“And now, Mr. Pip,” said he, with his
hands still in the sleeves, “I have probably
done the most I can do; but if I can ever do more —
from a Walworth point of view, and in a strictly private
and personal capacity — I shall be glad to do
it. Here’s the address. There can
be no harm in your going here to-night and seeing for
yourself that all is well with Tom, Jack, or Richard,
before you go home — which is another reason
for your not going home last night. But after
you have gone home, don’t go back here.
You are very welcome, I am sure, Mr. Pip;”
his hands were now out of his sleeves, and I was shaking
them; “and let me finally impress one important
point upon you.” He laid his hands upon
my shoulders, and added in a solemn whisper:
“Avail yourself of this evening to lay hold
of his portable property. You don’t know
what may happen to him. Don’t let anything
happen to the portable property.”
Quite despairing of making my mind clear to Wemmick
on this point, I forbore to try.
“Time’s up,” said Wemmick, “and
I must be off. If you had nothing more pressing
to do than to keep here till dark, that’s what
I should advise. You look very much worried,
and it would do you good to have a perfectly quiet
day with the Aged — he’ll be up presently
- and a little bit of — you remember the pig?”
“Of course,” said I.
“Well; and a little bit of him. That sausage
you toasted was his, and he was in all respects a
first-rater. Do try him, if it is only for old
acquaintance sake. Good-bye, Aged Parent!”
in a cheery shout.
“All right, John; all right, my boy!”
piped the old man from within.
I soon fell asleep before Wemmick’s fire, and
the Aged and I enjoyed one another’s society
by falling asleep before it more or less all day.
We had loin of pork for dinner, and greens grown on
the estate, and I nodded at the Aged with a good intention
whenever I failed to do it drowsily. When it
was quite dark, I left the Aged preparing the fire
for toast; and I inferred from the number of teacups,
as well as from his glances at the two little doors
in the wall, that Miss Skiffins was expected.
Eight o’clock had struck before I got into the
air that was scented, not disagreeably, by the chips
and shavings of the long-shore boatbuilders, and mast
oar and block makers. All that water-side region
of the upper and lower Pool below Bridge, was unknown
ground to me, and when I struck down by the river,
I found that the spot I wanted was not where I had
supposed it to be, and was anything but easy to find.
It was called Mill Pond Bank, Chinks’s Basin;
and I had no other guide to Chinks’s Basin than
the Old Green Copper Rope-Walk.
