“No, Joe.”
“A dog?” said Joe. “A puppy? Come?”
“No, Joe, there was nothing at all of the kind.”
As I fixed my eyes hopelessly on Joe, Joe contemplated me in dismay. “Pip, old chap! This won't do, old fellow! I say! Where do you expect to go to?”
“It's terrible, Joe; ain't it?”
“Terrible?” cried Joe.
“Awful! What possessed you?”
“I don't know what possessed me, Joe,” I replied, letting his shirt sleeve go, and sitting down in the ashes at his feet, hanging my head; “but I wish you hadn't taught me to call Knaves at cards Jacks; and I wish my boots weren't so thick nor my hands so coarse.”