Чарльз Диккенс - Great Expectations / Большие надежды

“There’s power here, [137]” said Mr. Jaggers, coolly tracing out the sinews with his forefinger. “Very few men have the power of wrist that this woman has. I have had occasion to notice many hands; but I never saw stronger in that respect, man’s or woman’s, than these.”

While he said these words in a leisurely, critical style, she continued to look at every one of us in regular succession as we sat. The moment he ceased, she looked at him again. “That’ll do, Molly, [138]” said Mr. Jaggers, giving her a slight nod; “you have been admired, and can go.” She withdrew her hands and went out of the room, and Mr. Jaggers filled his glass and passed round the wine.

“At half-past nine, gentlemen,” said he, “we must break up. [139]Pray make the best use of your time. [140]I am glad to see you all. Mr. Drummle, I drink to you.”

Drummle showed his morose depreciation of the rest of us, in a more and more offensive degree, until he became downright intolerable. But Mr. Jaggers followed him with the same strange interest. He actually seemed to serve as a zest to Mr. Jaggers’s wine.

In our boyish want of discretion I dare say we took too much to drink, and I know we talked too much. We became particularly hot upon some boorish sneer of Drummle’s, to the effect that we were too free with our money. It led to my remarking, that Startop had lent him money in my presence but a week or so before.

“Well,” retorted Drummle; “he’ll be paid.”

“I don’t mean to imply that he won’t,” said I, “but it might make you hold your tongue about us and our money, I should think.”

“ You should think !” retorted Drummle. “Oh Lord!”

“I dare say,” I went on, meaning to be very severe, “that you wouldn’t lend money to any of us if we wanted it.”

“You are right,” said Drummle. “I wouldn’t lend one of you a sixpence. I wouldn’t lend anybody a sixpence.”

“Rather mean to borrow under those circumstances, I should say.”

“ You should say ,” repeated Drummle. “Oh Lord!”

This was so very aggravating.

“Come, Mr. Drummle, since we are on the subject, I’ll tell you what passed between Herbert here and me, when you borrowed that money.”

“I don’t want to know what passed between Herbert there and you,” growled Drummle. And I think he added in a lower growl, that we might both go to the devil.

Startop took him in hand, though with a much better grace than I had shown, and exhorted him to be a little more agreeable.

“Gentlemen,” said Mr. Jaggers, deliberately putting down the glass, and hauling out his gold repeater by its massive chain, “I am exceedingly sorry to announce that it’s half past nine.”

On this hint we all rose to depart. Before we got to the street door, Startop was cheerily calling Drummle “old boy,” as if nothing had happened. But the old boy was so far from responding, that he would not even walk to Hammersmith on the same side of the way; so Herbert and I, who remained in town, saw them going down the street on opposite sides.

As the door was not yet shut, I thought I would leave Herbert there for a moment, and run up stairs again to say a word to my guardian. I found him in his dressing-room surrounded by his stock of boots, already hard at it, washing his hands of us.

I told him I had come up again to say how sorry I was that anything disagreeable should have occurred, and that I hoped he would not blame me much.

“Pooh!” said he, sluicing his face, and speaking through the water-drops; “it’s nothing, Pip. I like that Spider though.”

He had turned towards me now, and was shaking his head, and blowing, and towelling himself.

“I am glad you like him, sir,” said I – “but I don’t.”

“No, no,” my guardian assented; “don’t have too much to do with him. Keep as clear of him as you can. But I like the fellow, Pip; he is one of the true sort. Why, if I was a fortune-teller – ”

Looking out of the towel, he caught my eye.

“But I am not a fortune-teller,” he said, letting his head drop into a festoon of towel, and towelling away at his two ears. “You know what I am, don’t you? Good night, Pip.”

“Good night, sir.”

In about a month after that, the Spider’s time with Mr. Pocket was up for good, and, to the great relief of all the house, he went home to the family hole.

“MY DEAR MR PIP: —

“I write this by request of Mr. Gargery, for to let you know that he is going to London in company with Mr. Wopsle and would be glad to see you. He would call at Barnard’s Hotel Tuesday morning at nine o’clock. We talk of you in the kitchen every night, and wonder what you are saying and doing. No more, dear Mr. Pip, from your ever obliged, and affectionate servant,

“Biddy.”

“P.S. I hope and do not doubt it will be agreeable to see him, even though a gentleman, for you had ever a good heart, and he is a worthy, worthy man. I have read him all, excepting only the last little sentence.”

I received this letter by the post on Monday morning, and therefore its appointment was for next day. Let me confess exactly with what feelings I looked forward to Joe’s coming.

Not with pleasure; no; with considerable disturbance. If I could have kept him away by paying money, I certainly would have paid money. My greatest hope was that he was coming to Barnard’s Inn, not to Hammersmith, and consequently would not fall in Bentley Drummle’s way. By this time, the rooms were different from what I had found sometimes before. I had even hired a servant.

This boy was ordered to be on duty at eight on Tuesday morning in the hall, and Herbert suggested certain things for breakfast that he thought Joe would like.

I came into town on the Monday night to be ready for Joe, and I got up early in the morning. Unfortunately the morning was drizzly.

I heard Joe on the staircase. I knew it was Joe, by his clumsy manner of coming up stairs. When at last he stopped outside our door, I could hear his finger tracing over the painted letters of my name, and I afterwards distinctly heard him breathing in at the keyhole. Finally he gave a faint single rap, and Pepper [141]– such was the name of the boy – announced “Mr. Gargery!” Joe was wiping his feet for a long time, but at last he came in.

“Joe, how are you, Joe?”

“Pip, how ARE you, Pip?”

“I am glad to see you, Joe. Give me your hat.”

But Joe was taking it up carefully with both hands, like a bird’s-nest with eggs in it.

“Oh, how you have grown,” said Joe, “and swelled, and gentle-folked!” “And you, Joe, look wonderfully well.”

“Thank God,” said Joe, “And your sister, she’s no worse than she were. And Biddy, she’s ever right and ready.”

All this time (still with both hands taking great care of the bird’s-nest), Joe was rolling his eyes round and round the room, and round and round the flowered pattern of my dressing-gown.

“And Wopsle,” said Joe, lowering his voice, “he’s left the Church and went into the playacting. [142]”

“Were you at his performance, Joe?” I inquired.

“I was,” said Joe, with emphasis.

Herbert had entered the room. So, I presented Joe to Herbert, who held out his hand; but Joe backed from it, and held on by the bird’s-nest.

“Your servant, Sir,” said Joe, “For the present it may be a very good inn, according to London opinions; but I wouldn’t keep a pig in it myself. [143]”

Joe, being invited to sit down to table, looked all round the room for a suitable spot on which to deposit his hat – and finally stood it on an extreme corner of the chimney-piece, from which it ever afterwards fell off at intervals.