Great Expectations

It was dark before we got down, and the journey seemed long and dreary

to me, who could see little of it inside, and who could not go outside

in my disabled state. Avoiding the Blue Boar, I put up at an inn of

minor reputation down the town, and ordered some dinner. While it was

preparing, I went to Satis House and inquired for Miss Havisham; she was

still very ill, though considered something better.

My inn had once been a part of an ancient ecclesiastical house, and I

dined in a little octagonal common-room, like a font. As I was not able

to cut my dinner, the old landlord with a shining bald head did it for

me. This bringing us into conversation, he was so good as to entertain

me with my own story,--of course with the popular feature that

Pumblechook was my earliest benefactor and the founder of my fortunes.

"Do you know the young man?" said I.

"Know him!" repeated the landlord. "Ever since he was--no height at

all."

"Does he ever come back to this neighborhood?"

"Ay, he comes back," said the landlord, "to his great friends, now and

again, and gives the cold shoulder to the man that made him."

"What man is that?"

"Him that I speak of," said the landlord. "Mr. Pumblechook."

"Is he ungrateful to no one else?"

"No doubt he would be, if he could," returned the landlord, "but he

can't. And why? Because Pumblechook done everything for him."

"Does Pumblechook say so?"

"Say so!" replied the landlord. "He han't no call to say so."

"But does he say so?"

"It would turn a man's blood to white wine winegar to hear him tell of

it, sir," said the landlord.

I thought, "Yet Joe, dear Joe, you never tell of it. Long-suffering and

loving Joe, you never complain. Nor you, sweet-tempered Biddy!"

"Your appetite's been touched like by your accident," said the landlord,

glancing at the bandaged arm under my coat. "Try a tenderer bit."

"No, thank you," I replied, turning from the table to brood over the

fire. "I can eat no more. Please take it away."

I had never been struck at so keenly, for my thanklessness to Joe, as

through the brazen impostor Pumblechook. The falser he, the truer Joe;

the meaner he, the nobler Joe.

My heart was deeply and most deservedly humbled as I mused over the fire

for an hour or more. The striking of the clock aroused me, but not from

my dejection or remorse, and I got up and had my coat fastened round

my neck, and went out. I had previously sought in my pockets for the

letter, that I might refer to it again; but I could not find it, and

was uneasy to think that it must have been dropped in the straw of

the coach. I knew very well, however, that the appointed place was the

little sluice-house by the limekiln on the marshes, and the hour nine.

Towards the marshes I now went straight, having no time to spare.