"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.

CHAPTER XXIV.

AFTER two or three days, when I had
established myself in my room and had gone
backwards and forwards to London several times,
and had ordered all I wanted of my tradesmen,
Mr. Pocket and I had a long talk together. He
knew more of my intended career than I knew
myself, for he referred to his having been told
by Mr. Jaggers that I was not designed for any
profession, and that I should be well enough
educated for my destiny if I could "hold my
own" with the average of young men in
prosperous circumstances. I acquiesced, of course,
knowing nothing to the contrary.

He advised my attending certain places in
London, for the acquisition of such mere
rudiments as I wanted, and my investing him with
the functions of explainer and director of all my
studies. He hoped that with intelligent assistance
I should meet with little to discourage me,
and should soon be able to dispense with any
aid but his. Through his way of saying this,
and much more to similar purpose, he placed
himself on confidential terms with me in an
admirable manner; and I may state at once that
he was always so zealous and honourable in
fulfilling his compact with me, that he made me
zealous and honourable in fulfilling mine with
him. If he had shown indifference as a master,
I have no doubt I should have returned the
compliment as a pupil; he gave me no such
excuse, and each of us did the other justice.
Nor did I ever regard him as having anything
ludicrous about him—or anything but what was
serious, honest, and good—in his tutor
communication with me.

When these points were settled, and so far
carried out as that I had begun to work in
earnest, it occurred to me that if I could retain
my bedroom in Barnard's Inn, my life would be
agreeably varied, while my manners would be none
the worse for Herbert's society. Mr. Pocket
did not object to this arrangement, but urged
that before any step could possibly be taken in it,
it must be submitted to my guardian. I felt that
his delicacy arose out of the consideration that
the plan would save Herbert some expense, so
I went off to Little Britain and imparted my
wish to Mr. Jaggers.

"If I could buy the furniture now hired for
me," said I, "and one or two other little things,
I should be quite at home there."

"Go it!" said Mr. Jaggers, with a short
laugh. "I told you you'd get on. Well! How
much do you want?"

I said I didn't know how much.

"Come!" retorted Mr. Jaggers. "How much?
Fifty pounds?"

"Oh, not nearly so much."

"Five pounds?" said Mr. Jaggers.

This was such a great, fall that I said in
discomfiture, "Oh! more than that."

"More than that, eh?" retorted Mr. Jaggers,
lying in wait for me, with his hands in his
pockets, his head on one side, and his eyes on
the wall behind me; "how much more?"

"It is so difficult to fix a sum," said I,
hesitating.

"Come!" said Mr. Jaggers. "Let's get at
it. Twice five; will that do? Three times
five; will that do? Four times five; will that
do?"

I said I thought that would do handsomely.

"Four times five will do handsomely, will
it?" said Mr. Jaggers, knitting his brows.
"Now, what do you make of four times five?"

"What do I make of it?"

"Ah!" said Mr. Jaggers; "how much?"

"I suppose you make it twenty pounds,"
said I, smiling.

"Never mind what I make it, my friend,"
observed Mr. Jaggers, with a knowing and
contradictory toss of his head. "I want to know
what you make it."

"Twenty pounds, of course."

"Wemmick!" said Mr. Jaggers, opening his
office door. "Take Mr. Pip's written order, and
pay him twenty pounds."