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The Fellow of Delicacy

Page history last edited by Michael J 12 years, 10 months ago

Mr. Stryver having made up his mind to that magnanimous bestowal of

good fortune on the Doctor's daughter, resolved to make her happiness

known to her before he left town for the Long Vacation. After some

mental debating of the point, he came to the conclusion that it would

be as well to get all the preliminaries done with, and they could

then arrange at their leisure whether he should give her his hand a

week or two before Michaelmas Term, or in the little Christmas vacation

between it and Hilary.

 

As to the strength of his case, he had not a doubt about it, but

clearly saw his way to the verdict. Argued with the jury on substantial

worldly grounds--the only grounds ever worth taking into account--

it was a plain case, and had not a weak spot in it. He called himself

for the plaintiff, there was no getting over his evidence, the counsel

for the defendant threw up his brief, and the jury did not even turn

to consider. After trying it, Stryver, C. J., was satisfied that no

plainer case could be.

 

Accordingly, Mr. Stryver inaugurated the Long Vacation with a

formal proposal to take Miss Manette to Vauxhall Gardens; that failing,

to Ranelagh; that unaccountably failing too, it behoved him to present

himself in Soho, and there declare his noble mind.

 

Towards Soho, therefore, Mr. Stryver shouldered his way from the

Temple, while the bloom of the Long Vacation's infancy was still upon

it. Anybody who had seen him projecting himself into Soho while he

was yet on Saint Dunstan's side of Temple Bar, bursting in his

full-blown way along the pavement, to the jostlement of all weaker

people, might have seen how safe and strong he was.

 

His way taking him past Tellson's, and he both banking at Tellson's

and knowing Mr. Lorry as the intimate friend of the Manettes, it

entered Mr. Stryver's mind to enter the bank, and reveal to Mr. Lorry

the brightness of the Soho horizon. So, he pushed open the door with

the weak rattle in its throat, stumbled down the two steps, got past

the two ancient cashiers, and shouldered himself into the musty back

closet where Mr. Lorry sat at great books ruled for figures, with

perpendicular iron bars to his window as if that were ruled for

figures too, and everything under the clouds were a sum.

 

"Halloa!" said Mr. Stryver. "How do you do? I hope you are well!"

 

It was Stryver's grand peculiarity that he always seemed too big for

any place, or space. He was so much too big for Tellson's, that

old clerks in distant corners looked up with looks of remonstrance,

as though he squeezed them against the wall. The House itself,

magnificently reading the paper quite in the far-off perspective,

lowered displeased, as if the Stryver head had been butted into its

responsible waistcoat.

 

The discreet Mr. Lorry said, in a sample tone of the voice he would

recommend under the circumstances, "How do you do, Mr. Stryver?

How do you do, sir?" and shook hands. There was a peculiarity in his

manner of shaking hands, always to be seen in any clerk at Tellson's

who shook hands with a customer when the House pervaded the air.

He shook in a self-abnegating way, as one who shook for Tellson and Co.

 

"Can I do anything for you, Mr. Stryver?" asked Mr. Lorry, in his

business character.

 

"Why, no, thank you; this is a private visit to yourself, Mr. Lorry;

I have come for a private word."

 

"Oh indeed!" said Mr. Lorry, bending down his ear, while his eye

strayed to the House afar off.

 

"I am going," said Mr. Stryver, leaning his arms confidentially on the

desk: whereupon, although it was a large double one, there appeared to

be not half desk enough for him: "I am going to make an offer of myself

in marriage to your agreeable little friend, Miss Manette, Mr. Lorry."

 

"Oh dear me!" cried Mr. Lorry, rubbing his chin, and looking at his

visitor dubiously.

 

"Oh dear me, sir?" repeated Stryver, drawing back. "Oh dear you, sir?

What may your meaning be, Mr. Lorry?"

 

"My meaning," answered the man of business, "is, of course, friendly

and appreciative, and that it does you the greatest credit, and--

in short, my meaning is everything you could desire. But--really, you

know, Mr. Stryver--" Mr. Lorry paused, and shook his head at him in

the oddest manner, as if he were compelled against his will to add,

internally, "you know there really is so much too much of you!"

 

"Well!" said Stryver, slapping the desk with his contentious hand,

opening his eyes wider, and taking a long breath, "if I understand

you, Mr. Lorry, I'll be hanged!"

 

Mr. Lorry adjusted his little wig at both ears as a means towards

that end, and bit the feather of a pen.

 

"D--n it all, sir!" said Stryver, staring at him, "am I not eligible?"

 

"Oh dear yes! Yes. Oh yes, you're eligible!" said Mr. Lorry. "If you

say eligible, you are eligible."

 

"Am I not prosperous?" asked Stryver.

 

"Oh! if you come to prosperous, you are prosperous," said Mr. Lorry.

 

"And advancing?"

 

"If you come to advancing you know," said Mr. Lorry, delighted to be

able to make another admission, "nobody can doubt that."

 

"Then what on earth is your meaning, Mr. Lorry?" demanded Stryver,

perceptibly crestfallen.

 

"Well! I--Were you going there now?" asked Mr. Lorry.

 

"Straight!" said Stryver, with a plump of his fist on the desk.

 

"Then I think I wouldn't, if I was you."

 

"Why?" said Stryver. "Now, I'll put you in a corner," forensically

shaking a forefinger at him. "You are a man of business and bound

to have a reason. State your reason. Why wouldn't you go?"

 

"Because," said Mr. Lorry, "I wouldn't go on such an object without

having some cause to believe that I should succeed."

 

"D--n _me_!" cried Stryver, "but this beats everything."

 

Mr. Lorry glanced at the distant House, and glanced at the angry Stryver.

 

"Here's a man of business--a man of years--a man of experience--

_in_ a Bank," said Stryver; "and having summed up three leading reasons

for complete success, he says there's no reason at all! Says it with

his head on!" Mr. Stryver remarked upon the peculiarity as if it would

have been infinitely less remarkable if he had said it with his head off.

 

"When I speak of success, I speak of success with the young lady; and

when I speak of causes and reasons to make success probable, I speak

of causes and reasons that will tell as such with the young lady.

The young lady, my good sir," said Mr. Lorry, mildly tapping the

Stryver arm, "the young lady. The young lady goes before all."

 

"Then you mean to tell me, Mr. Lorry," said Stryver, squaring his

elbows, "that it is your deliberate opinion that the young lady at

present in question is a mincing Fool?"

 

"Not exactly so. I mean to tell you, Mr. Stryver," said Mr. Lorry,

reddening, "that I will hear no disrespectful word of that young lady

from any lips; and that if I knew any man--which I hope I do not--

whose taste was so coarse, and whose temper was so overbearing,

that he could not restrain himself from speaking disrespectfully of

that young lady at this desk, not even Tellson's should prevent my

giving him a piece of my mind."

 

The necessity of being angry in a suppressed tone had put Mr. Stryver's

blood-vessels into a dangerous state when it was his turn to be angry;

Mr. Lorry's veins, methodical as their courses could usually be,

were in no better state now it was his turn.

 

"That is what I mean to tell you, sir," said Mr. Lorry.

"Pray let there be no mistake about it."

 

Mr. Stryver sucked the end of a ruler for a little while, and then

stood hitting a tune out of his teeth with it, which probably gave

him the toothache. He broke the awkward silence by saying:

 

"This is something new to me, Mr. Lorry. You deliberately advise

me not to go up to Soho and offer myself--_my_self, Stryver of

the King's Bench bar?"

 

"Do you ask me for my advice, Mr. Stryver?"

 

"Yes, I do."

 

"Very good. Then I give it, and you have repeated it correctly."

 

"And all I can say of it is," laughed Stryver with a vexed laugh,

"that this--ha, ha!--beats everything past, present, and to come."

 

"Now understand me," pursued Mr. Lorry. "As a man of business, I

am not justified in saying anything about this matter, for, as a man

of business, I know nothing of it. But, as an old fellow, who has

carried Miss Manette in his arms, who is the trusted friend of

Miss Manette and of her father too, and who has a great affection for

them both, I have spoken. The confidence is not of my seeking,

recollect. Now, you think I may not be right?"

 

"Not I!" said Stryver, whistling. "I can't undertake to find third

parties in common sense; I can only find it for myself. I suppose

sense in certain quarters; you suppose mincing bread-and-butter

nonsense. It's new to me, but you are right, I dare say."

 

"What I suppose, Mr. Stryver, I claim to characterise for myself--And

understand me, sir," said Mr. Lorry, quickly flushing again,

"I will not--not even at Tellson's--have it characterised for me by any

gentleman breathing."

 

"There! I beg your pardon!" said Stryver.

 

"Granted. Thank you. Well, Mr. Stryver, I was about to say:--it

might be painful to you to find yourself mistaken, it might be painful

to Doctor Manette to have the task of being explicit with you, it

might be very painful to Miss Manette to have the task of being

explicit with you. You know the terms upon which I have the honour

and happiness to stand with the family. If you please, committing you

in no way, representing you in no way, I will undertake to correct my

advice by the exercise of a little new observation and judgment expressly

brought to bear upon it. If you should then be dissatisfied with it,

you can but test its soundness for yourself; if, on the other hand,

you should be satisfied with it, and it should be what it now is,

it may spare all sides what is best spared. What do you say?"

 

"How long would you keep me in town?"

 

"Oh! It is only a question of a few hours. I could go to Soho in the

evening, and come to your chambers afterwards."

 

"Then I say yes," said Stryver: "I won't go up there now, I am not

so hot upon it as that comes to; I say yes, and I shall expect you

to look in to-night. Good morning."

 

Then Mr. Stryver turned and burst out of the Bank, causing such a

concussion of air on his passage through, that to stand up against it

bowing behind the two counters, required the utmost remaining strength

of the two ancient clerks. Those venerable and feeble persons were

always seen by the public in the act of bowing, and were popularly

believed, when they had bowed a customer out, still to keep on bowing

in the empty office until they bowed another customer in.

 

The barrister was keen enough to divine that the banker would not

have gone so far in his expression of opinion on any less solid

ground than moral certainty. Unprepared as he was for the large pill

he had to swallow, he got it down. "And now," said Mr. Stryver,

shaking his forensic forefinger at the Temple in general, when it

was down, "my way out of this, is, to put you all in the wrong."

 

It was a bit of the art of an Old Bailey tactician, in which he

found great relief. "You shall not put me in the wrong, young lady,"

said Mr. Stryver; "I'll do that for you."

 

Accordingly, when Mr. Lorry called that night as late as ten o'clock,

Mr. Stryver, among a quantity of books and papers littered out for

the purpose, seemed to have nothing less on his mind than the subject

of the morning. He even showed surprise when he saw Mr. Lorry, and

was altogether in an absent and preoccupied state.

 

"Well!" said that good-natured emissary, after a full half-hour of

bootless attempts to bring him round to the question. "I have

been to Soho."

 

"To Soho?" repeated Mr. Stryver, coldly. "Oh, to be sure!

What am I thinking of!"

 

"And I have no doubt," said Mr. Lorry, "that I was right in the

conversation we had. My opinion is confirmed, and I reiterate my advice."

 

"I assure you," returned Mr. Stryver, in the friendliest way, "that I

am sorry for it on your account, and sorry for it on the poor father's

account. I know this must always be a sore subject with the family;

let us say no more about it."

 

"I don't understand you," said Mr. Lorry.

 

"I dare say not," rejoined Stryver, nodding his head in a smoothing

and final way; "no matter, no matter."

 

"But it does matter," Mr. Lorry urged.

 

"No it doesn't; I assure you it doesn't. Having supposed that there

was sense where there is no sense, and a laudable ambition where there

is not a laudable ambition, I am well out of my mistake, and no harm

is done. Young women have committed similar follies often before,

and have repented them in poverty and obscurity often before. In an

unselfish aspect, I am sorry that the thing is dropped, because it

would have been a bad thing for me in a worldly point of view;

in a selfish aspect, I am glad that the thing has dropped, because it

would have been a bad thing for me in a worldly point of view--

it is hardly necessary to say I could have gained nothing by it.

There is no harm at all done. I have not proposed to the young lady,

and, between ourselves, I am by no means certain, on reflection,

that I ever should have committed myself to that extent. Mr. Lorry,

you cannot control the mincing vanities and giddinesses of

empty-headed girls; you must not expect to do it, or you will always

be disappointed. Now, pray say no more about it. I tell you,

I regret it on account of others, but I am satisfied on my own account.

And I am really very much obliged to you for allowing me to sound you,

and for giving me your advice; you know the young lady better

than I do; you were right, it never would have done."

 

Mr. Lorry was so taken aback, that he looked quite stupidly at

Mr. Stryver shouldering him towards the door, with an appearance of

showering generosity, forbearance, and goodwill, on his erring head.

"Make the best of it, my dear sir," said Stryver; "say no more

about it; thank you again for allowing me to sound you; good night!"

 

Mr. Lorry was out in the night, before he knew where he was.

Mr. Stryver was lying back on his sofa, winking at his ceiling.

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