Great Expectations by Charles Dickens (best ereader under 100 TXT) 📖

of a

domestic affliction. It was, in effect, that the cook had mislaid

the beef. To my unutterable amazement, I now, for the first time,

saw Mr. Pocket relieve his mind by going through a performance that

struck me as very extraordinary, but which made no impression on

anybody else, and with which I soon became as familiar as the rest.

He laid down the carving-knife and fork,—being engaged in carving,

at the moment,—put his two hands into his disturbed hair, and

appeared to make an extraordinary effort to lift himself up by it.

When he had done this, and had not lifted himself up at all, he

quietly went on with what he was about.

Mrs. Coiler then changed the subject and began to flatter me. I

liked it for a few moments, but she flattered me so very grossly

that the pleasure was soon over. She had a serpentine way of coming

close at me when she pretended to be vitally interested in the

friends and localities I had left, which was altogether snaky and

fork-tongued; and when she made an occasional bounce upon Startop

(who said very little to her), or upon Drummle (who said less), I

rather envied them for being on the opposite side of the table.

After dinner the children were introduced, and Mrs. Coiler made

admiring comments on their eyes, noses, and legs,—a sagacious way

of improving their minds. There were four little girls, and two

little boys, besides the baby who might have been either, and the

baby’s next successor who was as yet neither. They were brought in

by Flopson and Millers, much as though those two non-commissioned

officers had been recruiting somewhere for children and had

enlisted these, while Mrs. Pocket looked at the young Nobles that

ought to have been as if she rather thought she had had the

pleasure of inspecting them before, but didn’t quite know what to

make of them.

“Here! Give me your fork, Mum, and take the baby,” said Flopson.

“Don’t take it that way, or you’ll get its head under the table.”

Thus advised, Mrs. Pocket took it the other way, and got its head

upon the table; which was announced to all present by a prodigious

concussion.

“Dear, dear! Give it me back, Mum,” said Flopson; “and Miss Jane,

come and dance to baby, do!”

One of the little girls, a mere mite who seemed to have prematurely

taken upon herself some charge of the others, stepped out of her

place by me, and danced to and from the baby until it left off

crying, and laughed. Then, all the children laughed, and Mr. Pocket

(who in the meantime had twice endeavored to lift himself up by

the hair) laughed, and we all laughed and were glad.

Flopson, by dint of doubling the baby at the joints like a Dutch

doll, then got it safely into Mrs. Pocket’s lap, and gave it the

nut-crackers to play with; at the same time recommending Mrs. Pocket

to take notice that the handles of that instrument were not likely

to agree with its eyes, and sharply charging Miss Jane to look

after the same. Then, the two nurses left the room, and had a

lively scuffle on the staircase with a dissipated page who had

waited at dinner, and who had clearly lost half his buttons at the

gaming-table.

I was made very uneasy in my mind by Mrs. Pocket’s falling into a

discussion with Drummle respecting two baronetcies, while she ate a

sliced orange steeped in sugar and wine, and, forgetting all about

the baby on her lap, who did most appalling things with the

nut-crackers. At length little Jane, perceiving its young brains to

be imperilled, softly left her place, and with many small artifices

coaxed the dangerous weapon away. Mrs. Pocket finishing her orange

at about the same time, and not approving of this, said to Jane,—

“You naughty child, how dare you? Go and sit down this instant!”

“Mamma dear,” lisped the little girl, “baby ood have put hith eyeth

out.”

“How dare you tell me so?” retorted Mrs. Pocket. “Go and sit down in

your chair this moment!”

Mrs. Pocket’s dignity was so crushing, that I felt quite abashed, as

if I myself had done something to rouse it.

“Belinda,” remonstrated Mr. Pocket, from the other end of the table,

“how can you be so unreasonable? Jane only interfered for the

protection of baby.”

“I will not allow anybody to interfere,” said Mrs. Pocket. “I am

surprised, Matthew, that you should expose me to the affront of

interference.”

“Good God!” cried Mr. Pocket, in an outbreak of desolate

desperation. “Are infants to be nut-crackered into their tombs, and

is nobody to save them?”

“I will not be interfered with by Jane,” said Mrs. Pocket, with a

majestic glance at that innocent little offender. “I hope I know my

poor grandpapa’s position. Jane, indeed!”

Mr. Pocket got his hands in his hair again, and this time really did

lift himself some inches out of his chair. “Hear this!” he

helplessly exclaimed to the elements. “Babies are to be

nut-crackered dead, for people’s poor grandpapa’s positions!” Then

he let himself down again, and became silent.

We all looked awkwardly at the tablecloth while this was going on.

A pause succeeded, during which the honest and irrepressible baby

made a series of leaps and crows at little Jane, who appeared to me

to be the only member of the family (irrespective of servants) with

whom it had any decided acquaintance.

“Mr. Drummle,” said Mrs. Pocket, “will you ring for Flopson? Jane,

you undutiful little thing, go and lie down. Now, baby darling,

come with ma!”

The baby was the soul of honor, and protested with all its might.

It doubled itself up the wrong way over Mrs. Pocket’s arm, exhibited

a pair of knitted shoes and dimpled ankles to the company in lieu

of its soft face, and was carried out in the highest state of

mutiny. And it gained its point after all, for I saw it through the

window within a few minutes, being nursed by little Jane.

It happened that the other five children were left behind at the

dinner-table, through Flopson’s having some private engagement, and

their not being anybody else’s business. I thus became aware of the

mutual relations between them and Mr. Pocket, which were exemplified

in the following manner. Mr. Pocket, with the normal perplexity of

his face heightened and his hair rumpled, looked at them for some

minutes, as if he couldn’t make out how they came to be boarding

and lodging in that establishment, and why they hadn’t been

billeted by Nature on somebody else. Then, in a distant Missionary

way he asked them certain questions,—as why little Joe had that

hole in his frill, who said, Pa, Flopson was going to mend it when

she had time,—and how little Fanny came by that whitlow, who said,

Pa, Millers was going to poultice it when she didn’t forget. Then,

he melted into parental tenderness, and gave them a shilling apiece

and told them to go and play; and then as they went out, with one

very strong effort to lift himself up by the hair he dismissed the

hopeless subject.

In the evening there was rowing on the river. As Drummle and

Startop had each a boat, I resolved to set up mine, and to cut them

both out. I was pretty good at most exercises in which country boys

are adepts, but as I was conscious of wanting elegance of style

for the Thames,—not to say for other waters,—I at once engaged to

place myself under the tuition of the winner of a prize-wherry who

plied at our stairs, and to whom I was introduced by my new allies.

This practical authority confused me very much by saying I had the

arm of a blacksmith. If he could have known how nearly the

compliment lost him his pupil, I doubt if he would have paid it.

There was a supper-tray after we got home at night, and I think we

should all have enjoyed ourselves, but for a rather disagreeable

domestic occurrence. Mr. Pocket was in good spirits, when a

housemaid came in, and said, “If you please, sir, I should wish to

speak to you.”

“Speak to your master?” said Mrs. Pocket, whose dignity was roused

again. “How can you think of such a thing? Go and speak to Flopson.

Or speak to me—at some other time.”

“Begging your pardon, ma’am,” returned the housemaid, “I should

wish to speak at once, and to speak to master.”

Hereupon, Mr. Pocket went out of the room, and we made the best of

ourselves until he came back.

“This is a pretty thing, Belinda!” said Mr. Pocket, returning with a

countenance expressive of grief and despair. “Here’s the cook lying

insensibly drunk on the kitchen floor, with a large bundle of fresh

butter made up in the cupboard ready to sell for grease!”

Mrs. Pocket instantly showed much amiable emotion, and said, “This

is that odious Sophia’s doing!”

“What do you mean, Belinda?” demanded Mr. Pocket.

“Sophia has told you,” said Mrs. Pocket. “Did I not see her with my

own eyes and hear her with my own ears, come into the room just now

and ask to speak to you?”

“But has she not taken me down stairs, Belinda,” returned Mr.

Pocket, “and shown me the woman, and the bundle too?”

“And do you defend her, Matthew,” said Mrs. Pocket, “for making

mischief?”

Mr. Pocket uttered a dismal groan.

“Am I, grandpapa’s granddaughter, to be nothing in the house?” said

Mrs. Pocket. “Besides, the cook has always been a very nice

respectful woman, and said in the most natural manner when she came

to look after the situation, that she felt I was born to be a

Duchess.”

There was a sofa where Mr. Pocket stood, and he dropped upon it in

the attitude of the Dying Gladiator. Still in that attitude he

said, with a hollow voice, “Good night, Mr. Pip,” when I deemed it

advisable to go to bed and leave him.