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- 1240
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- 2026-01-30T07:57:55.409Z
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- 1190
- text
- duty being transferred to Turkey and Nippers, out of compliment,
doubtless, to their superior acuteness; moreover, said Bartleby was
never, on any account, to be dispatched on the most trivial errand of
any sort; and that even if entreated to take upon him such a matter, it
was generally understood that he would “prefer not to”—in other words,
that he would refuse point-blank.
As days passed on, I became considerably reconciled to Bartleby. His
steadiness, his freedom from all dissipation, his incessant industry
(except when he chose to throw himself into a standing revery behind
his screen), his great stillness, his unalterableness of demeanor under
all circumstances, made him a valuable acquisition. One prime thing was
this—_he was always there_—first in the morning, continually through
the day, and the last at night. I had a singular confidence in his
honesty. I felt my most precious papers perfectly safe in his hands.
Sometimes, to be sure, I could not, for the very soul of me, avoid
falling into sudden spasmodic passions with him. For it was exceeding
difficult to bear in mind all the time those strange peculiarities,
privileges, and unheard of exemptions, forming the tacit stipulations
on Bartleby’s part under which he remained in my office. Now and then,
in the eagerness of dispatching pressing business, I would
inadvertently summon Bartleby, in a short, rapid tone, to put his
finger, say, on the incipient tie of a bit of red tape with which I was
about compressing some papers. Of course, from behind the screen the
usual answer, “I prefer not to,” was sure to come; and then, how could
a human creature, with the common infirmities of our nature, refrain
from bitterly exclaiming upon such perverseness—such unreasonableness.
However, every added repulse of this sort which I received only tended
to lessen the probability of my repeating the inadvertence.
Here it must be said, that according to the custom of most legal
gentlemen occupying chambers in densely-populated law buildings, there
were several keys to my door. One was kept by a woman residing in the
attic, which person weekly scrubbed and daily swept and dusted my
apartments. Another was kept by Turkey for convenience sake. The third
I sometimes carried in my own pocket. The fourth I knew not who had.
Now, one Sunday morning I happened to go to Trinity Church, to hear a
celebrated preacher, and finding myself rather early on the ground I
thought I would walk round to my chambers for a while. Luckily I had my
key with me; but upon applying it to the lock, I found it resisted by
something inserted from the inside. Quite surprised, I called out; when
to my consternation a key was turned from within; and thrusting his
lean visage at me, and holding the door ajar, the apparition of
Bartleby appeared, in his shirt sleeves, and otherwise in a strangely
tattered deshabille, saying quietly that he was sorry, but he was
deeply engaged just then, and—preferred not admitting me at present. In
a brief word or two, he moreover added, that perhaps I had better walk
round the block two or three times, and by that time he would probably
have concluded his affairs.
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