in a striped waistcoat,
who was standing by the bar. He bent over Oliver, and repeated
the inquiry; but finding him really incapable of understanding
the question; and knowing that his not replying would only
infuriate the magistrate the more, and add to the severity of his
sentence; he hazarded a guess.