English
CastingmyeyesonMr.Wemmickaswewentalong,toseewhathewaslikeinthelightofday,Ifoundhimtobeadryman,rathershortinstature,withasquarewoodenface,whoseexpressionseemedtohavebeenimperfectlychippedoutwithadull-edgedchisel.
Thereweresomemarksinitthatmighthavebeendimples,ifthematerialhadbeensofterandtheinstrumentfiner,butwhich,asitwas,wereonlydints.
Thechiselhadmadethreeorfouroftheseattemptsatembellishmentoverhisnose,buthadgiventhemupwithoutanefforttosmooththemoff.
Ijudgedhimtobeabachelorfromthefrayedconditionofhislinen,andheappearedtohavesustainedagoodmanybereavements;for,heworeatleastfourmourningrings,besidesabroochrepresentingaladyandaweepingwillowatatombwithanurnonit.
Inoticed,too,thatseveralringsandsealshungathiswatchchain,asifhewerequiteladenwithremembrancesofdepartedfriends.
Hehadglitteringeyes—small,keen,andblack—andthinwidemottledlips.
Hehadhadthem,tothebestofmybelief,fromfortytofiftyyears.
“SoyouwereneverinLondonbefore?”saidMr.Wemmicktome.
“No,”saidI.
“Iwasnewhereonce,”saidMr.Wemmick.“Rumtothinkofnow!”
“Youarewellacquaintedwithitnow?”
“Why,yes,”saidMr.Wemmick.“Iknowthemovesofit.”
“Isitaverywickedplace?”Iasked,moreforthesakeofsayingsomethingthanforinformation.
“Youmaygetcheated,robbed,andmurdered,inLondon.Butthereareplentyofpeopleanywhere,who’lldothatforyou.”
“Ifthereisbadbloodbetweenyouandthem,”saidI,tosoftenitoffalittle.
“Oh!Idon’tknowaboutbadblood,”returnedMr.Wemmick;“there’snotmuchbadbloodabout.They’lldoit,ifthere’sanythingtobegotbyit.”
“Thatmakesitworse.”
“Youthinkso?”returnedMr.Wemmick.“Muchaboutthesame,Ishouldsay.”
Heworehishatonthebackofhishead,andlookedstraightbeforehim:walkinginaself-containedwayasiftherewerenothinginthestreetstoclaimhisattention.
Hismouthwassuchapostofficeofamouththathehadamechanicalappearanceofsmiling.
WehadgottothetopofHolbornHillbeforeIknewthatitwasmerelyamechanicalappearance,andthathewasnotsmilingatall.
“DoyouknowwhereMr.MatthewPocketlives?”IaskedMr.Wemmick.
“Yes,”saidhe,noddinginthedirection.“AtHammersmith,westofLondon.”
“Isthatfar?”
“Well!Sayfivemiles.”
“Doyouknowhim?”
“Why,you’rearegularcross-examiner!”saidMr.Wemmick,lookingatmewithanapprovingair.“Yes,Iknowhim.Iknowhim!”
Therewasanairoftolerationordepreciationabouthisutteranceofthesewords,thatratherdepressedme;andIwasstilllookingsidewaysathisblockofafaceinsearchofanyencouragingnotetothetext,whenhesaidherewewereatBarnard’sInn.
Mydepressionwasnotalleviatedbytheannouncement,for,IhadsupposedthatestablishmenttobeanhotelkeptbyMr.Barnard,towhichtheBlueBoarinourtownwasamerepublic-house.
WhereasInowfoundBarnardtobeadisembodiedspirit,orafiction,andhisinnthedingiestcollectionofshabbybuildingseversqueezedtogetherinarankcornerasaclubforTom-cats.
Weenteredthishaventhroughawicket-gate,andweredisgorgedbyanintroductorypassageintoamelancholylittlesquarethatlookedtomelikeaflatburying-ground.
Ithoughtithadthemostdismaltreesinit,andthemostdismalsparrows,andthemostdismalcats,andthemostdismalhouses(innumberhalfadozenorso),thatIhadeverseen.
Ithoughtthewindowsofthesetsofchambersintowhichthosehousesweredivided,wereineverystageofdilapidatedblindandcurtain,crippledflower-pot,crackedglass,dustydecay,andmiserablemakeshift;whileToLetToLetToLet,glaredatmefromemptyrooms,asifnonewwretchesevercamethere,andthevengeanceofthesoulofBarnardwerebeingslowlyappeasedbythegradualsuicideofthepresentoccupantsandtheirunholyintermentunderthegravel.
AfrouzymourningofsootandsmokeattiredthisforlorncreationofBarnard,andithadstrewnashesonitshead,andwasundergoingpenanceandhumiliationasameredust-hole.
Thusfarmysenseofsight;whiledryrotandwetrotandallthesilentrotsthatrotinneglectedroofandcellar—rotofratandmouseandbugandcoaching-stablesnearathandbesides—addressedthemselvesfaintlytomysenseofsmell,andmoaned,“TryBarnard’sMixture.”
Soimperfectwasthisrealizationofthefirstofmygreatexpectations,thatIlookedindismayatMr.Wemmick.“Ah!”
saidhe,mistakingme;“theretirementremindsyouofthecountry.Soitdoesme.”
Heledmeintoacornerandconductedmeupaflightofstairs—whichappearedtometobeslowlycollapsingintosawdust,sothatoneofthosedaystheupperlodgerswouldlookoutattheirdoorsandfindthemselveswithoutthemeansofcomingdown—toasetofchambersonthetopfloor.
MR.POCKET,JUN.,waspaintedonthedoor,andtherewasalabelontheletter-box,“Returnshortly.”
“Hehardlythoughtyou’dcomesosoon,”Mr.Wemmickexplained.“Youdon’twantmeanymore?”
“No,thankyou,”saidI.
“AsIkeepthecash,”Mr.Wemmickobserved,“weshallmostlikelymeetprettyoften.Goodday.”
“Goodday.”
Iputoutmyhand,andMr.WemmickatfirstlookedatitasifhethoughtIwantedsomething.Thenhelookedatme,andsaid,correctinghimself,
“Tobesure!Yes.You’reinthehabitofshakinghands?”
Iwasratherconfused,thinkingitmustbeoutoftheLondonfashion,butsaidyes.
“Ihavegotsooutofit!”saidMr.Wemmick—”exceptatlast.Veryglad,I’msure,tomakeyouracquaintance.Goodday!”
Whenwehadshakenhandsandhewasgone,Iopenedthestaircasewindowandhadnearlybeheadedmyself,for,thelineshadrottedaway,anditcamedownliketheguillotine.
HappilyitwassoquickthatIhadnotputmyheadout.
Afterthisescape,IwascontenttotakeafoggyviewoftheInnthroughthewindow’sencrustingdirt,andtostanddolefullylookingout,sayingtomyselfthatLondonwasdecidedlyoverrated.
Mr.Pocket,Junior’s,ideaofShortlywasnotmine,forIhadnearlymaddenedmyselfwithlookingoutforhalfanhour,andhadwrittenmynamewithmyfingerseveraltimesinthedirtofeverypaneinthewindow,beforeIheardfootstepsonthestairs.
Graduallytherearosebeforemethehat,head,neckcloth,waistcoat,trousers,boots,ofamemberofsocietyofaboutmyownstanding.
Hehadapaper-bagundereacharmandapottleofstrawberriesinonehand,andwasoutofbreath.
“Mr.Pip?”saidhe.
“Mr.Pocket?”saidI.
“Dearme!”heexclaimed.
“Iamextremelysorry;butIknewtherewasacoachfromyourpartofthecountryatmidday,andIthoughtyouwouldcomebythatone.
Thefactis,Ihavebeenoutonyouraccount—notthatthatisanyexcuse—forIthought,comingfromthecountry,youmightlikealittlefruitafterdinner,andIwenttoCoventGardenMarkettogetitgood.”
ForareasonthatIhad,Ifeltasifmyeyeswouldstartoutofmyhead.Iacknowledgedhisattentionincoherently,andbegantothinkthiswasadream.
“Dearme!”saidMr.Pocket,Junior.“Thisdoorsticksso!”
Ashewasfastmakingjamofhisfruitbywrestlingwiththedoorwhilethepaper-bagswereunderhisarms,Ibeggedhimtoallowmetoholdthem.
Herelinquishedthemwithanagreeablesmile,andcombatedwiththedoorasifitwereawildbeast.
Ityieldedsosuddenlyatlast,thathestaggeredbackuponme,andIstaggeredbackupontheoppositedoor,andwebothlaughed.
ButstillIfeltasifmyeyesmuststartoutofmyhead,andasifthismustbeadream.
“Praycomein,”saidMr.Pocket,Junior.“Allowmetoleadtheway.
Iamratherbarehere,butIhopeyou’llbeabletomakeouttolerablywelltillMonday.
Myfatherthoughtyouwouldgetonmoreagreeablythroughto-morrowwithmethanwithhim,andmightliketotakeawalkaboutLondon.
IamsureIshallbeveryhappytoshowLondontoyou.
Astoourtable,youwon’tfindthatbad,Ihope,foritwillbesuppliedfromourcoffee-househere,and(itisonlyrightIshouldadd)atyourexpense,suchbeingMr.Jaggers’sdirections.
Astoourlodging,it’snotbyanymeanssplendid,becauseIhavemyownbreadtoearn,andmyfatherhasn’tanythingtogiveme,andIshouldn’tbewillingtotakeit,ifhehad.
Thisisoursitting-room—justsuchchairsandtablesandcarpetandsoforth,yousee,astheycouldsparefromhome.
Youmustn’tgivemecreditforthetableclothandspoonsandcastors,becausetheycomeforyoufromthecoffee-house.
Thisismylittlebedroom;rathermusty,butBarnard’sismusty.
Thisisyourbed-room;thefurniture’shiredfortheoccasion,butItrustitwillanswerthepurpose;ifyoushouldwantanything,I’llgoandfetchit.
Thechambersareretired,andweshallbealonetogether,butweshan’tfight,Idaresay.
But,dearme,Ibegyourpardon,you’reholdingthefruitallthistime.Prayletmetakethesebagsfromyou.Iamquiteashamed.”
AsIstoodoppositetoMr.Pocket,Junior,deliveringhimthebags,One,Two,IsawthestartingappearancecomeintohisowneyesthatIknewtobeinmine,andhesaid,fallingback:
“Lordblessme,you’retheprowlingboy!”
“Andyou,”saidI,“arethepaleyounggentleman!”
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