'He says his name's Tom White, your worship,' said the
kind-hearted thief-taker.

'Oh, he won't speak out, won't he?' said Fang. 'Very well, very
well. Where does he live?'

'Where he can, your worship,' replied the officer; again
pretending to receive Oliver's answer.

'Has he any parents?' inquired Mr. Fang.

'He says they died in his infancy, your worship,' replied the
officer: hazarding the usual reply.

At this point of the inquiry, Oliver raised his head; and,
looking round with imploring eyes, murmured a feeble prayer for a
draught of water.

'Stuff and nonsense!' said Mr. Fang: 'don't try to make a fool
of me.'

'I think he really is ill, your worship,' remonstrated the
officer.

'I know better,' said Mr. Fang.

'Take care of him, officer,' said the old gentleman, raising his
hands instinctively; 'he'll fall down.'