Towards Joe, and Joe only, I considered myself a young monster, while they sat debating what results would come to me from Miss Havisham's acquaintance and favor.

They had no doubt that Miss Havisham would "do something" for me; their doubts related to the form that something would take.
My sister stood out for "property." Mr.Pumblechook was in favor of a handsome premium for binding me apprentice to some genteel trade,--say, the corn and seed trade, for instance.

Joe fell into the deepest disgrace with both, for offering the bright suggestion that I might only be presented with one of the dogs who had fought for the veal-cutlets.
"If a fool's head can't express better opinions than that," said my sister, "and you have got any work to do, you had better go and do it." So he went.
After Mr.Pumblechook had driven off, and when my sister was washing up, I stole into the forge to Joe, and remained by him until he had done for the night.

Then I said, "Before the fire goes out, Joe, I should like to tell you something." "Should you, Pip ?" said Joe, drawing his shoeing-stool near the forge.
"Then tell us.

What is it, Pip ?" "Joe," said I, taking hold of his rolled-up shirt sleeve, and twisting it between my finger and thumb, "you remember all that about Miss Havisham's ?" "Remember ?" said Joe.