the top of which, seated in an arm-chair rather higher than the rest, was a particularly fat gentleman with a very round, red face.
"Bow to the board," said Bumble. Oliver brushed away two or three tears that were lingering in his eyes, and seeing no board but the table, fortunately bowed to that.
"What's your name, boy?" said the gentleman in the high chair.
Oliver was frightened at the sight of so many gentlemen, which made him tremble; and the beadle gave him another tap behind, which made him cry; and these two causes made him answer in a very low and hesitating voice; whereupon a gentleman in a white waistcoat said he was a fool, which was a capital way of raising his spirits, and putting him quite at his ease.
"Boy," said the gentleman in the high chair, "listen to me. You know you're an orphan, I suppose?"
"What's that, sir?" inquired poor Oliver.
"The boy is a fool—I thought he was," said the gentleman in the white waistcoat, in
