- end_line
- 2004
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T07:57:55.409Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 1940
- text
- bills for the merchants? That would improve your health.”
“No, I would prefer to be doing something else.”
“How, then, would going as a companion to Europe, to entertain some
young gentleman with your conversation—how would that suit you?”
“Not at all. It does not strike me that there is anything definite
about that. I like to be stationary. But I am not particular.”
“Stationary you shall be, then,” I cried, now losing all patience, and,
for the first time in all my exasperating connection with him, fairly
flying into a passion. “If you do not go away from these premises
before night, I shall feel bound—indeed, I _am_ bound—to—to—to quit the
premises myself!” I rather absurdly concluded, knowing not with what
possible threat to try to frighten his immobility into compliance.
Despairing of all further efforts, I was precipitately leaving him,
when a final thought occurred to me—one which had not been wholly
unindulged before.
“Bartleby,” said I, in the kindest tone I could assume under such
exciting circumstances, “will you go home with me now—not to my office,
but my dwelling—and remain there till we can conclude upon some
convenient arrangement for you at our leisure? Come, let us start now,
right away.”
“No: at present I would prefer not to make any change at all.”
I answered nothing; but, effectually dodging every one by the
suddenness and rapidity of my flight, rushed from the building, ran up
Wall street towards Broadway, and, jumping into the first omnibus, was
soon removed from pursuit. As soon as tranquillity returned, I
distinctly perceived that I had now done all that I possibly could,
both in respect to the demands of the landlord and his tenants, and
with regard to my own desire and sense of duty, to benefit Bartleby,
and shield him from rude persecution, I now strove to be entirely
care-free and quiescent; and my conscience justified me in the attempt;
though, indeed, it was not so successful as I could have wished. So
fearful was I of being again hunted out by the incensed landlord and
his exasperated tenants, that, surrendering my business to Nippers, for
a few days, I drove about the upper part of the town and through the
suburbs, in my rockaway; crossed over to Jersey City and Hoboken, and
paid fugitive visits to Manhattanville and Astoria. In fact, I almost
lived in my rockaway for the time.
When again I entered my office, lo, a note from the landlord lay upon
the desk. I opened it with trembling hands. It informed me that the
writer had sent to the police, and had Bartleby removed to the Tombs as
a vagrant. Moreover, since I knew more about him than any one else, he
wished me to appear at that place, and make a suitable statement of the
facts. These tidings had a conflicting effect upon me. At first I was
indignant; but, at last, almost approved. The landlord’s energetic,
summary disposition, had led him to adopt a procedure which I do not
think I would have decided upon myself; and yet, as a last resort,
under such peculiar circumstances, it seemed the only plan.
As I afterwards learned, the poor scrivener, when told that he must be
conducted to the Tombs, offered not the slightest obstacle, but, in his
pale, unmoving way, silently acquiesced.
Some of the compassionate and curious bystanders joined the party; and
headed by one of the constables arm in arm with Bartleby, the silent
procession filed its way through all the noise, and heat, and joy of
the roaring thoroughfares at noon.
- title
- Chunk 11