When I reached home, my sister was very curious to know all about Miss

Havisham's, and asked a number of questions. And I soon found myself

getting heavily bumped from behind in the nape of the neck and the small

of the back, and having my face ignominiously shoved against the kitchen

wall, because I did not answer those questions at sufficient length.

If a dread of not being understood be hidden in the breasts of other

young people to anything like the extent to which it used to be hidden

in mine,--which I consider probable, as I have no particular reason

to suspect myself of having been a monstrosity,--it is the key to many

reservations. I felt convinced that if I described Miss Havisham's as my

eyes had seen it, I should not be understood. Not only that, but I felt

convinced that Miss Havisham too would not be understood; and although

she was perfectly incomprehensible to me, I entertained an impression

that there would be something coarse and treacherous in my dragging

her as she really was (to say nothing of Miss Estella) before the

contemplation of Mrs. Joe. Consequently, I said as little as I could,

and had my face shoved against the kitchen wall.

The worst of it was that that bullying old Pumblechook, preyed upon by

a devouring curiosity to be informed of all I had seen and heard, came

gaping over in his chaise-cart at tea-time, to have the details divulged

to him. And the mere sight of the torment, with his fishy eyes and mouth

open, his sandy hair inquisitively on end, and his waistcoat heaving

with windy arithmetic, made me vicious in my reticence.

"Well, boy," Uncle Pumblechook began, as soon as he was seated in the

chair of honor by the fire. "How did you get on up town?"

I answered, "Pretty well, sir," and my sister shook her fist at me.

"Pretty well?" Mr. Pumblechook repeated. "Pretty well is no answer. Tell

us what you mean by pretty well, boy?"

Whitewash on the forehead hardens the brain into a state of obstinacy

perhaps. Anyhow, with whitewash from the wall on my forehead, my

obstinacy was adamantine. I reflected for some time, and then answered

as if I had discovered a new idea, "I mean pretty well."

My sister with an exclamation of impatience was going to fly at me,--I

had no shadow of defence, for Joe was busy in the forge,--when Mr.

Pumblechook interposed with "No! Don't lose your temper. Leave this

lad to me, ma'am; leave this lad to me." Mr. Pumblechook then turned me

towards him, as if he were going to cut my hair, and said,-"First (to get our thoughts in order): Forty-three pence?"




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