Great Expectations by Charles Dickens (speed reading book TXT) 📕

“Not a bit of it,” returned Wemmick, growing bolder and bolder. “I

think you’re another.”

Again they exchanged their former odd looks, each apparently still

distrustful that the other was taking him in.

“You with a pleasant home?” said Mr. Jaggers.

“Since it don’t interfere with business,” returned Wemmick, “let it

be so. Now, I look at you, sir, I shouldn’t wonder if you might be

planning and contriving to have a pleasant home of your own one of

these days, when you’re tired of all this work.”

Mr. Jaggers nodded his head retrospectively two or three times, and

actually drew a sigh. “Pip,” said he, “we won’t talk about ‘poor

dreams;’ you know more about such things than I, having much

fresher experience of that kind. But now about this other matter.

I’ll put a case to you. Mind! I admit nothing.”

He waited for me to declare that I quite understood that he

expressly said that he admitted nothing.

“Now, Pip,” said Mr. Jaggers, “put this case. Put the case that a

woman, under such circumstances as you have mentioned, held her

child concealed, and was obliged to communicate the fact to her

legal adviser, on his representing to her that he must know, with

an eye to the latitude of his defence, how the fact stood about

that child. Put the case that, at the same time he held a trust to

find a child for an eccentric rich lady to adopt and bring up.”

“I follow you, sir.”

“Put the case that he lived in an atmosphere of evil, and that all

he saw of children was their being generated in great numbers for

certain destruction. Put the case that he often saw children

solemnly tried at a criminal bar, where they were held up to be

seen; put the case that he habitually knew of their being

imprisoned, whipped, transported, neglected, cast out, qualified in

all ways for the hangman, and growing up to be hanged. Put the case

that pretty nigh all the children he saw in his daily business

life he had reason to look upon as so much spawn, to develop into

the fish that were to come to his net,—to be prosecuted, defended,

forsworn, made orphans, bedevilled somehow.”

“I follow you, sir.”

“Put the case, Pip, that here was one pretty little child out of

the heap who could be saved; whom the father believed dead, and

dared make no stir about; as to whom, over the mother, the legal

adviser had this power: “I know what you did, and how you did it.

You came so and so, you did such and such things to divert suspicion.

I have tracked you through it all, andI tell it you all. Part

with the child, unless it should benecessary to produce it to

clear you, and then it shall be produced. Give the child into

my hands, and I will do my best to bring you off. If you are

saved, your child is saved too; if you are lost, your child is

still saved.” Put the case that this was done, and that the

woman was cleared.”

“I understand you perfectly.”

“But that I make no admissions?”

“That you make no admissions.” And Wemmick repeated, “No

admissions.”

“Put the case, Pip, that passion and the terror of death had a

little shaken the woman’s intellects, and that when she was set at

liberty, she was scared out of the ways of the world, and went to

him to be sheltered. Put the case that he took her in, and that he

kept down the old, wild, violent nature whenever he saw an inkling of

its breaking out, by asserting his power over her in the old way.

Do you comprehend the imaginary case?”

“Quite.”

“Put the case that the child grew up, and was married for money.

That the mother was still living. That the father was still living.

That the mother and father, unknown to one another, were dwelling

within so many miles, furlongs, yards if you like, of one another.

That the secret was still a secret, except that you had got wind of

it. Put that last case to yourself very carefully.”

“I do.”

“I ask Wemmick to put it to himself very carefully.”

And Wemmick said, “I do.”

“For whose sake would you reveal the secret? For the father’s? I

think he would not be much the better for the mother. For the

mother’s? I think if she had done such a deed she would be safer

where she was. For the daughter’s? I think it would hardly serve

her to establish her parentage for the information of her husband,

and to drag her back to disgrace, after an escape of twenty years,

pretty secure to last for life. But add the case that you had

loved her, Pip, and had made her the subject of those ‘poor dreams’

which have, at one time or another, been in the heads of more men

than you think likely, then I tell you that you had better—and

would much sooner when you had thought well of it—chop off that

bandaged left hand of yours with your bandaged right hand, and then

pass the chopper on to Wemmick there, to cut that off too.”

I looked at Wemmick, whose face was very grave. He gravely touched

his lips with his forefinger. I did the same. Mr. Jaggers did the

same. “Now, Wemmick,” said the latter then, resuming his usual

manner, “what item was it you were at when Mr. Pip came in?”

Standing by for a little, while they were at work, I observed that

the odd looks they had cast at one another were repeated several

times: with this difference now, that each of them seemed

suspicious, not to say conscious, of having shown himself in a weak

and unprofessional light to the other. For this reason, I suppose,

they were now inflexible with one another; Mr. Jaggers being highly

dictatorial, and Wemmick obstinately justifying himself whenever

there was the smallest point in abeyance for a moment. I had never

seen them on such ill terms; for generally they got on very well

indeed together.

But they were both happily relieved by the opportune appearance of

Mike, the client with the fur cap and the habit of wiping his nose

on his sleeve, whom I had seen on the very first day of my

appearance within those walls. This individual, who, either in his

own person or in that of some member of his family, seemed to be

always in trouble (which in that place meant Newgate), called to

announce that his eldest daughter was taken up on suspicion of

shoplifting. As he imparted this melancholy circumstance to

Wemmick, Mr. Jaggers standing magisterially before the fire and

taking no share in the proceedings, Mike’s eye happened to twinkle

with a tear.

“What are you about?” demanded Wemmick, with the utmost

indignation. “What do you come snivelling here for?”

“I didn’t go to do it, Mr. Wemmick.”

“You did,” said Wemmick. “How dare you? You’re not in a fit state

to come here, if you can’t come here without spluttering like a bad

pen. What do you mean by it?”

“A man can’t help his feelings, Mr. Wemmick,” pleaded Mike.

“His what?” demanded Wemmick, quite savagely. “Say that again!”

“Now look here my man,” said Mr. Jaggers, advancing a step, and

pointing to the door. “Get out of this office. I’ll have no

feelings here. Get out.”

“It serves you right,” said Wemmick, “Get out.”

So, the unfortunate Mike very humbly withdrew, and Mr. Jaggers and

Wemmick appeared to have re-established their good understanding,

and went to work again with an air of refreshment upon them as if

they had just had lunch.