Mr. and Mrs. Pocket had a toady neighbour;a widow lady of that highly sympathetic nature that she agreed with everybody, blessed everybody,and shed smiles and tears on everybody, according to circumstances. This lady’s name was Mrs.Coiler, and I had the honour of taking her down to dinner on the day of my installation.She gave me to understand on the stairs, that it was a blow to dear Mrs. Pocket that dear Mr.Pocket should be under the necessity of receiving gentlemen to read with him.That did not extend to me, she told me in a gush of love and confidence (at that time,I had known her something less than five minutes); if they were all like Me, it would be quite another thing.
“But dear Mrs. Pocket,” said Mrs. Coiler, “after her early disappointment (not that dear Mr.Pocket was to blame in that), requires so much luxury and elegance—”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, to stop her, for I was afraid she was going to cry.
“And she is of so aristocratic a disposition—”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said again, with the same object as before.
“—That it _is_ hard,” said Mrs. Coiler, “to have dear Mr.Pocket’s time and attention diverted from dear Mrs. Pocket.”
I could not help thinking that it might be harder if the butcher’s time and attention were diverted from dear Mrs.Pocket; but I said nothing, and indeed had enough to do in keeping a bashful watch upon my company manners.
It came to my knowledge, through what passed between Mrs.Pocket and Drummle while I was attentive to my knife and fork, spoon, glasses,and other instruments of self-destruction, that Drummle, whose Christian name was Bentley,was actually the next heir but one to a baronetcy.It further appeared that the book I had seen Mrs.Pocket reading in the garden was all about titles,and that she knew the exact date at which her grandpapa would have come into the book,if he ever had come at all. Drummle didn’t say much,but in his limited way (he struck me as a sulky kind of fellow) he spoke as one of the elect,and recognised Mrs. Pocket as a woman and a sister. No one but themselves and Mrs.Coiler the toady neighbour showed any interest in this part of the conversation,and it appeared to me that it was painful to Herbert; but it promised to last a long time,when the page came in with the announcement of a domestic affliction. It was, in effect,that the cook had mislaid the beef. To my unutterable amazement, I now, for the first time, saw Mr.Pocket relieve his mind by going through a performance that struck me as very extraordinary,but which made no impression on anybody else, and with which I soon became as familiar as the rest.He laid down the carving-knife and fork,—being engaged in carving, at the moment,—put his two hands into his disturbed hair,and appeared to make an extraordinary effort to lift himself up by it. When he had done this,and had not lifted himself up at all, he quietly went on with what he was about.
Mrs. Coiler then changed the subject and began to flatter me. I liked it for a few moments,but she flattered me so very grossly that the pleasure was soon over.She had a serpentine way of coming close at me when she pretended to be vitally interested in the friends and localities I had left,which was altogether snaky and fork-tongued;and when she made an occasional bounce upon Startop (who said very little to her),or upon Drummle (who said less), I rather envied them for being on the opposite side of the table.
After dinner the children were introduced, and Mrs. Coiler made admiring comments on their eyes,noses, and legs,—a sagacious way of improving their minds. There were four little girls,and two little boys, besides the baby who might have been either,and the baby’s next successor who was as yet neither. They were brought in by Flopson and Millers,much as though those two non-commissioned officers had been recruiting somewhere for children and had enlisted these,while Mrs. Pocket looked at the young Nobles that ought to have been as if she rather thought she had had the pleasure of inspecting them before,but didn’t quite know what to make of them.
“Here!Give me your fork, Mum, and take the baby,” said Flopson. “Don’t take it that way,or you’ll get its head under the table.”
Thus advised, Mrs. Pocket took it the other way, and got its head upon the table;which was announced to all present by a prodigious concussion.
“Dear, dear!Give it me back, Mum,” said Flopson; “and Miss Jane, come and dance to baby, do!”
One of the little girls, a mere mite who seemed to have prematurely taken upon herself some charge of the others,stepped out of her place by me, and danced to and from the baby until it left off crying,and laughed. Then, all the children laughed, and Mr.Pocket (who in the meantime had twice endeavoured to lift himself up by the hair) laughed, and we all laughed and were glad.
Flopson, by dint of doubling the baby at the joints like a Dutch doll, then got it safely into Mrs.Pocket’s lap, and gave it the nut-crackers to play with; at the same time recommending Mrs.Pocket to take notice that the handles of that instrument were not likely to agree with its eyes,and sharply charging Miss Jane to look after the same. Then, the two nurses left the room,and had a lively scuffle on the staircase with a dissipated page who had waited at dinner,and who had clearly lost half his buttons at the gaming-table.
I was made very uneasy in my mind by Mrs.Pocket’s falling into a discussion with Drummle respecting two baronetcies,while she ate a sliced orange steeped in sugar and wine, and,forgetting all about the baby on her lap, who did most appalling things with the nut-crackers.At length little Jane, perceiving its young brains to be imperilled, softly left her place,and with many small artifices coaxed the dangerous weapon away. Mrs.Pocket finishing her orange at about the same time, and not approving of this, said to Jane,—
“You naughty child, how dare you?Go and sit down this instant!”
“Mamma dear,” lisped the little girl, “baby ood have put hith eyeth out.”
“How dare you tell me so?” retorted Mrs. Pocket. “Go and sit down in your chair this moment!”
Mrs. Pocket’s dignity was so crushing, that I felt quite abashed,as if I myself had done something to rouse it.
“Belinda,” remonstrated Mr. Pocket, from the other end of the table, “how can you be so unreasonable?Jane only interfered for the protection of baby.”
“I will not allow anybody to interfere,” said Mrs. Pocket. “I am surprised, Matthew,that you should expose me to the affront of interference.”
“Good God!” cried Mr. Pocket, in an outbreak of desolate desperation.“Are infants to be nut-crackered into their tombs, and is nobody to save them?”
“I will not be interfered with by Jane,” said Mrs. Pocket,with a majestic glance at that innocent little offender.“I hope I know my poor grandpapa’s position. Jane, indeed!”
Mr. Pocket got his hands in his hair again,and this time really did lift himself some inches out of his chair. “Hear this!” he helplessly exclaimed to the elements. “Babies are to be nut-crackered dead,for people’s poor grandpapa’s positions!” Then he let himself down again, and became silent.
We all looked awkwardly at the tablecloth while this was going on. A pause succeeded,during which the honest and irrepressible baby made a series of leaps and crows at little Jane,who appeared to me to be the only member of the family (irrespective of servants) with whom it had any decided acquaintance.
“Mr. Drummle,” said Mrs. Pocket, “will you ring for Flopson?Jane, you undutiful little thing, go and lie down. Now, baby darling, come with ma!”
The baby was the soul of honour, and protested with all its might.It doubled itself up the wrong way over Mrs. Pocket’s arm,exhibited a pair of knitted shoes and dimpled ankles to the company in lieu of its soft face,and was carried out in the highest state of mutiny. And it gained its point after all,for I saw it through the window within a few minutes, being nursed by little Jane.
It happened that the other five children were left behind at the dinner-table,through Flopson’s having some private engagement, and their not being anybody else’s business.I thus became aware of the mutual relations between them and Mr. Pocket,which were exemplified in the following manner. Mr. Pocket,with the normal perplexity of his face heightened and his hair rumpled,looked at them for some minutes, as if he couldn’t make out how they came to be boarding and lodging in that establishment,and why they hadn’t been billeted by Nature on somebody else. Then,in a distant Missionary way he asked them certain questions,—as why little Joe had that hole in his frill, who said, Pa,Flopson was going to mend it when she had time,—and how little Fanny came by that whitlow,who said, Pa, Millers was going to poultice it when she didn’t forget. Then,he melted into parental tenderness, and gave them a shilling apiece and told them to go and play;and then as they went out, with one very strong effort to lift himself up by the hair he dismissed the hopeless subject.
In the evening there was rowing on the river. As Drummle and Startop had each a boat,I resolved to set up mine, and to cut them both out.I was pretty good at most exercises in which country boys are adepts,but as I was conscious of wanting elegance of style for the Thames,—not to say for other waters,—I at once engaged to place myself under the tuition of the winner of a prize-wherry who plied at our stairs,and to whom I was introduced by my new allies.This practical authority confused me very much by saying I had the arm of a blacksmith.If he could have known how nearly the compliment lost him his pupil, I doubt if he would have paid it.
There was a supper-tray after we got home at night,and I think we should all have enjoyed ourselves,but for a rather disagreeable domestic occurrence. Mr. Pocket was in good spirits,when a housemaid came in, and said, “If you please, sir, I should wish to speak to you.”
“Speak to your master?” said Mrs. Pocket, whose dignity was roused again. “How can you think of such a thing?Go and speak to Flopson. Or speak to me—at some other time.”
“Begging your pardon, ma’am,” returned the housemaid, “I should wish to speak at once, and to speak to master.”
Hereupon, Mr. Pocket went out of the room, and we made the best of ourselves until he came back.
“This is a pretty thing, Belinda!” said Mr. Pocket, returning with a countenance expressive of grief and despair.“Here’s the cook lying insensibly drunk on the kitchen floor,with a large bundle of fresh butter made up in the cupboard ready to sell for grease!”
Mrs. Pocket instantly showed much amiable emotion, and said, “This is that odious Sophia’s doing!”
“What do you mean, Belinda?” demanded Mr. Pocket.
“Sophia has told you,” said Mrs. Pocket.“Did I not see her with my own eyes and hear her with my own ears,come into the room just now and ask to speak to you?”
“But has she not taken me downstairs, Belinda,” returned Mr. Pocket, “and shown me the woman, and the bundle too?”
“And do you defend her, Matthew,” said Mrs. Pocket, “for making mischief?”
Mr. Pocket uttered a dismal groan.
“Am I, grandpapa’s granddaughter, to be nothing in the house?” said Mrs. Pocket. “Besides, the cook has always been a very nice respectful woman,and said in the most natural manner when she came to look after the situation,that she felt I was born to be a Duchess.”
There was a sofa where Mr. Pocket stood,and he dropped upon it in the attitude of the Dying Gladiator. Still in that attitude he said,with a hollow voice, “Good night, Mr. Pip,” when I deemed it advisable to go to bed and leave him.
Chapter XXIV.
After two or three days, when I had established myself in my room and had gone backwards and forwards to London several times,and had ordered all I wanted of my tradesmen, Mr. Pocket and I had a long talk together.He knew more of my intended career than I knew myself,for he referred to his having been told by Mr. Jaggers that I was not designed for any profession,and that I should be well enough educated for my destiny if I could “hold my own” with the average of young men in prosperous circumstances.I acquiesced, of course, knowing nothing to the contrary.
He advised my attending certain places in London,for the acquisition of such mere rudiments as I wanted,and my investing him with the functions of explainer and director of all my studies.He hoped that with intelligent assistance I should meet with little to discourage me,and should soon be able to dispense with any aid but his. Through his way of saying this,and much more to similar purpose, he placed himself on confidential terms with me in an admirable manner;and I may state at once that he was always so zealous and honourable in fulfilling his compact with me,that he made me zealous and honourable in fulfilling mine with him.If he had shown indifference as a master,I have no doubt I should have returned the compliment as a pupil; he gave me no such excuse,and each of us did the other justice. Nor did I ever regard him as having anything ludicrous about him—or anything but what was serious,honest, and good—in his tutor communication with me.
When these points were settled, and so far carried out as that I had begun to work in earnest,it occurred to me that if I could retain my bedroom in Barnard’s Inn,my life would be agreeably varied, while my manners would be none the worse for Herbert’s society.Mr. Pocket did not object to this arrangement,but urged that before any step could possibly be taken in it, it must be submitted to my guardian.I felt that this delicacy arose out of the consideration that the plan would save Herbert some expense,so I went off to Little Britain and imparted my wish to Mr. Jaggers.
“If I could buy the furniture now hired for me,” said I, “and one or two other little things, I should be quite at home there.”
“Go it!” said Mr. Jaggers, with a short laugh. “I told you you’d get on. Well!How much do you want?”
I said I didn’t know how much.
“Come!” retorted Mr. Jaggers. “How much?Fifty pounds?”
“O, not nearly so much.”
“Five pounds?” said Mr. Jaggers.
This was such a great fall, that I said in discomfiture, “O, more than that.”
“More than that, eh!” retorted Mr. Jaggers, lying in wait for me, with his hands in his pockets, his head on one side,and his eyes on the wall behind me; “how much more?”
“It is so difficult to fix a sum,” said I, hesitating.
“Come!” said Mr. Jaggers. “Let’s get at it. Twice five; will that do?Three times five; will that do?Four times five; will that do?”
I said I thought that would do handsomely.
“Four times five will do handsomely, will it?” said Mr. Jaggers, knitting his brows. “Now, what do you make of four times five?”
“What do I make of it?”
“Ah!” said Mr. Jaggers; “how much?”
“I suppose you make it twenty pounds,” said I, smiling.
“Never mind what _I_ make it, my friend,” observed Mr. Jaggers,with a knowing and contradictory toss of his head. “I want to know what _you_ make it.”
“Twenty pounds, of course.”
“Wemmick!” said Mr. Jaggers, opening his office door. “Take Mr. Pip’s written order, and pay him twenty pounds.”
This strongly marked way of doing business made a strongly marked impression on me,and that not of an agreeable kind. Mr. Jaggers never laughed;but he wore great bright creaking boots, and, in poising himself on these boots,with his large head bent down and his eyebrows joined together, awaiting an answer,he sometimes caused the boots to creak, as if _they_ laughed in a dry and suspicious way.As he happened to go out now, and as Wemmick was brisk and talkative,I said to Wemmick that I hardly knew what to make of Mr. Jaggers’s manner.
“Tell him that, and he’ll take it as a compliment,” answered Wemmick;“he don’t mean that you _should_ know what to make of it.—Oh!” for I looked surprised, “it’s not personal; it’s professional: only professional.”
Wemmick was at his desk, lunching—and crunching—on a dry hard biscuit;pieces of which he threw from time to time into his slit of a mouth, as if he were posting them.
“Always seems to me,” said Wemmick, “as if he had set a man-trap and was watching it. Suddenly—click—you’re caught!”
Without remarking that man-traps were not among the amenities of life, I said I supposed he was very skilful?
“Deep,” said Wemmick, “as Australia.” Pointing with his pen at the office floor,to express that Australia was understood, for the purposes of the figure,to be symmetrically on the opposite spot of the globe. “If there was anything deeper,” added Wemmick, bringing his pen to paper, “he’d be it.”
Then, I said I supposed he had a fine business, and Wemmick said, “Ca-pi-tal!” Then I asked if there were many clerks?to which he replied,—
“We don’t run much into clerks, because there’s only one Jaggers,and people won’t have him at second hand. There are only four of us. Would you like to see ’em?You are one of us, as I may say.”
I accepted the offer. When Mr. Wemmick had put all the biscuit into the post,and had paid me my money from a cash-box in a safe,the key of which safe he kept somewhere down his back and produced from his coat-collar like an iron-pigtail,we went upstairs. The house was dark and shabby,and the greasy shoulders that had left their mark in Mr.Jaggers’s room seemed to have been shuffling up and down the staircase for years.In the front first floor, a clerk who looked something between a publican and a rat-catcher—a large pale,puffed, swollen man—was attentively engaged with three or four people of shabby appearance,whom he treated as unceremoniously as everybody seemed to be treated who contributed to Mr.Jaggers’s coffers. “Getting evidence together,” said Mr. Wemmick, as we came out, “for the Bailey.” In the room over that, a little flabby terrier of a clerk with dangling hair (his cropping seemed to have been forgotten when he was a puppy) was similarly engaged with a man with weak eyes, whom Mr. Wemmick presented to me as a smelter who kept his pot always boiling, and who would melt me anything I pleased,—and who was in an excessive white-perspiration, as if he had been trying his art on himself. In a back room, a high-shouldered man with a face-ache tied up in dirty flannel, who was dressed in old black clothes that bore the appearance of having been waxed, was stooping over his work of making fair copies of the notes of the other two gentlemen, for Mr. Jaggers’s own use.
This was all the establishment. When we went downstairs again,Wemmick led me into my guardian’s room, and said, “This you’ve seen already.”
“Pray,” said I, as the two odious casts with the twitchy leer upon them caught my sight again, “whose likenesses are those?”
“These?” said Wemmick, getting upon a chair, and blowing the dust off the horrible heads before bringing them down.“These are two celebrated ones. Famous clients of ours that got us a world of credit.This chap (why you must have come down in the night and been peeping into the inkstand,to get this blot upon your eyebrow, you old rascal!) murdered his master, and, considering that he wasn’t brought up to evidence, didn’t plan it badly. ”
“Is it like him?” I asked, recoiling from the brute, as Wemmick spat upon his eyebrow and gave it a rub with his sleeve.
“Like him?It’s himself, you know. The cast was made in Newgate, directly after he was taken down.You had a particular fancy for me, hadn’t you, Old Artful?” said Wemmick. He then explained this affectionate apostrophe,by touching his brooch representing the lady and the weeping willow at the tomb with the urn upon it,and saying, “Had it made for me, express!”
“Is the lady anybody?” said I.
“No,” returned Wemmick. “Only his game. (You liked your bit of game, didn’t you?) No; deuce a bit of a lady in the case, Mr. Pip, except one,—and she wasn’t of this slender lady-like sort,and you wouldn’t have caught _her_ looking after this urn,unless there was something to drink in it.” Wemmick’s attention being thus directed to his brooch,he put down the cast, and polished the brooch with his pocket-handkerchief.
“Did that other creature come to the same end?” I asked. “He has the same look.”
“You’re right,” said Wemmick; “it’s the genuine look.Much as if one nostril was caught up with a horse-hair and a little fish-hook. Yes,he came to the same end; quite the natural end here, I assure you. He forged wills, this blade did,if he didn’t also put the supposed testators to sleep too. You were a gentlemanly Cove,though” (Mr. Wemmick was again apostrophising), “and you said you could write Greek. Yah, Bounceable!What a liar you were!I never met such a liar as you!” Before putting his late friend on his shelf again,Wemmick touched the largest of his mourning rings and said, “Sent out to buy it for me, only the day before.”
While he was putting up the other cast and coming down from the chair,the thought crossed my mind that all his personal jewelry was derived from like sources.As he had shown no diffidence on the subject, I ventured on the liberty of asking him the question,when he stood before me, dusting his hands.
“O yes,” he returned, “these are all gifts of that kind. One brings another, you see;that’s the way of it. I always take ’em. They’re curiosities. And they’re property.They may not be worth much, but, after all, they’re property and portable.It don’t signify to you with your brilliant lookout, but as to myself, my guiding-star always is, ‘Get hold of portable property’.”
When I had rendered homage to this light, he went on to say, in a friendly manner:—
“If at any odd time when you have nothing better to do,you wouldn’t mind coming over to see me at Walworth, I could offer you a bed,and I should consider it an honour. I have not much to show you;but such two or three curiosities as I have got you might like to look over;and I am fond of a bit of garden and a summer-house.”
I said I should be delighted to accept his hospitality.
“Thankee,” said he; “then we’ll consider that it’s to come off, when convenient to you. Have you dined with Mr. Jaggers yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Well,” said Wemmick, “he’ll give you wine, and good wine. I’ll give you punch, and not bad punch.And now I’ll tell you something. When you go to dine with Mr. Jaggers, look at his housekeeper.”
“Shall I see something very uncommon?”
“Well,” said Wemmick, “you’ll see a wild beast tamed. Not so very uncommon, you’ll tell me. I reply,that depends on the original wildness of the beast, and the amount of taming.It won’t lower your opinion of Mr. Jaggers’s powers. Keep your eye on it.”
I told him I would do so, with all the interest and curiosity that his preparation awakened.As I was taking my departure, he asked me if I would like to devote five minutes to seeing Mr. Jaggers “at it?”
For several reasons, and not least because I didn’t clearly know what Mr.Jaggers would be found to be “at,” I replied in the affirmative. We dived into the City,and came up in a crowded police-court, where a blood-relation (in the murderous sense) of the deceased,with the fanciful taste in brooches, was standing at the bar, uncomfortably chewing something;while my guardian had a woman under examination or cross-examination,—I don’t know which,—and was striking her, and the bench, and everybody present, with awe. If anybody,of whatsoever degree, said a word that he didn’t approve of,he instantly required to have it “taken down.” If anybody wouldn’t make an admission, he said, “I’ll have it out of you!” and if anybody made an admission, he said, “Now I have got you!” The magistrates shivered under a single bite of his finger.Thieves and thief-takers hung in dread rapture on his words,and shrank when a hair of his eyebrows turned in their direction.Which side he was on I couldn’t make out,for he seemed to me to be grinding the whole place in a mill;I only know that when I stole out on tiptoe, he was not on the side of the bench; for,he was making the legs of the old gentleman who presided, quite convulsive under the table,by his denunciations of his conduct as the representative of British law and justice in that chair that day.
Chapter XXV.
Bentley Drummle, who was so sulky a fellow that he even took up a book as if its writer had done him an injury,did not take up an acquaintance in a more agreeable spirit. Heavy in figure, movement,and comprehension,—in the sluggish complexion of his face, and in the large,awkward tongue that seemed to loll about in his mouth as he himself lolled about in a room,—he was idle, proud, niggardly, reserved, and suspicious.He came of rich people down in Somersetshire,who had nursed this combination of qualities until they made the discovery that it was just of age and a blockhead.Thus, Bentley Drummle had come to Mr. Pocket when he was a head taller than that gentleman,and half a dozen heads thicker than most gentlemen.
Startop had been spoilt by a weak mother and kept at home when he ought to have been at school,but he was devotedly attached to her, and admired her beyond measure.He had a woman’s delicacy of feature, and was—“as you may see, though you never saw her,” said Herbert to me—“exactly like his mother.” It was but natural that I should take to him much more kindly than to Drummle, and that,even in the earliest evenings of our boating, he and I should pull homeward abreast of one another,conversing from boat to boat, while Bentley Drummle came up in our wake alone,under the overhanging banks and among the rushes.He would always creep in-shore like some uncomfortable amphibious creature,even when the tide would have sent him fast upon his way;and I always think of him as coming after us in the dark or by the back-water,when our own two boats were breaking the sunset or the moonlight in mid-stream.
Herbert was my intimate companion and friend. I presented him with a half-share in my boat,which was the occasion of his often coming down to Hammersmith;and my possession of a half-share in his chambers often took me up to London.We used to walk between the two places at all hours.I have an affection for the road yet (though it is not so pleasant a road as it was then),formed in the impressibility of untried youth and hope.
When I had been in Mr. Pocket’s family a month or two, Mr. and Mrs. Camilla turned up.Camilla was Mr. Pocket’s sister. Georgiana,whom I had seen at Miss Havisham’s on the same occasion, also turned up. She was a cousin,—an indigestive single woman, who called her rigidity religion, and her liver love.These people hated me with the hatred of cupidity and disappointment. As a matter of course,they fawned upon me in my prosperity with the basest meanness. Towards Mr. Pocket,as a grown-up infant with no notion of his own interests,they showed the complacent forbearance I had heard them express. Mrs. Pocket they held in contempt;but they allowed the poor soul to have been heavily disappointed in life,because that shed a feeble reflected light upon themselves.
These were the surroundings among which I settled down, and applied myself to my education.I soon contracted expensive habits, and began to spend an amount of money that within a few short months I should have thought almost fabulous;but through good and evil I stuck to my books. There was no other merit in this,than my having sense enough to feel my deficiencies. Between Mr. Pocket and Herbert I got on fast;and, with one or the other always at my elbow to give me the start I wanted,and clear obstructions out of my road, I must have been as great a dolt as Drummle if I had done less.
I had not seen Mr. Wemmick for some weeks,when I thought I would write him a note and propose to go home with him on a certain evening.He replied that it would give him much pleasure,and that he would expect me at the office at six o’clock. Thither I went, and there I found him,putting the key of his safe down his back as the clock struck.
“Did you think of walking down to Walworth?” said he.
“Certainly,” said I, “if you approve.”
“Very much,” was Wemmick’s reply, “for I have had my legs under the desk all day,and shall be glad to stretch them. Now, I’ll tell you what I have got for supper, Mr. Pip.I have got a stewed steak,—which is of home preparation,—and a cold roast fowl,—which is from the cook’s-shop. I think it’s tender,because the master of the shop was a Juryman in some cases of ours the other day,and we let him down easy. I reminded him of it when I bought the fowl, and I said,“Pick us out a good one, old Briton, because if we had chosen to keep you in the box another day or two,we could easily have done it.” He said to that,“Let me make you a present of the best fowl in the shop.” I let him, of course. As far as it goes,it’s property and portable. You don’t object to an aged parent, I hope?”
I really thought he was still speaking of the fowl, until he added,“Because I have got an aged parent at my place.” I then said what politeness required.
“So, you haven’t dined with Mr. Jaggers yet?” he pursued, as we walked along.
“Not yet.”
“He told me so this afternoon when he heard you were coming.I expect you’ll have an invitation to-morrow. He’s going to ask your pals, too. Three of ’em; ain’t there?”
Although I was not in the habit of counting Drummle as one of my intimate associates, I answered, “Yes.”
“Well, he’s going to ask the whole gang,”—I hardly felt complimented by the word,—“and whatever he gives you, he’ll give you good. Don’t look forward to variety,but you’ll have excellence. And there’s another rum thing in his house,” proceeded Wemmick,after a moment’s pause, as if the remark followed on the housekeeper understood;“he never lets a door or window be fastened at night.”