“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 cask-full, 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
