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Updated: June 10, 2025
The idea was inspired by my brother's general admiration of the London messenger service and his particular belief in one William Thomas Jaggers, a fourteen-year-old lad whom Richard had frequently employed to carry notes and run errands.
"Not a bit of it," returned Wemmick, growing bolder and bolder. "I think you're another." Again they exchanged their former odd looks, each apparently still distrustful that the other was taking him in. "You with a pleasant home?" said Mr. Jaggers. "Since it don't interfere with business," returned Wemmick, "let it be so.
A year passed, and the letter had been written, but remained unanswered; indeed, according to Jaggers's showing, Richard Dryce was more inveterate than ever, and was unapproachable on the subject of his undutiful son, in pleading whose cause he, Jaggers, had very nearly obtained his own dismissal.
He snatched it up with a single breathless swoop, then poised himself over the struggling fighters, stick uplifted. Down came that slender cudgel, striking Dan a light blow squarely top of his head. "O-o-ow! Help! Quit that!" screamed Dan Jaggers. "Lie still, then," commanded Hal, sternly. "And let go of Jack, or I'll use this stick for I'm worth."
He thought he knew this nephew of his. "Hurry along, Danny," he coaxed. "My throat is gittin' mighty dry for a bit o' liquor." "Give me another five-spot," begged Jaggers. "Not another dollar till ye come back, Danny," rejoined his uncle, firmly. "The quicker ye start, an' return, the quicker ye'll have yer share of the night's business. Now, git!"
He's left four little brothers and sisters same as himself at home. And he's pining for 'em to join him. And join him they will to-morrow night if you'll let me in to his loose-box." Jaggers at his best never looked more self-righteous than Monkey Brand as he made reply: "I couldn't let you into his loose-box, Mr. Joses," he said quietly. "Wouldn't be right.
He rings for Barney, and indites a note to his foreman at the "Golden Chariot." "You better get up there, to-night, Jaggers," he says, handing him the note and a pass. "Your appointment is only good for that train. You give that note to Hank Daly. He'll supply you all the whiskey you want, free. By the way, the boys up there play poker pretty well.
Jaggers, with the air of the Grand Inquisitor, appeared on the platform with his head-lad, Rushton. The trainer entered into talk with a man whom Albert informed his mistress was a cop in plain clothes. "Place swarms with 'em," the youth whispered. "And Ikey's Own. They're takin' no chances." In fact, Mocassin and her two stable-companions were travelling on the same train as the Putnam horse.
Jaggers, the peremptory lawyer, who carries into ordinary conduct and conversation the habits of the criminal bar, and bullies and cross-examines even his dinner and his wine, Joe, the husband of "the hand" by which Pip was brought up, Wopsle, Wemmick, Orlick, the family of the Pockets, the mysterious Miss Havisham, and the disdainful Estella, are not repetitions, but personages that the author introduces to his readers for the first time.
Jaggers glanced at Joe, as if he considered him a fool for his disinterestedness. But I was too much bewildered between breathless curiosity and surprise, to be sure of it. "Very well," said Mr. Jaggers. "Recollect the admission you have made, and don't try to go from it presently." "Who's a going to try?" retorted Joe. "I don't say anybody is. Do you keep a dog?" "Yes, I do keep a dog."
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