Great Expectations - Charles Dickens (i want to read a book .txt) 📗
- Author: Charles Dickens
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come out at that door the day after tomorrow at eight in the
morning, to be killed in a row. This was horrible, and gave me a
sickening idea of London; the more so as the Lord Chief Justice’s
proprietor wore (from his hat down to his boots and up again to his
pocket-handkerchief inclusive) mildewed clothes which had
evidently not belonged to him originally, and which I took it into
my head he had bought cheap of the executioner. Under these
circumstances I thought myself well rid of him for a shilling.
I dropped into the office to ask if Mr. Jaggers had come in yet, and
I found he had not, and I strolled out again. This time, I made the
tour of Little Britain, and turned into Bartholomew Close; and now
I became aware that other people were waiting about for Mr. Jaggers,
as well as I. There were two men of secret appearance lounging in
Bartholomew Close, and thoughtfully fitting their feet into the
cracks of the pavement as they talked together, one of whom said to
the other when they first passed me, that “Jaggers would do it if
it was to be done.” There was a knot of three men and two women
standing at a corner, and one of the women was crying on her dirty
shawl, and the other comforted her by saying, as she pulled her own
shawl over her shoulders, “Jaggers is for him, ‘Melia, and what
more could you have?” There was a red-eyed little Jew who came into
the Close while I was loitering there, in company with a second
little Jew whom he sent upon an errand; and while the messenger was
gone, I remarked this Jew, who was of a highly excitable
temperament, performing a jig of anxiety under a lamp-post and
accompanying himself, in a kind of frenzy, with the words, “O
Jaggerth, Jaggerth, Jaggerth! all otherth ith Cag-Maggerth, give me
Jaggerth!” These testimonies to the popularity of my guardian made
a deep impression on me, and I admired and wondered more than ever.
At length, as I was looking out at the iron gate of Bartholomew
Close into Little Britain, I saw Mr. Jaggers coming across the road
towards me. All the others who were waiting saw him at the same
time, and there was quite a rush at him. Mr. Jaggers, putting a hand
on my shoulder and walking me on at his side without saying
anything to me, addressed himself to his followers.
First, he took the two secret men.
“Now, I have nothing to say to you,” said Mr. Jaggers, throwing his
finger at them. “I want to know no more than I know. As to the
result, it’s a toss-up. I told you from the first it was a toss-up.
Have you paid Wemmick?”
“We made the money up this morning, sir,” said one of the men,
submissively, while the other perused Mr. Jaggers’s face.
“I don’t ask you when you made it up, or where, or whether you made
it up at all. Has Wemmick got it?”
“Yes, sir,” said both the men together.
“Very well; then you may go. Now, I won’t have it!” said Mr
Jaggers, waving his hand at them to put them behind him. “If you
say a word to me, I’ll throw up the case.”
“We thought, Mr. Jaggers—” one of the men began, pulling off his
hat.
“That’s what I told you not to do,” said Mr. Jaggers. “You thought!
I think for you; that’s enough for you. If I want you, I know where
to find you; I don’t want you to find me. Now I won’t have it. I
won’t hear a word.”
The two men looked at one another as Mr. Jaggers waved them behind
again, and humbly fell back and were heard no more.
“And now you!” said Mr. Jaggers, suddenly stopping, and turning on
the two women with the shawls, from whom the three men had meekly
separated,—“Oh! Amelia, is it?”
“Yes, Mr. Jaggers.”
“And do you remember,” retorted Mr. Jaggers, “that but for me you
wouldn’t be here and couldn’t be here?”
“O yes, sir!” exclaimed both women together. “Lord bless you, sir,
well we knows that!”
“Then why,” said Mr. Jaggers, “do you come here?”
“My Bill, sir!” the crying woman pleaded.
“Now, I tell you what!” said Mr. Jaggers. “Once for all. If you
don’t know that your Bill’s in good hands, I know it. And if you
come here bothering about your Bill, I’ll make an example of both
your Bill and you, and let him slip through my fingers. Have you
paid Wemmick?”
“O yes, sir! Every farden.”
“Very well. Then you have done all you have got to do. Say another
word—one single word—and Wemmick shall give you your money
back.”
This terrible threat caused the two women to fall off immediately.
No one remained now but the excitable Jew, who had already raised
the skirts of Mr. Jaggers’s coat to his lips several times.
“I don’t know this man!” said Mr. Jaggers, in the same devastating
strain: “What does this fellow want?”
“Ma thear Mithter Jaggerth. Hown brother to Habraham Latharuth?”
“Who’s he?” said Mr. Jaggers. “Let go of my coat.”
The suitor, kissing the hem of the garment again before
relinquishing it, replied, “Habraham Latharuth, on thuthpithion of
plate.”
“You’re too late,” said Mr. Jaggers. “I am over the way.”
“Holy father, Mithter Jaggerth!” cried my excitable acquaintance,
turning white, “don’t thay you’re again Habraham Latharuth!”
“I am,” said Mr. Jaggers, “and there’s an end of it. Get out of the
way.”
“Mithter Jaggerth! Half a moment! My hown cuthen’th gone to Mithter
Wemmick at thith prethent minute, to hoffer him hany termth.
Mithter Jaggerth! Half a quarter of a moment! If you’d have the
condethenthun to be bought off from the t’other thide—at hany
thuperior prithe!—money no object!—Mithter Jaggerth—Mithter -
!”
My guardian threw his supplicant off with supreme indifference, and
left him dancing on the pavement as if it were red hot. Without
further interruption, we reached the front office, where we found
the clerk and the man in velveteen with the fur cap.
“Here’s Mike,” said the clerk, getting down from his stool, and
approaching Mr. Jaggers confidentially.
“Oh!” said Mr. Jaggers, turning to the man, who was pulling a lock
of hair in the middle of his forehead, like the Bull in Cock Robin
pulling at the bell-rope; “your man comes on this afternoon. Well?”
“Well, Mas’r Jaggers,” returned Mike, in the voice of a sufferer
from a constitutional cold; “arter a deal o’ trouble, I’ve found
one, sir, as might do.”
“What is he prepared to swear?”
“Well, Mas’r Jaggers,” said Mike, wiping his nose on his fur cap
this time; “in a general way, anythink.”
Mr. Jaggers suddenly became most irate. “Now, I warned you before,”
said he, throwing his forefinger at the terrified client, “that if
you ever presumed to talk in that way here, I’d make an example of
you. You infernal scoundrel, how dare you tell ME that?”
The client looked scared, but bewildered too, as if he were
unconscious what he had done.
“Spooney!” said the clerk, in a low voice, giving him a stir with
his elbow. “Soft Head! Need you say it face to face?”
“Now, I ask you, you blundering booby,” said my guardian, very
sternly, “once more and for the last time, what the man you have
brought here is prepared to swear?”
Mike looked hard at my guardian, as if he were trying to learn a
lesson from his face, and slowly replied, “Ayther to character, or
to having been in his company and never left him all the night in
question.”
“Now, be careful. In what station of life is this man?”
Mike looked at his cap, and looked at the floor, and looked at the
ceiling, and looked at the clerk, and even looked at me, before
beginning to reply in a nervous manner, “We’ve dressed him up
like—” when my guardian blustered out,—
“What? You WILL, will you?”
(“Spooney!” added the clerk again, with another stir.)
After some helpless casting about, Mike brightened and began again:—
“He is dressed like a ‘spectable pieman. A sort of a pastry-cook.”
“Is he here?” asked my guardian.
“I left him,” said Mike, “a setting on some doorsteps round the
corner.”
“Take him past that window, and let me see him.”
The window indicated was the office window. We all three went to
it, behind the wire blind, and presently saw the client go by in an
accidental manner, with a murderous-looking tall individual, in a
short suit of white linen and a paper cap. This guileless
confectioner was not by any means sober, and had a black eye in the
green stage of recovery, which was painted over.
“Tell him to take his witness away directly,” said my guardian to
the clerk, in extreme disgust, “and ask him what he means by
bringing such a fellow as that.”
My guardian then took me into his own room, and while he lunched,
standing, from a sandwich-box and a pocket-flask of sherry (he
seemed to bully his very sandwich as he ate it), informed me what
arrangements he had made for me. I was to go to “Barnard’s Inn,” to
young Mr. Pocket’s rooms, where a bed had been sent in for my
accommodation; I was to remain with young Mr. Pocket until Monday;
on Monday I was to go with him to his father’s house on a visit,
that I might try how I liked it. Also, I was told what my allowance
was to be,—it was a very liberal one,—and had handed to me from
one of my guardian’s drawers, the cards of certain tradesmen with
whom I was to deal for all kinds of clothes, and such other things
as I could in reason want. “You will find your credit good, Mr.
Pip,” said my guardian, whose flask of sherry smelt like a whole
caskful, as he hastily refreshed himself, “but I shall by this
means be able to check your bills, and to pull you up if I find you
outrunning the constable. Of course you’ll go wrong somehow, but
that’s no fault of mine.”
After I had pondered a little over this encouraging sentiment, I
asked Mr. Jaggers if I could send for a coach? He said it was not
worth while, I was so near my destination; Wemmick should walk
round with me, if I pleased.
I then found that Wemmick was the clerk in the next room. Another
clerk was rung down from up stairs to take his place while he was
out, and I accompanied him into the street, after shaking hands
with my guardian. We found a new set of people lingering outside,
but Wemmick made a way among them by saying coolly yet decisively,
“I tell you it’s no use; he won’t have a word to say to one of
you;” and we soon got clear of them, and went on side by side.
Casting my eyes on Mr. Wemmick as we went along, to see what he was
like in the light of day, I found him to be a dry man, rather short
in stature, with a square wooden face, whose expression seemed to
have been imperfectly chipped out with a dull-edged chisel. There
were some marks in it that might have been dimples, if the material
had been softer and the instrument finer, but which, as it was,
were only dints. The chisel had made three or four of these
attempts at embellishment over his nose, but had given them up
without an effort to smooth them off. I judged him to be a bachelor
from the frayed condition of his linen, and he appeared to have
sustained a good many bereavements; for he wore at least four
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