After a few days, when I had settled into my room and bought the things I needed, Mr. Pocket and I had a long talk. He knew more about my future than I did. He told me that Mr. Jaggers did not want me to train for a specific job. Instead, I was simply to be a "gentleman." My goal was to be well-educated enough to fit in with other wealthy young men.
Mr. Pocket offered to be my teacher and director. He was a very honest and hardworking tutor. Because he took his job seriously, I took my studies seriously too. I grew to respect him deeply; he was a good man, even if his home life was a bit chaotic.
I decided that I wanted to keep my old bedroom at Barnard’s Inn as well. This would allow me to spend time with my friend Herbert while still studying with Mr. Pocket. Mr. Pocket thought this was a good idea, but he told me I must ask my guardian, Mr. Jaggers, first.
I went to Mr. Jaggers’ office to ask for the money to buy some furniture for the room.
"Go for it!" Mr. Jaggers said with a short laugh. "I knew you’d spend money quickly. How much do you want?"
I told him I wasn't sure.
"Come on!" he said, looking at me with his head on one side. "Five pounds?"
"Oh, more than that," I said, feeling a bit embarrassed.
"Twenty pounds?" he asked. I agreed that twenty pounds would be enough. He told his clerk, Mr. Wemmick, to give me the money.
Mr. Jaggers was always intimidating. He never laughed, and his large boots creaked loudly as he walked. When he left the room, I told Wemmick that I found Mr. Jaggers’ manner very strange.
"He doesn't want you to understand him," Wemmick replied. "He is as deep as Australia. If there was anything deeper than that, he would be it! He is like a man-trap, waiting to catch people."
Wemmick then showed me around the office. It was a dark, dirty, and depressing place. There were three other clerks, all looking tired and busy with poor, nervous-looking clients.
Back in Jaggers’ private room, I noticed two strange, ugly masks on the wall. I asked Wemmick who they were.
"These were two of our most famous clients," Wemmick explained, dusting the masks. "This one murdered his master. The other one was a famous forger who told lies about everything. They were both hanged."
I looked at Wemmick’s jewelry—his rings and his brooch. He told me they were all gifts from clients who had been sent to prison or executed.
"I always take them," Wemmick said. "They are 'portable property.' They are easy to carry and easy to sell. My rule is: always get hold of portable property."
Before I left, Wemmick invited me to visit his home in a place called Walworth. "I have a garden and a summer-house there," he said. He also gave me a mysterious piece of advice for when I eventually dined with Mr. Jaggers.
"Watch his housekeeper," Wemmick whispered. "She is like a wild beast that has been tamed. It will show you just how powerful Mr. Jaggers is."
Finally, Wemmick took me to a nearby court to see Mr. Jaggers at work. It was a frightening sight. Mr. Jaggers was shouting at a witness and making the judge feel nervous. Everyone in the room—thieves, police, and lawyers—seemed terrified of him. He was like a powerful machine, grinding everyone down. I left the court quietly, feeling glad that Mr. Jaggers was on my side and not against me.