As I got used to my new life and the money I expected to receive, I began to notice how it was changing me. I tried to ignore it, but I knew the influence was not good. I felt a constant guilt about how I treated Joe, and I did not feel comfortable about Biddy. Sometimes I woke up in the night and felt very tired in my soul. I thought that I would have been happier and better if I had never met Miss Havisham. I should have been happy to grow up and work with Joe at the old forge. Many evenings, while I sat alone looking at the fire, I thought that no fire was as warm as the kitchen fire at home.
I knew my new position in life was not helping anyone—especially not Herbert. My expensive habits led him to spend money that he did not have. This destroyed his simple life and made him worry all the time. I felt a sharp pain in my heart when I realized I had done him a great disservice. I had filled our small rooms with expensive furniture we didn't need, and I had even hired a servant—a boy I called "the Avenger"—who we could not afford.
To solve our problems, I did the only thing I knew how to do: I got into more debt. Herbert followed my example. We even joined a club called "The Finches of the Grove." The only purpose of this club was for the members to have expensive dinners every two weeks, quarrel with each other, and get the waiters drunk.
Bentley Drummle was also a member. At that time, he was driving his own carriage around London very badly, often crashing into posts at street corners. I wanted to pay for Herbert’s expenses myself, but he was too proud to accept my help. So, he continued to get into trouble with money. At breakfast, he always looked sad, but after dinner, he would suddenly feel hopeful again. By two o’clock in the morning, he would be so depressed that he talked about moving to America to hunt buffaloes to make his fortune.
We spent as much money as possible and got very little for it. We were always miserable, but we pretended we were having a wonderful time. Every morning, Herbert went into the city to "look for an opening" in business. I often visited him in his dark little office, but I never saw him do any real work. He just walked around, waiting for a business opportunity to find him.
"The truth is, Handel," he told me one day, "an opening won’t come to you. You must go to it. So, I have been looking."
If we hadn't been such good friends, I think we would have hated each other. I hated our rooms and I hated seeing the servant in his expensive clothes. When we were in a particularly bad mood, I would say, "Herbert, we are doing badly."
"I was just thinking the same thing, Handel," he would reply.
"Then," I would say, "let us look into our affairs."
We always felt very professional when we made an appointment to talk about money. We would order a special dinner and a bottle of good wine to make ourselves feel stronger. After dinner, we would bring out plenty of pens, ink, and paper. There was something very comforting about having a lot of stationery.
I would write "Pip’s Debts" at the top of a page, and Herbert would do the same. We looked through a messy pile of bills and papers. Writing them down made us feel like we were actually paying the money. It felt like a very important business job.
"They are adding up, Handel," Herbert would say, looking worried at the numbers.
"Be firm, Herbert!" I would say, writing quickly. "Look the thing in the face. Stare at your debts until they don't scare you anymore."
I established a reputation as a great businessman—organized and energetic. When I finished my list, I felt a sense of luxury. I folded the bills neatly and tied them together with a piece of string. I did the same for Herbert, who told me I was a genius at administration.
I had one other business trick, which I called "leaving a margin." For example, if Herbert owed £164, I told him to write down £200. I thought this was very wise. However, it was a mistake. As soon as we created this "margin," we felt rich again and immediately spent the extra money.
After these meetings, we always felt very virtuous and calm. We would sit there with our neat bundles of debt, feeling like successful bankers.
One evening, while I was feeling very satisfied with myself, we heard a letter drop through the door.
"It’s for you, Handel," said Herbert. He looked worried. "I hope nothing is wrong."
The letter had a heavy black seal, which meant someone had died. It was from a company of funeral directors called Trabb & Co. It said:
Honoured Sir, we are sorry to inform you that Mrs. J. Gargery died last Monday at twenty minutes past six in the evening. You are requested to attend the funeral next Monday at three o’clock.