Great Expectations

"Only neither of us is," I remarked.

"Yah!" said Wemmick, touching me on the breast with his forefinger;

"you're a deep one, Mr. Pip! Would you like to have a look at Newgate?

Have you time to spare?"

I had so much time to spare, that the proposal came as a relief,

notwithstanding its irreconcilability with my latent desire to keep my

eye on the coach-office. Muttering that I would make the inquiry whether

I had time to walk with him, I went into the office, and ascertained

from the clerk with the nicest precision and much to the trying of his

temper, the earliest moment at which the coach could be expected,--which

I knew beforehand, quite as well as he. I then rejoined Mr. Wemmick, and

affecting to consult my watch, and to be surprised by the information I

had received, accepted his offer.

We were at Newgate in a few minutes, and we passed through the lodge

where some fetters were hanging up on the bare walls among the prison

rules, into the interior of the jail. At that time jails were much

neglected, and the period of exaggerated reaction consequent on

all public wrongdoing--and which is always its heaviest and longest

punishment--was still far off. So felons were not lodged and fed better

than soldiers, (to say nothing of paupers,) and seldom set fire to their

prisons with the excusable object of improving the flavor of their soup.

It was visiting time when Wemmick took me in, and a potman was going his

rounds with beer; and the prisoners, behind bars in yards, were buying

beer, and talking to friends; and a frowzy, ugly, disorderly, depressing

scene it was.

It struck me that Wemmick walked among the prisoners much as a gardener

might walk among his plants. This was first put into my head by his

seeing a shoot that had come up in the night, and saying, "What, Captain

Tom? Are you there? Ah, indeed!" and also, "Is that Black Bill behind

the cistern? Why I didn't look for you these two months; how do you find

yourself?" Equally in his stopping at the bars and attending to

anxious whisperers,--always singly,--Wemmick with his post-office in

an immovable state, looked at them while in conference, as if he were

taking particular notice of the advance they had made, since last

observed, towards coming out in full blow at their trial.

He was highly popular, and I found that he took the familiar department

of Mr. Jaggers's business; though something of the state of Mr. Jaggers

hung about him too, forbidding approach beyond certain limits. His

personal recognition of each successive client was comprised in a nod,

and in his settling his hat a little easier on his head with both

hands, and then tightening the post-office, and putting his hands in his

pockets. In one or two instances there was a difficulty respecting the

raising of fees, and then Mr. Wemmick, backing as far as possible from

the insufficient money produced, said, "it's no use, my boy. I'm only

a subordinate. I can't take it. Don't go on in that way with a

subordinate. If you are unable to make up your quantum, my boy, you had

better address yourself to a principal; there are plenty of principals

in the profession, you know, and what is not worth the while of one, may

be worth the while of another; that's my recommendation to you, speaking

as a subordinate. Don't try on useless measures. Why should you? Now,

who's next?"