"Here's Mike," said the clerk, getting down from his stool, and

approaching Mr. Jaggers confidentially.

"Oh!" said Mr. Jaggers, turning to the man, who was pulling a lock

of hair in the middle of his forehead, like the Bull in Cock Robin

pulling at the bell-rope; "your man comes on this afternoon. Well?"

"Well, Mas'r Jaggers," returned Mike, in the voice of a sufferer

from a constitutional cold; "arter a deal o' trouble, I've found

one, sir, as might do."

"What is he prepared to swear?"

"Well, Mas'r Jaggers," said Mike, wiping his nose on his fur cap

this time; "in a general way, anythink."

Mr. Jaggers suddenly became most irate. "Now, I warned you before,"

said he, throwing his forefinger at the terrified client, "that if

you ever presumed to talk in that way here, I'd make an example of

you. You infernal scoundrel, how dare you tell ME that?"

The client looked scared, but bewildered too, as if he were

unconscious what he had done.

"Spooney!" said the clerk, in a low voice, giving him a stir with

his elbow. "Soft Head! Need you say it face to face?"

"Now, I ask you, you blundering booby," said my guardian, very

sternly, "once more and for the last time, what the man you have

brought here is prepared to swear?"

Mike looked hard at my guardian, as if he were trying to learn a

lesson from his face, and slowly replied, "Ayther to character, or

to having been in his company and never left him all the night in

question."

"Now, be careful. In what station of life is this man?"

Mike looked at his cap, and looked at the floor, and looked at the

ceiling, and looked at the clerk, and even looked at me, before

beginning to reply in a nervous manner, "We've dressed him up

like--" when my guardian blustered out:

"What? You WILL, will you?"

("Spooney!" added the clerk again, with another stir.)

After some helpless casting about, Mike brightened and began again:

"He is dressed like a 'spectable pieman. A sort of a pastry-cook."

"Is he here?" asked my guardian.

"I left him," said Mike, "a settin on some doorsteps round the

corner."

"Take him past that window, and let me see him."

The window indicated, was the office window. We all three went to

it, behind the wire blind, and presently saw the client go by in an

accidental manner, with a murderous-looking tall individual, in a

short suit of white linen and a paper cap. This guileless

confectioner was not by any means sober, and had a black eye in the

green stage of recovery, which was painted over.

"Tell him to take his witness away directly," said my guardian to

the clerk, in extreme disgust, "and ask him what he means by

bringing such a fellow as that."

My guardian then took me into his own room, and while he lunched,

standing, from a sandwich-box and a pocket flask of sherry (he

seemed to bully his very sandwich as he ate it), informed me what

arrangements he had made for me. I was to go to "Barnard's Inn," to

young Mr. Pocket's rooms, where a bed had been sent in for my

accommodation; I was to remain with young Mr. Pocket until Monday;

on Monday I was to go with him to his father's house on a visit,

that I might try how I liked it. Also, I was told what my allowance

was to be - it was a very liberal one - and had handed to me from

one of my guardian's drawers, the cards of certain tradesmen with

whom I was to deal for all kinds of clothes, and such other things

as I could in reason want. "You will find your credit good, Mr.

Pip," said my guardian, whose flask of sherry smelt like a whole

cask-full, as he hastily refreshed himself, "but I shall by this

means be able to check your bills, and to pull you up if I find you

outrunning the constable. Of course you'll go wrong somehow, but

that's no fault of mine."

After I had pondered a little over this encouraging sentiment, I

asked Mr. Jaggers if I could send for a coach? He said it was not

worth while, I was so near my destination; Wemmick should walk

round with me, if I pleased.