Meanwhile, councils went on in the kitchen at home,fraught with almost insupportable aggravation to my exasperated spirit.That ass, Pumblechook,used often to come over of a night for the purpose of discussing my prospects with my sister; and I really do believe (to this hour with less penitence than I ought to feel), that if these hands could have taken a linchpin out of his chaise-cart, they would have done it. The miserable man was a man of that confined stolidity of mind, that he could not discuss my prospects without having me before him,—as it were, to operate upon,—and he would drag me up from my stool (usually by the collar) where I was quiet in a corner, and, putting me before the fire as if I were going to be cooked, would begin by saying, “Now, Mum, here is this boy!Here is this boy which you brought up by hand.Hold up your head, boy,and be forever grateful unto them which so did do. Now,Mum, with respections to this boy!” And then he would rumple my hair the wrong way,—which from my earliest remembrance, as already hinted,I have in my soul denied the right of any fellow-creature to do,—and would hold me before him by the sleeve,—a spectacle of imbecility only to be equalled by himself.
Then, he and my sister would pair off in such nonsensical speculations about Miss Havisham, and about what she would do with me and for me, that I used to want—quite painfully—to burst into spiteful tears, fly at Pumblechook, and pummel him all over. In these dialogues, my sister spoke to me as if she were morally wrenching one of my teeth out at every reference; while Pumblechook himself, self-constituted my patron, would sit supervising me with a depreciatory eye, like the architect of my fortunes who thought himself engaged on a very unremunerative job.
In these discussions, Joe bore no part.But he was often talked at,while they were in progress, by reason of Mrs.Joe’s perceiving that he was not favourable to my being taken from the forge.I was fully old enough now to be apprenticed to Joe;and when Joe sat with the poker on his knees thoughtfully raking out the ashes between the lower bars, my sister would so distinctly construe that innocent action into opposition on his part, that she would dive at him, take the poker out of his hands, shake him, and put it away. There was a most irritating end to every one of these debates. All in a moment, with nothing to lead up to it, my sister would stop herself in a yawn, and catching sight of me as it were incidentally, would swoop upon me with, “Come!there’s enough of _you_!_You_ get along to bed;_you_’ve given trouble enough for one night, I hope!” As if I had besought them as a favour to bother my life out.
We went on in this way for a long time,and it seemed likely that we should continue to go on in this way for a long time, when one day Miss Havisham stopped short as she and I were walking, she leaning on my shoulder; and said with some displeasure,—
“You are growing tall, Pip!”
I thought it best to hint,through the medium of a meditative look,that this might be occasioned by circumstances over which I had no control.
She said no more at the time;but she presently stopped and looked at me again;and presently again; and after that,looked frowning and moody.On the next day of my attendance,when our usual exercise was over,and I had landed her at her dressing-table,she stayed me with a movement of her impatient fingers: —
“Tell me the name again of that blacksmith of yours.”
“Joe Gargery, ma’am.”
“Meaning the master you were to be apprenticed to?”
“Yes, Miss Havisham.”
“You had better be apprenticed at once.Would Gargery come here with you,and bring your indentures, do you think?”
I signified that I had no doubt he would take it as an honour to be asked.
“Then let him come.”
“At any particular time, Miss Havisham?”
“There, there!I know nothing about times. Let him come soon,and come along with you.”
When I got home at night,and delivered this message for Joe,my sister “went on the Rampage,” in a more alarming degree than at any previous period.She asked me and Joe whether we supposed she was door-mats under our feet,and how we dared to use her so,and what company we graciously thought she _was_ fit for?When she had exhausted a torrent of such inquiries,she threw a candlestick at Joe,burst into a loud sobbing, got out the dustpan,—which was always a very bad sign,—put on her coarse apron,and began cleaning up to a terrible extent.Not satisfied with a dry cleaning,she took to a pail and scrubbing-brush,and cleaned us out of house and home,so that we stood shivering in the back-yard.It was ten o’clock at night before we ventured to creep in again,and then she asked Joe why he hadn’t married a Negress Slave at once?Joe offered no answer, poor fellow,but stood feeling his whisker and looking dejectedly at me,as if he thought it really might have been a better speculation.
Chapter XIII.
It was a trial to my feelings, on the next day but one,to see Joe arraying himself in his Sunday clothes to accompany me to Miss Havisham’s. However, as he thought his court-suit necessary to the occasion, it was not for me to tell him that he looked far better in his working-dress; the rather, because I knew he made himself so dreadfully uncomfortable, entirely on my account, and that it was for me he pulled up his shirt-collar so very high behind, that it made the hair on the crown of his head stand up like a tuft of feathers.
At breakfast-time my sister declared her intention of going to town with us,and being left at Uncle Pumblechook’s and called for “when we had done with our fine ladies”—a way of putting the case, from which Joe appeared inclined to augur the worst. The forge was shut up for the day, and Joe inscribed in chalk upon the door (as it was his custom to do on the very rare occasions when he was not at work) the monosyllable HOUT, accompanied by a sketch of an arrow supposed to be flying in the direction he had taken.
We walked to town, my sister leading the way in a very large beaver bonnet,and carrying a basket like the Great Seal of England in plaited Straw,a pair of pattens, a spare shawl, and an umbrella,though it was a fine bright day.I am not quite clear whether these articles were carried penitentially or ostentatiously; but I rather think they were displayed as articles of property,—much as Cleopatra or any other sovereign lady on the Rampage might exhibit her wealth in a pageant or procession.
When we came to Pumblechook’s,my sister bounced in and left us.As it was almost noon,Joe and I held straight on to Miss Havisham’s house.Estella opened the gate as usual, and,the moment she appeared,Joe took his hat off and stood weighing it by the brim in both his hands;as if he had some urgent reason in his mind for being particular to half a quarter of an ounce.
Estella took no notice of either of us,but led us the way that I knew so well.I followed next to her, and Joe came last.When I looked back at Joe in the long passage,he was still weighing his hat with the greatest care,and was coming after us in long strides on the tips of his toes.
Estella told me we were both to go in,so I took Joe by the coat-cuff and conducted him into Miss Havisham’s presence.She was seated at her dressing-table,and looked round at us immediately.
“Oh!” said she to Joe. “You are the husband of the sister of this boy?”
I could hardly have imagined dear old Joe looking so unlike himself or so like some extraordinary bird; standing as he did speechless, with his tuft of feathers ruffled, and his mouth open as if he wanted a worm.
“You are the husband,” repeated Miss Havisham,“of the sister of this boy?”
It was very aggravating; but, throughout the interview,Joe persisted in addressing Me instead of Miss Havisham.