Chapter 23

Mr. Pocket said he was glad to see me, and he hoped I was not sorry to
see him. "For, I really am not," he added, with his son’s smile, "an alarming
personage." He was a young-looking man, in spite of his perplexities and his
very gray hair, and his manner seemed quite natural. I use the word natural, in
the sense of its being unaffected; there was something comic in his distraught
way, as though it would have been downright ludicrous but for his own perception
that it was very near being so. When he had talked with me a little, he said to
Mrs. Pocket, with a rather anxious contraction of his eyebrows, which were black
and handsome, "Belinda, I hope you have welcomed Mr. Pip?" And she looked up
from her book, and said, "Yes." She then smiled upon me in an absent state of
mind, and asked me if I liked the taste of orange-flower water? As the question
had no bearing, near or remote, on any foregone or subsequent transaction, I
consider it to have been thrown out, like her previous approaches, in general
conversational condescension.

I found out within a few hours, and may mention at once, that Mrs. Pocket was
the only daughter of a certain quite accidental deceased Knight, who had
invented for himself a conviction that his deceased father would have been made
a Baronet but for somebody’s determined opposition arising out of entirely
personal motives,—I forget whose, if I ever knew,—the Sovereign’s, the Prime
Minister’s, the Lord Chancellor’s, the Archbishop of Canterbury’s,
anybody’s,—and had tacked himself on to the nobles of the earth in right of this
quite supposititious fact. I believe he had been knighted himself for storming
the English grammar at the point of the pen, in a desperate address engrossed on
vellum, on the occasion of the laying of the first stone of some building or
other, and for handing some Royal Personage either the trowel or the mortar. Be
that as it may, he had directed Mrs. Pocket to be brought up from her cradle as
one who in the nature of things must marry a title, and who was to be guarded
from the acquisition of plebeian domestic knowledge.

So successful a watch and ward had been established over the young lady by this
judicious parent, that she had grown up highly ornamental, but perfectly
helpless and useless. With her character thus happily formed, in the first bloom
of her youth she had encountered Mr. Pocket: who was also in the first bloom of
youth, and not quite decided whether to mount to the Woolsack, or to roof
himself in with a mitre. As his doing the one or the other was a mere question
of time, he and Mrs. Pocket had taken Time by the forelock (when, to judge from
its length, it would seem to have wanted cutting), and had married without the
knowledge of the judicious parent. The judicious parent, having nothing to
bestow or withhold but his blessing, had handsomely settled that dower upon them
after a short struggle, and had informed Mr. Pocket that his wife was "a
treasure for a Prince." Mr. Pocket had invested the Prince’s treasure in the
ways of the world ever since, and it was supposed to have brought him in but
indifferent interest. Still, Mrs. Pocket was in general the object of a queer
sort of respectful pity, because she had not married a title; while Mr. Pocket
was the object of a queer sort of forgiving reproach, because he had never got
one.

Mr. Pocket took me into the house and showed me my room: which was a pleasant
one, and so furnished as that I could use it with comfort for my own private
sitting-room. He then knocked at the doors of two other similar rooms, and
introduced me to their occupants, by name Drummle and Startop. Drummle, an
old-looking young man of a heavy order of architecture, was whistling. Startop,
younger in years and appearance, was reading and holding his head, as if he
thought himself in danger of exploding it with too strong a charge of knowledge.

Both Mr. and Mrs. Pocket had such a noticeable air of being in somebody else’s
hands, that I wondered who really was in possession of the house and let them
live there, until I found this unknown power to be the servants. It was a smooth
way of going on, perhaps, in respect of saving trouble; but it had the
appearance of being expensive, for the servants felt it a duty they owed to
themselves to be nice in their eating and drinking, and to keep a deal of
company down stairs. They allowed a very liberal table to Mr. and Mrs. Pocket,
yet it always appeared to me that by far the best part of the house to have
boarded in would have been the kitchen,—always supposing the boarder capable of
self-defence, for, before I had been there a week, a neighboring lady with whom
the family were personally unacquainted, wrote in to say that she had seen
Millers slapping the baby. This greatly distressed Mrs. Pocket, who burst into
tears on receiving the note, and said that it was an extraordinary thing that
the neighbors couldn’t mind their own business.

By degrees I learnt, and chiefly from Herbert, that Mr. Pocket had been educated
at Harrow and at Cambridge, where he had distinguished himself; but that when he
had had the happiness of marrying Mrs. Pocket very early in life, he had
impaired his prospects and taken up the calling of a Grinder. After grinding a
number of dull blades,—of whom it was remarkable that their fathers, when
influential, were always going to help him to preferment, but always forgot to
do it when the blades had left the Grindstone,—he had wearied of that poor work
and had come to London. Here, after gradually failing in loftier hopes, he had
"read" with divers who had lacked opportunities or neglected them, and had
refurbished divers others for special occasions, and had turned his acquirements
to the account of literary compilation and correction, and on such means, added
to some very moderate private resources, still maintained the house I saw.

Mr. and Mrs. Pocket had a toady neighbor; a widow lady of that highly
sympathetic nature that she agreed with everybody, blessed everybody, and shed
smiles and tears on everybody, according to circumstances. This lady’s name was
Mrs. Coiler, and I had the honor of taking her down to dinner on the day of my
installation. She gave me to understand on the stairs, that it was a blow to
dear Mrs. Pocket that dear Mr. Pocket should be under the necessity of receiving
gentlemen to read with him. That did not extend to me, she told me in a gush of
love and confidence (at that time, I had known her something less than five
minutes); if they were all like Me, it would be quite another thing.

"But dear Mrs. Pocket," said Mrs. Coiler, "after her early disappointment (not
that dear Mr. Pocket was to blame in that), requires so much luxury and
elegance—"

"Yes, ma’am," I said, to stop her, for I was afraid she was going to cry.

"And she is of so aristocratic a disposition—"

"Yes, ma’am," I said again, with the same object as before.

"—That it is hard,"
said Mrs. Coiler, "to have dear Mr. Pocket’s time and attention diverted from
dear Mrs. Pocket."

I could not help thinking that it might be harder if the butcher’s time and
attention were diverted from dear Mrs. Pocket; but I said nothing, and indeed
had enough to do in keeping a bashful watch upon my company manners.

It came to my knowledge, through what passed between Mrs. Pocket and Drummle
while I was attentive to my knife and fork, spoon, glasses, and other
instruments of self-destruction, that Drummle, whose Christian name was Bentley,
was actually the next heir but one to a baronetcy. It further appeared that the
book I had seen Mrs. Pocket reading in the garden was all about titles, and that
she knew the exact date at which her grandpapa would have come into the book, if
he ever had come at all. Drummle didn’t say much, but in his limited way (he
struck me as a sulky kind of fellow) he spoke as one of the elect, and
recognized Mrs. Pocket as a woman and a sister. No one but themselves and Mrs.
Coiler the toady neighbor showed any interest in this part of the conversation,
and it appeared to me that it was painful to Herbert; but it promised to last a
long time, when the page came in with the announcement of a domestic affliction.
It was, in effect, that the cook had mislaid the beef. To my unutterable
amazement, I now, for the first time, saw Mr. Pocket relieve his mind by going
through a performance that struck me as very extraordinary, but which made no
impression on anybody else, and with which I soon became as familiar as the
rest. He laid down the carving-knife and fork,—being engaged in carving, at the
moment,—put his two hands into his disturbed hair, and appeared to make an
extraordinary effort to lift himself up by it. When he had done this, and had
not lifted himself up at all, he quietly went on with what he was about.

Mrs. Coiler then changed the subject and began to flatter me. I liked it for a
few moments, but she flattered me so very grossly that the pleasure was soon
over. She had a serpentine way of coming close at me when she pretended to be
vitally interested in the friends and localities I had left, which was
altogether snaky and fork-tongued; and when she made an occasional bounce upon
Startop (who said very little to her), or upon Drummle (who said less), I rather
envied them for being on the opposite side of the table.

After dinner the children were introduced, and Mrs. Coiler made admiring
comments on their eyes, noses, and legs,—a sagacious way of improving their
minds. There were four little girls, and two little boys, besides the baby who
might have been either, and the baby’s next successor who was as yet neither.
They were brought in by Flopson and Millers, much as though those two
non-commissioned officers had been recruiting somewhere for children and had
enlisted these, while Mrs. Pocket looked at the young Nobles that ought to have
been as if she rather thought she had had the pleasure of inspecting them
before, but didn’t quite know what to make of them.

"Here! Give me your fork, Mum, and take the baby," said Flopson. "Don’t take it
that way, or you’ll get its head under the table."

Thus advised, Mrs. Pocket took it the other way, and got its head upon the
table; which was announced to all present by a prodigious concussion.

"Dear, dear! Give it me back, Mum," said Flopson; "and Miss Jane, come and dance
to baby, do!"

One of the little girls, a mere mite who seemed to have prematurely taken upon
herself some charge of the others, stepped out of her place by me, and danced to
and from the baby until it left off crying, and laughed. Then, all the children
laughed, and Mr. Pocket (who in the meantime had twice endeavored to lift
himself up by the hair) laughed, and we all laughed and were glad.

Flopson, by dint of doubling the baby at the joints like a Dutch doll, then got
it safely into Mrs. Pocket’s lap, and gave it the nut-crackers to play with; at
the same time recommending Mrs. Pocket to take notice that the handles of that
instrument were not likely to agree with its eyes, and sharply charging Miss
Jane to look after the same. Then, the two nurses left the room, and had a
lively scuffle on the staircase with a dissipated page who had waited at dinner,
and who had clearly lost half his buttons at the gaming-table.

I was made very uneasy in my mind by Mrs. Pocket’s falling into a discussion
with Drummle respecting two baronetcies, while she ate a sliced orange steeped
in sugar and wine, and, forgetting all about the baby on her lap, who did most
appalling things with the nut-crackers. At length little Jane, perceiving its
young brains to be imperilled, softly left her place, and with many small
artifices coaxed the dangerous weapon away. Mrs. Pocket finishing her orange at
about the same time, and not approving of this, said to Jane,—

"You naughty child, how dare you? Go and sit down this instant!"

"Mamma dear," lisped the little girl, "baby ood have put hith eyeth out."

"How dare you tell me so?" retorted Mrs. Pocket. "Go and sit down in your chair
this moment!"

Mrs. Pocket’s dignity was so crushing, that I felt quite abashed, as if I myself
had done something to rouse it.

"Belinda," remonstrated Mr. Pocket, from the other end of the table, "how can
you be so unreasonable? Jane only interfered for the protection of baby."

"I will not allow anybody to interfere," said Mrs. Pocket. "I am surprised,
Matthew, that you should expose me to the affront of interference."

"Good God!" cried Mr. Pocket, in an outbreak of desolate desperation. "Are
infants to be nut-crackered into their tombs, and is nobody to save them?"

"I will not be interfered with by Jane," said Mrs. Pocket, with a majestic
glance at that innocent little offender. "I hope I know my poor grandpapa’s
position. Jane, indeed!"

Mr. Pocket got his hands in his hair again, and this time really did lift
himself some inches out of his chair. "Hear this!" he helplessly exclaimed to
the elements. "Babies are to be nut-crackered dead, for people’s poor
grandpapa’s positions!" Then he let himself down again, and became silent.

We all looked awkwardly at the tablecloth while this was going on. A pause
succeeded, during which the honest and irrepressible baby made a series of leaps
and crows at little Jane, who appeared to me to be the only member of the family
(irrespective of servants) with whom it had any decided acquaintance.

"Mr. Drummle," said Mrs. Pocket, "will you ring for Flopson? Jane, you undutiful
little thing, go and lie down. Now, baby darling, come with ma!"

The baby was the soul of honor, and protested with all its might. It doubled
itself up the wrong way over Mrs. Pocket’s arm, exhibited a pair of knitted
shoes and dimpled ankles to the company in lieu of its soft face, and was
carried out in the highest state of mutiny. And it gained its point after all,
for I saw it through the window within a few minutes, being nursed by little
Jane.

It happened that the other five children were left behind at the dinner-table,
through Flopson’s having some private engagement, and their not being anybody
else’s business. I thus became aware of the mutual relations between them and
Mr. Pocket, which were exemplified in the following manner. Mr. Pocket, with the
normal perplexity of his face heightened and his hair rumpled, looked at them
for some minutes, as if he couldn’t make out how they came to be boarding and
lodging in that establishment, and why they hadn’t been billeted by Nature on
somebody else. Then, in a distant Missionary way he asked them certain
questions,—as why little Joe had that hole in his frill, who said, Pa, Flopson
was going to mend it when she had time,—and how little Fanny came by that
whitlow, who said, Pa, Millers was going to poultice it when she didn’t forget.
Then, he melted into parental tenderness, and gave them a shilling apiece and
told them to go and play; and then as they went out, with one very strong effort
to lift himself up by the hair he dismissed the hopeless subject.

In the evening there was rowing on the river. As Drummle and Startop had each a
boat, I resolved to set up mine, and to cut them both out. I was pretty good at
most exercises in which country boys are adepts, but as I was conscious of
wanting elegance of style for the Thames,—not to say for other waters,—I at once
engaged to place myself under the tuition of the winner of a prize-wherry who
plied at our stairs, and to whom I was introduced by my new allies. This
practical authority confused me very much by saying I had the arm of a
blacksmith. If he could have known how nearly the compliment lost him his pupil,
I doubt if he would have paid it.

There was a supper-tray after we got home at night, and I think we should all
have enjoyed ourselves, but for a rather disagreeable domestic occurrence. Mr.
Pocket was in good spirits, when a housemaid came in, and said, "If you please,
sir, I should wish to speak to you."

"Speak to your master?" said Mrs. Pocket, whose dignity was roused again. "How
can you think of such a thing? Go and speak to Flopson. Or speak to me—at some
other time."

"Begging your pardon, ma’am," returned the housemaid, "I should wish to speak at
once, and to speak to master."

Hereupon, Mr. Pocket went out of the room, and we made the best of ourselves
until he came back.

"This is a pretty thing, Belinda!" said Mr. Pocket, returning with a countenance
expressive of grief and despair. "Here’s the cook lying insensibly drunk on the
kitchen floor, with a large bundle of fresh butter made up in the cupboard ready
to sell for grease!"

Mrs. Pocket instantly showed much amiable emotion, and said, "This is that
odious Sophia’s doing!"

"What do you mean, Belinda?" demanded Mr. Pocket.

"Sophia has told you," said Mrs. Pocket. "Did I not see her with my own eyes and
hear her with my own ears, come into the room just now and ask to speak to you?"

"But has she not taken me down stairs, Belinda," returned Mr. Pocket, "and shown
me the woman, and the bundle too?"

"And do you defend her, Matthew," said Mrs. Pocket, "for making mischief?"

Mr. Pocket uttered a dismal groan.

"Am I, grandpapa’s granddaughter, to be nothing in the house?" said Mrs. Pocket.
"Besides, the cook has always been a very nice respectful woman, and said in the
most natural manner when she came to look after the situation, that she felt I
was born to be a Duchess."

There was a sofa where Mr. Pocket stood, and he dropped upon it in the attitude
of the Dying Gladiator. Still in that attitude he said, with a hollow voice,
"Good night, Mr. Pip," when I deemed it advisable to go to bed and leave him.