Great Expectations

I have reason to think that Joe's intellects were brightened by the

encounter they had passed through, and that on our way to Pumblechook's

he invented a subtle and deep design. My reason is to be found in

what took place in Mr. Pumblechook's parlor: where, on our presenting

ourselves, my sister sat in conference with that detested seedsman.

"Well?" cried my sister, addressing us both at once. "And what's

happened to you? I wonder you condescend to come back to such poor

society as this, I am sure I do!"

"Miss Havisham," said Joe, with a fixed look at me, like an effort of

remembrance, "made it wery partick'ler that we should give her--were it

compliments or respects, Pip?"

"Compliments," I said.

"Which that were my own belief," answered Joe; "her compliments to Mrs.

J. Gargery--"

"Much good they'll do me!" observed my sister; but rather gratified too.

"And wishing," pursued Joe, with another fixed look at me, like another

effort of remembrance, "that the state of Miss Havisham's elth were

sitch as would have--allowed, were it, Pip?"

"Of her having the pleasure," I added.

"Of ladies' company," said Joe. And drew a long breath.

"Well!" cried my sister, with a mollified glance at Mr. Pumblechook.

"She might have had the politeness to send that message at first, but

it's better late than never. And what did she give young Rantipole

here?"

"She giv' him," said Joe, "nothing."

Mrs. Joe was going to break out, but Joe went on.

"What she giv'," said Joe, "she giv' to his friends. 'And by his

friends,' were her explanation, 'I mean into the hands of his sister

Mrs. J. Gargery.' Them were her words; 'Mrs. J. Gargery.' She mayn't

have know'd," added Joe, with an appearance of reflection, "whether it

were Joe, or Jorge."

My sister looked at Pumblechook: who smoothed the elbows of his wooden

arm-chair, and nodded at her and at the fire, as if he had known all

about it beforehand.

"And how much have you got?" asked my sister, laughing. Positively

laughing!

"What would present company say to ten pound?" demanded Joe.

"They'd say," returned my sister, curtly, "pretty well. Not too much,

but pretty well."

"It's more than that, then," said Joe.

That fearful Impostor, Pumblechook, immediately nodded, and said, as he

rubbed the arms of his chair, "It's more than that, Mum."