Having thought of the matter with care,I approached my subject as if I had never hinted at it before.I informed Wemmick that I was anxious in behalf of Herbert Pocket,and I told him how we had first met,and how we had fought. I glanced at Herbert’s home,and at his character,and at his having no means but such as he was dependent on his father for;those, uncertain and unpunctual.I alluded to the advantages I had derived in my first rawness and ignorance from his society, and I confessed that I feared I had but ill repaid them, and that he might have done better without me and my expectations. Keeping Miss Havisham in the background at a great distance, I still hinted at the possibility of my having competed with him in his prospects, and at the certainty of his possessing a generous soul, and being far above any mean distrusts, retaliations, or designs. For all these reasons (I told Wemmick), and because he was my young companion and friend, and I had a great affection for him, I wished my own good fortune to reflect some rays upon him, and therefore I sought advice from Wemmick’s experience and knowledge of men and affairs, how I could best try with my resources to help Herbert to some present income,—say of a hundred a year, to keep him in good hope and heart,—and gradually to buy him on to some small partnership. I begged Wemmick, in conclusion, to understand that my help must always be rendered without Herbert’s knowledge or suspicion, and that there was no one else in the world with whom I could advise. I wound up by laying my hand upon his shoulder, and saying, “I can’t help confiding in you, though I know it must be troublesome to you; but that is your fault, in having ever brought me here.”
Wemmick was silent for a little while,and then said with a kind of start, “Well you know, Mr.Pip, I must tell you one thing.This is devilish good of you.”
“Say you’ll help me to be good then,” said I.
“Ecod,” replied Wemmick, shaking his head,“that’s not my trade.”
“Nor is this your trading-place,” said I.
“You are right,” he returned.“You hit the nail on the head. Mr. Pip,I’ll put on my considering-cap,and I think all you want to do may be done by degrees.Skiffins (that’s her brother) is an accountant and agent.I’ll look him up and go to work for you.”
“I thank you ten thousand times.”
“On the contrary,” said he, “I thank you,for though we are strictly in our private and personal capacity,still it may be mentioned that there _are_ Newgate cobwebs about,and it brushes them away.”
After a little further conversation to the same effect,we returned into the Castle where we found Miss Skiffins preparing tea.The responsible duty of making the toast was delegated to the Aged,and that excellent old gentleman was so intent upon it that he seemed to me in some danger of melting his eyes. It was no nominal meal that we were going to make, but a vigorous reality. The Aged prepared such a hay-stack of buttered toast, that I could scarcely see him over it as it simmered on an iron stand hooked on to the top-bar; while Miss Skiffins brewed such a jorum of tea, that the pig in the back premises became strongly excited, and repeatedly expressed his desire to participate in the entertainment.
The flag had been struck, and the gun had been fired,at the right moment of time,and I felt as snugly cut off from the rest of Walworth as if the moat were thirty feet wide by as many deep. Nothing disturbed the tranquillity of the Castle, but the occasional tumbling open of John and Miss Skiffins: which little doors were a prey to some spasmodic infirmity that made me sympathetically uncomfortable until I got used to it. I inferred from the methodical nature of Miss Skiffins’s arrangements that she made tea there every Sunday night; and I rather suspected that a classic brooch she wore, representing the profile of an undesirable female with a very straight nose and a very new moon, was a piece of portable property that had been given her by Wemmick.
We ate the whole of the toast,and drank tea in proportion,and it was delightful to see how warm and greasy we all got after it.The Aged especially,might have passed for some clean old chief of a savage tribe,just oiled. After a short pause of repose,Miss Skiffins—in the absence of the little servant who,it seemed, retired to the bosom of her family on Sunday afternoons—washed up the tea-things, in a trifling lady-like amateur manner that compromised none of us. Then, she put on her gloves again, and we drew round the fire, and Wemmick said, “Now, Aged Parent, tip us the paper.”
Wemmick explained to me while the Aged got his spectacles out,that this was according to custom,and that it gave the old gentleman infinite satisfaction to read the news aloud. “I won’t offer an apology,” said Wemmick, “for he isn’t capable of many pleasures—are you, Aged P.?”
“All right, John, all right,” returned the old man,seeing himself spoken to.
“Only tip him a nod every now and then when he looks off his paper,” said Wemmick, “and he’ll be as happy as a king.We are all attention, Aged One.”
“All right, John, all right!” returned the cheerful old man, so busy and so pleased,that it really was quite charming.
The Aged’s reading reminded me of the classes at Mr.Wopsle’s great-aunt’s,with the pleasanter peculiarity that it seemed to come through a keyhole.As he wanted the candles close to him,and as he was always on the verge of putting either his head or the newspaper into them, he required as much watching as a powder-mill. But Wemmick was equally untiring and gentle in his vigilance, and the Aged read on, quite unconscious of his many rescues. Whenever he looked at us, we all expressed the greatest interest and amazement, and nodded until he resumed again.
As Wemmick and Miss Skiffins sat side by side,and as I sat in a shadowy corner,I observed a slow and gradual elongation of Mr.Wemmick’s mouth, powerfully suggestive of his slowly and gradually stealing his arm round Miss Skiffins’s waist. In course of time I saw his hand appear on the other side of Miss Skiffins; but at that moment Miss Skiffins neatly stopped him with the green glove, unwound his arm again as if it were an article of dress, and with the greatest deliberation laid it on the table before her. Miss Skiffins’s composure while she did this was one of the most remarkable sights I have ever seen, and if I could have thought the act consistent with abstraction of mind, I should have deemed that Miss Skiffins performed it mechanically.
By and by, I noticed Wemmick’s arm beginning to disappear again,and gradually fading out of view. Shortly afterwards,his mouth began to widen again.After an interval of suspense on my part that was quite enthralling and almost painful, I saw his hand appear on the other side of Miss Skiffins. Instantly, Miss Skiffins stopped it with the neatness of a placid boxer, took off that girdle or cestus as before, and laid it on the table. Taking the table to represent the path of virtue, I am justified in stating that during the whole time of the Aged’s reading, Wemmick’s arm was straying from the path of virtue and being recalled to it by Miss Skiffins.
At last, the Aged read himself into a light slumber.This was the time for Wemmick to produce a little kettle,a tray of glasses, and a black bottle with a porcelain-topped cork,representing some clerical dignitary of a rubicund and social aspect.With the aid of these appliances we all had something warm to drink,including the Aged, who was soon awake again.Miss Skiffins mixed,and I observed that she and Wemmick drank out of one glass.Of course I knew better than to offer to see Miss Skiffins home,and under the circumstances I thought I had best go first;which I did, taking a cordial leave of the Aged,and having passed a pleasant evening.