Bentley Drummle was a sulky, heavy young man. He moved slowly and seemed to process information even more slowly. He was proud, mean with his money, and suspicious of everyone. He came from a rich family who had finally realized that their son was quite stupid. Drummle was older and much larger than the rest of us, and he often acted as if everyone had offended him.
Startop was the opposite. He was a sensitive young man who had been spoiled by his mother. He was kind and much easier to get along with. While Herbert and I spent our evenings rowing together on the river, Drummle usually stayed alone in the shadows near the riverbank, looking like a grumpy creature.
Herbert remained my best friend. We shared a boat and spent a lot of time together in London and at the Pockets' house. During this time, I began to spend a lot of money. I bought expensive things and developed many "gentlemanly" habits. However, I still worked hard at my books. With Mr. Pocket and Herbert to help me, I made good progress in my studies.
One afternoon, I went to see Mr. Wemmick at the office. We had planned to walk to his home in a district called Walworth. As we walked, Wemmick told me that Mr. Jaggers would soon invite me and my friends to dinner.
"He’ll give you excellent food and wine," Wemmick said. "But here is a strange thing: he never locks his doors or windows at night. He even tells criminals exactly where he lives and dares them to rob him. But no one is brave enough to try."
"Do they fear him that much?" I asked.
"They certainly do," Wemmick replied. "They know he is deeper than anyone else. He doesn't keep expensive silver in the house—only cheap metal—but he wears a gold watch worth a hundred pounds. Every thief in London knows that watch, but not one of them would dare to touch it."
After a long walk, we arrived in Walworth. It was a quiet area with small gardens and narrow lanes. Wemmick’s house was the smallest cottage I had ever seen. The top of it was decorated to look like a tiny fort with guns.
"My own work," Wemmick said proudly. "It looks nice, doesn't it?"
There was a tiny bridge made of a wooden plank that crossed a small ditch. Wemmick crossed it and then lifted the plank up. "Now," he said, "the fort is safe from the world."
At the back of the house, he had a pig, some chickens, and a garden where he grew his own vegetables. He had even built a tiny fountain. He told me he did all the work himself—carpentry, gardening, and plumbing.
"It’s a good way to forget about the office and the criminals at Newgate Prison," he explained.
Inside the "Castle," I met Wemmick’s father, whom he called "The Aged Parent." He was a very old, cheerful man who was almost completely deaf.
"Nod your head at him, Mr. Pip," Wemmick whispered. "He loves it."
I nodded at the old man as hard as I could, and he smiled happily. He was very proud of his son’s house. At nine o'clock, it was time for a special ceremony. Wemmick went outside and fired a small cannon called "The Stinger." The "Bang!" was so loud that it shook the whole cottage and made the teacups ring. The old man cried out happily, "He’s fired! I heard him!"
Wemmick then showed me his collection of "curiosities." These were souvenirs from his work—the pen of a famous forger, locks of hair from criminals, and even their final confessions.
We had an excellent supper, and I stayed the night in a tiny bedroom at the top of the house. I felt very comfortable and happy there.
The next morning, after a good breakfast, we walked back to London. As we got closer to the office, I noticed a change in Wemmick. He became quieter, his face became harder, and his mouth tightened. By the time he reached Mr. Jaggers’ office and pulled out his keys, he looked as if he had completely forgotten about his castle, his garden, and his father. In London, he was a professional man again, and his private life was a secret left behind in Walworth.