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Today we'll be continuing Great Expectations by Charles Dickens.

Chapter 22 the pale young gentleman and I stood contemplating one another in Barnard's Inn until we both burst out laughing.

The idea of it's being you said he.

The idea of it's being you said I.

And then we contemplated one another afresh and laughed again.

Well, said the pale young gentleman, reaching out his hand good humoredly.

It's all over now, I hope, and it will be magnanimous in you, if you'll forgive me for having knocked you about.

So I derived from this speech that Mr.

Herbert Pocket for Herbert was the pale young gentleman's name, still rather confounded his intention with his execution.

But I made a modest reply and we shook hands warmly.

You hadn't come into your good fortune at that time, said Herbert Pocket.

No, said I.

No, he acquiesced.

I heard it had happened very lately.

I was rather on the lookout for good fortune then.

Indeed yes.

Miss Havisham had sent for me to see if she could take a fancy to me, but she couldn't.

At all events, she didn't.

I thought it polite to remark that I was surprised to hear that.

Bad taste, said Herbert, laughing.

But a fact.

She had sent for me on a trial visit, and if I'd come out of it successfully, I suppose I should have been provided for.

Perhaps I should have been what you may be called it to Estella what's that?

Asked with sudden gravity.

He was arranging his fruit and plates while we talked, which divided his attention and was the cause of its having made the slaps of a word affianced, he explained.

Still busy with the fruit betrothed.

Engaged what's its named, any word of that sort.

How did you bear your disappointment?

I asked.

Who, said he?

I didn't care much for it.

She's a tartar, miss Havisham.

I don't say no to that.

But I mean Estella.

That girl's hard and haughty and capricious to the last degree, and has been brought up by Miss Havisham to wreak revenge on all the male sex.

What relation is she to Miss Havisham?

None, said he, only adopted.

Why should she reek revenge on all the male sex?

What revenge?

Lord, Mr.

Pip, said he.

Don't you know?

No, said I.

Dear me, it's quite a story, and shall be saved till dinner time.

And now let me take the liberty of asking you a question.

How did you come there that day?

I told him, and he was attentive until I had finished, and then burst out laughing again and asked me if I was sore afterwards.

I didn't ask him if he was, for my conviction on that point was perfectly established.

Mr.

Jaggers is your guardian, I understand, he went on.

Yes, you know he is.

Miss Havisham's man of business and solicitor, and has her confidence when nobody else has.

This was bringing me, I felt, towards dangerous ground answered with a constraint I made no attempt to disguise that I had seen Mr.

Jaggers in Miss Havisham's house on the very day of our combat, but never at any other time and that I believed he had no recollection of having ever seen me there.

He was so obliging as to suggest my father for your tutor, and he called on my father to propose it.

Of course he knew about my father from his connection with Miss Havisham.

My father's Miss Havisham's cousin, not that that implies familiar intercourse between them for he's a bad courtier and will not propitiate her.

Herbert Pocket had a frank and easy way with him that was very taking.

I had never seen anyone then, and I've never seen anyone since, who more strongly expressed to me in every look and tone a natural incapacity to do anything secret and mean.

There was something wonderfully hopeful about his general heir and something that at the same time whispered to me he would never be successful or rich.

I don't know how this was.

I became imbued with the notion on that first occasion before we sat down to dinner.

But I cannot define by what means.

He was still a pale young gentleman, and had a certain conquered linger about him in the midst of his spirits and briskness that did not seem indicative of natural strength.

He had not a handsome face, but it was better than handsome, being extremely amiable and cheerful his figure was a little ungainly as in the days when my knuckles had taken such liberties with it.

But it looked as if it would always be light and young.

Whether Mr.

TRAB's local work would have sat more gracefully on him than on me maybe a question.

But I am conscious that he carried off his rather old clothes much better than I carried off my new suit.

As he was so communicative I felt that reserve on my part would be a bad return unsuited to our years.

I therefore told him my small story and laid stress on my being forbidden to inquire who my benefactor was.

I further mentioned that as I had been brought up a blacksmith in a country place and knew very little of the ways of politeness I would take it as a great kindness in him if he would give me a hint whenever he saw me at a loss or going wrong.

With pleasure, said he though I venture to prophesy that you'll want very few hints I dare say we shall be often together and I should like to banish any needless restraint between us.

Will you do me the favor to begin at once to call me by my Christian name, Herbert?

I thanked him and said I would.

I informed him in exchange that my Christian name was Philip.

I don't take to Philip, said he smiling for it sounds like a moral boy out of the spelling book who was so lazy that he fell into a pond, or so fat that he couldn't see out of his eyes.

Or so avaricious that he locked up his cake till the mice ate it.

Or so determined to go a bird's nesting that he got himself eaten by bears who lived handy in the neighborhood.

I tell you what I should like.

We are so harmonious, and you've been a blacksmith.

Would you mind it?

I shouldn't mind anything that you propose, I answered, but I don't understand you.

Would you mind Handel for a familiar name?

There's a charming piece of music by Handel called The Harmonious Blacksmith.

I should like it very much.

Then, my dear Handel, said he, turning round as the door opened.

Here's the dinner, and I must beg of you to take the top of the table because the dinner is of your providing.

This I would not hear of.

So he took the top, and I faced him.

It was a nice little dinner, seemed to me then a very lord mayor's feast and it acquired additional relish from being eaten under those independent circumstances with no old people by and with London all around us.

This again was heightened by a certain gypsy character that set the banquet off.

For while the table was, as Mr Pumblechuk might have said, the lap of luxury being entirely furnished forth from the coffee house, the circumjacent region of sitting room was of a comparatively pastureless and shifty character, imposing on the waiter.

The wandering habits of putting the covers on the floor where he fell over them, the melted butter in the armchair, the bread on the bookshelves, the cheese in the coal scuttle and the boiled fowl into my bed in the next room, where I found much of its parsley and butter in a state of conjulation.

When I retired for the night, all this made the feast delightful, and when the waiter was not there to watch me, my pleasure was without alloy.

We had made some progress in the dinner when I reminded Herbert of his promise to tell me about Miss Havisham.

True, he replied, I'll redeem it at once.

Let me introduce the topic handle by mentioning that in London it is not the custom to put the knife in the mouth for fear of accidents, and that while the fork is reserved for that use, it is not put further in than necessary.

It is scarcely worth mentioning only it's as well to do as other people do.

Also, the spoon is not generally used overhand, but under.

This has two advantages.

You get at your mouth better, which, after all, is the object, and you save a good deal of the attitude of opening oysters on the part of the right elbow.

He offered these friendly suggestions in such a lively way that we both laughed, and I scarcely blushed.

Now he pursued concerning Miss Havisham.

Miss Havisham, you must know, was a spoiled child.

Her mother died when she was a baby and her father denied her nothing.

Her father was a country gentleman down in your part of the world and was a brewer.

I don't know why it should be a crack thing to be a brewer, but it is indisputable that while you cannot possibly be genteel and bake, you may be as genteel as never was and brew you see it every day.

Yet a gentleman may not keep a public house.

May.

He said I Not on any account, returned Herbert, but a public house may keep a gentleman.

While Mr.

Havisham was very rich and very proud, so was his daughter.

Miss Havisham was an only child, I hazarded.

Stop a moment.

I'm coming to that.

No, she was not an only child.

She had a half brother.

Her father privately married again his cook, I rather think.

I thought he was proud, said I, my good handle.

So he was.

He married his second wife privately because he was proud.

And, of course, in time she died.

When she was dead, I apprehended.

He first told his daughter what he had done, and then the son became a part of the family residing in the house you're acquainted with.

As the son grew a young man, he turned out riotous, extravagant, undutiful, altogether bad.

At last his father disinherited him, but he softened when he was dying and left him well off, though not nearly so well off as Miss Havisham.

Take another glass, of wine.

And excuse my mentioning that society as a body, does not expect one to be so strictly conscientious in emptying one's glass as to turn it bottom upwards with the rim on one's nose.

I'd been doing this in an excess of attention to his recital.

I thanked him and apologized.

He said not at all, and resumed.

Miss Havisham was now an heiress and you may suppose, was looked after as a great match.

Her half brother had now ample means again but what with debts and what with new madness wasted them most fearfully.

Again, there were stronger differences between him and her than there had been between him and his father and it suspected that he cherished a deep and mortal grudge against her as having influenced the father's anger.

Now I come to the cruel part of the story merely breaking off my dear handle to remark that a dinner napkin will not go into a tumbler.

Why I was trying to pack mine into my tumbler I'm wholly unable to say.

I only know that I found myself with perseverance worthy of a much better cause, making the most strenuous exertions to compress it within those limits.

Again I thanked him and apologized and again he said in the cheerfulest manner, not at all, I'm sure, and resumed.

There appeared upon the scene, say at the races, or the public balls or anywhere else you like a certain man who made love to Miss Havisham.

I never saw him, for this happened five and 20 years ago, before you and I were handle.

But I've heard my father mention that he was a showy man and the kind of man for the purpose but that he was not to be without ignorance or prejudice mistaken for a gentleman.

My father most strongly aservates because it is a principle of his that no man who was not a true gentleman at heart ever was since the world began.

A true gentleman in manner.

He says no varnish can hide the grain of the wood and that the more varnish you put on, the more grain will express itself.

While this man pursued Miss Havisham closely and professed to be devoted to her, I believe she'd not shown much susceptibility up to that time but all the susceptibility she possessed certainly came out then.

And she passionately loved him.

There is no doubt that she perfectly idolized him.

He practiced on her affection in that systematic way that he got great sums of money from her and he induced her to buy her brother out of a share in the brewery which had been weakly left him by his father at an immense price on the plea that when he was her husband, he must hold and manage it all.

Your guardian was not at that time in Miss Havisham's councils and she was too haughty and too much in love to be advised by anyone.

Her relations were poor in Scheming, with the exception of my father.

He was poor enough, but not time serving or jealous, the only independent one among them.

He warned her that she was doing too much for this man and was placing herself too unreservedly in his power.

She took the first opportunity of angrily ordering my father out of the house in his presence and my father had never seen her since.

I thought of her having said, Matthew, will you come and see me at last?

When I'm laid dead upon that table and I asked Herbert whether his father was so inveterate against her.

It's not that, said he, but she charged him in the presence of her intended husband with being disappointed in the hope of fawning upon her for his own advancement.

And if he were to go to her now, it would look true even to him and even to her, to return to the man and make an end of him.

The marriage day was fixed, the wedding dresses were bought, the wedding tour was planned out, the wedding guests were invited.

The day came, but not the bridegroom.

He wrote her a letter which she received.

I struck in when she was dressing for her marriage at 20 minutes to nine at the hour and minute, said Herbert, nodding, at which she afterwards stopped all the clocks.

What was in it?

Further than that it most heartlessly broke the marriage off, I can't tell you, because I don't know.

When she recovered from a bad illness that she had, she laid the whole place waste, as you've seen it, and she has never since looked upon the light of day.

Is that all the story?

I asked, after considering it?

All I know of it, and indeed I only know so much through piecing it out for myself, for my father always avoids it and even when Miss Havisham invited me to go there, told me no more of it than it was absolutely requisite, I should understand.

But I've forgotten one thing.

It has been supposed that the man to whom she gave her misplaced confidence acted throughout in concert with her half brother, that it was a conspiracy between them and that they shared the profits.

I wonder he didn't marry her and get all the property, said I.

He may have been married already, and her cruel mortification may have been a part of her half brother's scheme, said Herbert mind.

I don't know that.

What became of the two men I asked after, again considering the subject?

They fell into deeper shame and degradation.

If there can be deeper and ruin.

Are they alive now?

I don't know.

You said just now that Estella was not related to Miss Havisham, but adopted when adopted.

Herbert shrugged his shoulders.

There has always been an Estella since I've heard of a Miss Havisham.

I know no more.

And now, Handle, said he, finally throwing off the story, as it were, there's a perfectly open understanding between us all that I know about Miss Havisham, you know, and all that.

I know, I retorted.

You know, I fully believe it.

So there can be no competition or perplexity between you and me.

And as to the condition on which you hold your advancement in life, namely, that you are not to inquire or discuss to whom you owe it, you may be very sure that it will never be encroached upon or even approached by me or by anyone belonging to me.

In truth, he said this with so much delicacy that I felt the subject done with, even though I should be under his father's roof for years and years to come.

Yet he said it with so much meaning too, that I felt he has perfectly understood Miss Havisham to be my benefactress, as I understood the fact myself.

It had not occurred to me before that he had led up to the theme for the purpose of clearing it out of our way but we were so much the lighter and easier for having broached it that I now perceive this to be the case.

We were very gay and sociable, and I asked him in the course of conversation what he was.

He replied, a capitalist, an insurer of ships, I suppose.

He saw me glancing about the room in search of some tokens of shipping or capital.

For, he added, in the city.

I had grand ideas of the wealth and importance of insurers of ships in the city, and I began to think with awe of having laid a young insurer on his back, blackened his enterprising eye, and cut his responsible head open.

But again there came upon me for my relief that odd impression that Herbert Pocket would never be successful or rich.

I shall not rest satisfied with merely employing my capital and insuring ships.

I shall buy up some good life assurance shares and cut into the direction.

I shall also do a little in the mining way.

None of these things will interfere with my chartering.

A few thousand tons on my own account.

I think I shall trade, said he, leaning back in his chair, to the East Indies for silks, shawls, spices, dyes, drugs and precious woods.

It's an interesting trade, and the profits are large, said I.

Tremendous, said he.

I wavered again, and began to think here were greater expectations than my own.

I think I shall trade also, said he, putting his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets.

To the West Indies for sugar, tobacco and rum, also to selin, especially for elephants tusks.

You'll want a good many ships, said I.

A perfect fleet, said he, quite overpowered by the magnificence of these transactions.

I asked him where the ships he insured mostly traded to at present.

I haven't begun insuring yet, he replied.

I'm looking about me.

Somehow that pursuit seemed more in keeping with Barnard's Inn, I said in a tone of conviction, ah, yes, I'm in a counting house, and looking about me.

Is a counting house profitable?

I asked to.

Do you mean to the young fellow who's in it?

He asked in reply.

Yes, to you?

Why, no, not to me.

He'd said this with the air of one carefully reckoning up and striking a balance.

Not directly profitable, that is, it doesn't pay me anything, and I have to keep myself.

This certainly had not a profitable appearance, and I shook my head as if I would imply that it would be difficult to lay by much accumulative capital from such a source of income.

But the thing is, said Herbert Pocket, that you look about you.

That's the grand thing.

You are an accounting house, you know, and you look about you.

It struck me as a singular implication that you couldn't be out of accounting house, you know, and look about you.

But I silently deferred to his experience.

Then the time comes, said Herbert, when you see your opening, and then you go in and you swoop upon it and you make your capital.

And then there you are.

When you have once made your capital, you have nothing to do but employ it.

This was very like his way of conducting that encounter in the garden.

Very like his manner of bearing.

His poverty, too, exactly corresponded to his manner of bearing that defeat.

It seemed to me that he took all blows and buffets now with just the same error as he had taken mine.

Then it was evident that he had nothing around him but the simplest necessaries.

For everything that I remarked upon turned out to have been sent in on my account from the coffee house or somewhere else.

Yet, having already made his fortune in his own mind, he was so unassuming with it that I felt quite grateful to him for not being puffed up.

It was a pleasant addition to his naturally pleasant ways.

And we got on famously.

In the evening we went out for a walk in the streets and went half price to the theater.

And the next day we went to church at Westminster Abbey, and in the afternoon we walked in the parks, and I wondered who shot all the horses there and wished Joe did on a moderate computation.

It was many months that Sunday since I had left Joe and biddy the space interposed between myself and them partook of that expansion, and our marshes were any distance off that I could have been at our old church.

And my old church going clothes on the very last Sunday that ever was, seemed a combination of impossibilities geographical and social, solar and lunar.

Yet in the London streets so crowded with people and so brilliantly lighted in the dusk of evening, there were depressing hints of reproaches.

For that I had put the poor old kitchen at home so far away and in the dead of night, the footsteps of some incapable impostor of a porter mooning about Barnard's Inn, under pretense of watching it fell hollow on my heart.

On the Monday morning, at a quarter before nine, herbert went to the counting house to report himself to look about him too, I suppose, and I bore him company.

He was to come away in an hour or two to attend me to Hammersmith, and I was to wait about for him.

It appeared to me that the eggs from which young insurers were hatched were incubated in dust and heat, like the eggs of Ostriches, judging from the places to which those incipient giants repaired on Monday morning.

Nor did the counting house where Herbert assisted show in my eyes as at all a good observatory, making a back second floor up a yard of a grimy presence in all particulars, and with a look to another back second floor rather than a lookout.

I waited about until it was noon, and I went upon change and I saw fluy men sitting there under the bills about shipping, whom I took to be great merchants, though I couldn't understand why they should all be out of spirits.

When Herbert came, we went and had lunch at a celebrated house, which I then quite venerated, but now believed to have been the most abject superstition in Europe.

And where I could not help noticing even then that there was much more gravy on the tablecloths and knives and waiters'clothes than in the steaks.

This Collation disposed of at a moderate price, considering the grease, which was not charged for.

We went back to Barnard's Inn and got my little portmanteau and then took a coach for Hammersmith.

We arrived there at two or 03:00 in the afternoon and had very little way to walk to Mr.

Pocket's house.

Lifting the latch of a gate, we passed directly into a little garden overlooking the river where Mr.

Pocket's children were playing about.

And unless I deceived myself on a point where my interest or prepossessions are certainly not concerned, I saw that Mr.

And Mrs.

Pocket's children were not growing up or being brought up, but were tumbling up.

Mrs.

Pocket was sitting on a garden chair under a tree, reading with her legs upon another garden chair and Mrs.

Pocket's two nursemaids were looking about them while the children played.

Mama, said, Herbert, this is young Mr.

Pip.

Upon which Mrs.

Pocket received me with an appearance of amiable dignity.

Master Alec and Miss Jane.

Cried one of the nurses to two of the children, if you go a bouncing up against them bushes, you'll fall over into the river and be drowned and what do your paws say?

At the same time this nurse picked up Mrs.

Pocket's handkerchief and said if that don't make six times you've dropped it, mum.

Upon which Mrs.

Pocket laughed and said thank you, flopsen and settling herself in one chair only resumed her book.

Her countenance immediately assumed a knitted and intent expression, as if she had been reading for a week, but before she could have read half a dozen lines, she fixed her eyes upon me and said, I hope your mama is quite well.

This unexpected inquiry put me into such a difficulty that I began saying in the absurdest way that if there had been any such person, I had no doubt she would have been quite well, and would have been very much obliged, and would have sent her compliments when the nurse came to my rescue.

Well?

She cried, picking up the Pocket handkerchief, if that don't make seven times, what are you doing of this afternoon, Mum?

Mrs.

Pocket received her property at first with a look of unutterable surprise, as if she had never seen it before, and then with a laugh of recognition, and said, thank you, Flopsen, and forgot me, and went on reading.

I found now I had leisure to count them, that there were no fewer than six little pockets present in various stages of tumbling up.

I had scarcely arrived at the total when a 7th was heard, as in the region of air wailing.

Dolefully if there ain't baby, said Flopson, appearing to think it most surprising.

Make haste up, Millers.

Millers, who was the other nurse, retired into the house, and by degrees the child's wailing was hushed and stopped, as if it were a young ventriloquist with something in its mouth.

Mrs pocket read all the time, and I was curious to know what the book could be.

We were waiting, I supposed, for Mr.

Pocket to come out to us.

At any rate, we waited there.

And so I had an opportunity of observing the remarkable family phenomenon that whenever any of the children strayed near Mrs.

Pocket in their play, they always tripped themselves up and tumbled over her, always very much to her momentary astonishment and their own more enduring lamentation.

I was at a loss to account for the surprising circumstance, and could not help giving my mind to speculations about it, until by and by Miller's came down with the baby.

Which baby was handed to Flopson.

Which Flopson was handing it to Mrs.

Pocket, when she, too went fairly head foremost over Mrs.

Pocket baby and all, and was caught by Herbert and myself.

Gracious me, Flopson, said Mrs.

Pocket, looking off her book for a moment.

Everybody's tumbling.

Gracious you, indeed, mum, returned Flopson, very red in the face.

What have you got there?

I got here, Flopson?

Asked Mrs.

Pocket.

Why, if it ain't your footstool.

Cried Flopson, and if you keep it under your skirts like that, who's to help?

Tumbling?

Here, take the baby, mum, and give me your book.

Mrs.

Pocket acted on the advice, and inexpertly danced the infant a little in her lap, while the other children played about it.

This had lasted but a very short time, when Mrs.

Pocket issued summary orders that they were all to be taken into the house for a nap.

Thus I made the.

Second discovery on that first occasion that the nurture of the little pockets consisted of alternately tumbling up and lying down.

Under these circumstances, when Flopson and Millers had got the children into the house like a little flock of sheep and Mr.

Pocket came out of it to make my acquaintance, I was not much surprised to find that Mr.

Pocket was a gentleman with a rather perplexed expression of face and with his very gray hair disordered on his head, as if he didn't quite see his way to putting anything straight.

Thank you for joining Bite at a Time Books today while we read a bite of one of your favorite classics.

Again, my name is Brie Carlyle and I hope you come back tomorrow for the next bite of Great Expectations.

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