A Tale of Two Cities, Dave Mckay, Charles Dickens [most inspirational books of all time TXT] 📗

on the door, calling to him softly. At the sound of her voice, the noise stopped. He soon came out, and they walked up and down together for a long time.

She came down from her room later that night, to look in on him when he was asleep. He was sleeping heavily, and his box of cobbler tools were all back in their place

11. Someone to Live With

"Sydney," said Mr. Stryver, on that same night (Or should we say morning?) to his wild dog, "mix us another bowl of drink. I have something to say to you."

Sydney had been working extra hours that night and the night before, and the night before that, and a good many other nights, trying to finish off Mr. Stryver's cases before the long holidays came up. Now they were finished at last. Everything had been cleared away, freeing them until November, when fogs in the weather and fogs in the court would return, bringing them more business.

Sydney was as tired and drunk as ever for all of his hard work. It had taken extra wet cloths for his head to pull him through the night. And an equal measure of extra wine was needed before the cloths. He was in bad shape because of it, as he pulled the cloth off his head and threw it into the bowl which he had been using to keep it wet for the past six hours.

"Are you mixing that other bowl of drink?” asked Stryver the fat one, with his hands in his belt, and looking around from where he was lying on his back on the couch.

"I am."

"Now, listen! I'm going to tell you something that will surprise you and that may make you think I'm not as smart as you thought. I am planning to get married."

"Are you?"

"Yes. And not for money. What do you think of that?"

"I don't think anything. Who is she?"

"See if you can say who it is."

"I am not even going to try, not at five o'clock in the morning, with my brains cooking in my head.

"Well, then I'll tell you," said Stryver, sitting up slowly. "Sydney I don't have much hope of making you understand, because you are such a selfish dog."

"And you," returned Sydney, who was busy adding alcohol to

the juice, "are such a sweet and musical spirit!"

"Come now!" answered Stryver, laughing proudly, "I don't say that I am an expert at love (for I hope I know better than to be), but I am a softer person than you."

"You are luckier than me, if that is what you mean."

"I don't mean that. I mean I am a man of more... more...”

"Well, say class, while you are at it," Carton helped him.

"I will say class. What I mean is that I am a man," said Stryver, pushing his chest out at his friend, who was making the drink, "who tries to be kind, who goes to more pain to be kind, who knows better how to be kind, to a woman, than you do."

"Keep going," said Sydney Carton.

"No, but I must say one thing.” Stryver, shook his head in his pushy way. "I'll have this out with you. You have been at Doctor Manette's house as much as, or more than I have. I've been embarrassed at how selfish and angry you have been when there. Your actions are like those of a dog that hides out of guilt. On my life and soul, I have been embarrassed by you, Sydney!"

"It should be a big help to a man who works in the courts to be embarrassed about anything," returned Sydney. "You should thank me for that."

"You won't get away with it by being foolish," answered Stryver, pushing to the side the smart answer that Carton had given him. "No, Sydney, it is my job to tell you, and tell you to your face, for your own good, that you act like a devil around that class of people. You are not a nice person to be around."

Sydney finished off a tall glass of the drink he had made and laughed.

"Look at me!" said Stryver, standing up straight. "I have less need to be kind than you do, because I don't need anyone's money. So why do I do it?"

"So far I have never seen you do it," Carton said quietly.

"I do it because it works, and because it's right. And look at me. I'm doing well."

"You're not doing well with telling me who you're going to marry," answered Carton with a foolish air. "I wish you would. As for me, will you never understand that I'm never going to change?"

He asked the question with some show of anger.

"You have no business fighting change," was his friend's answer, which was not said in a very friendly way.

"As I understand it, I have no business to be on the earth at all," said Sydney Carton. "So who is the woman?"

"Now don't let my news make you feel bad, Sydney," said Mr. Stryver, preparing him for what he was about to say, with a great show of being friendly, "because I know that you don't mean half of what you say. And if you did, it would not be important. I'm saying this, because you once spoke of this woman in a rough way."

"I did?"

"Truly, and in these rooms."

Sydney Carton looked at his drink and looked at his stupidly happy friend, finished his drink and looked again at his stupidly happy friend.

"You called the young woman a golden-haired doll. The young woman is Miss Manette. If you had been a person with a little more feeling for such things, I would have been hurt by what you said, but I was not. You have no understanding of what you are talking about, and so I was no more hurt than I would be if someone with no eye for art said something bad about a picture I own, or if someone with no ear for music said something bad about some piece of music that was mine."

Sydney Carton was going through the drink very quickly now.

"Well, now I've said it, Syd," said Mr. Stryver. "I don't care about her wealth; she is a beautiful thing; and I have made up my mind to do what makes me happy. On the whole, I think I have enough wealth to do that. She will have in me a man with more than enough money, and a good future. It is very lucky for her, but she should be lucky, for she's a good person. Are you surprised?"

Carton, still drinking, answered, "Why should I be surprised?”

"So you think it's okay?"

Carton, still drinking, answered, "Why shouldn't I think it's okay?"

"Well!" said his friend Stryver. "You've taken it more easily than I'd expected. And you show less interest in her having no money than I had thought you would. But then you know well by now that I'm a difficult man to change. Yes, Sydney, I have had enough of this way of living, with no change from it. I feel it is a good thing for a man to have a home where he can go when he feels like it. (And if he doesn't, then he can stay away from it.) And I feel that Miss Manette will do herself well in any place where she finds herself. Everyone will think well of me for having her at my side. So I have made up my mind. And now, Sydney, old boy, I want to say a word about your life. You are in a bad way, you know, a really bad way! You don't know how important money is. You live a rough life. You will break down one of these days and find yourself sick and poor. You really should be thinking about a nurse."

Looking down on Sydney because he was much richer, made Stryver look twice as big as Sydney, but four times as cruel.

"Now what I think you should do is look this problem in the face. I have looked my problem in the face in a different way, and you must do the same, in your different way. Marry! Find someone who can take care of you. Don't worry that you do not like being around women, or that you often misunderstand them or that you are too rough for them. Find someone. Someone whom you can trust, who has a little wealth. Find someone who has a house that they rent out, or who takes in people for meals and a room. Marry her, as a way of protecting yourself. That's what you need to do. Think about it, Sydney."

"I'll think about it," said Sydney.

12. A Man of Class

Mr. Stryver, having made up his mind to generously give himself to the lucky Doctor's daughter, wanted to tell her of his plan (and by doing so, fill her with happiness) before leaving town for his holiday. If he told her now, then they would have more time to work together on choosing a day for the wedding, either in September or in December.

He had not a fear in the world that he would lose this case. If he argued with the jury about what it would mean for her in wealth (and that is the only argument ever worth using) it was as good as won. There was not one weak line in his reasoning. He could see himself as a witness, with another lawyer trying to find a hole in his argument. The lawyer would have to give up trying in the end. The jury would not even need a minute to think about it. When the hearing was over, Stryver the Lion was sure that he never had a stronger case.

With this in mind, Stryver planned to start his holiday by taking Miss Manette to the Gardens, or some other nice place in London and there tell her the good news.

So he left his place in Temple to shoulder his way to Soho. Anyone watching him as he walked proudly and quickly down the road toward Soho, to the danger of all weaker people in the way, would have seen how safe and strong he was in his belief.

Because he would be walking past Tellson's on the way, and because he did business there, and because he knew Mr. Lorry was a close friend of the Manettes, it seemed wise to stop in and tell Mr. Lorry the good news that he was taking to Soho. He opened the sticky door with the bad sound in its throat, went down the two steps, pushed past the two old men working in the front, and found Mr. Lorry sitting in a very little room at the back with books full of lines and numbers. The one window in that room had vertical bars on it, like it too should be filled with numbers between the lines.

"Hello!" said Mr. Stryver. "How do you do? I hope you're well!"

It was a strange thing about Mr. Stryver, that he always seemed to be too big for any place or space. He was so much too big for Tellsons that the old workers in the farthest corners looked up with a spirit that disagreed with him being there, as if he was squeezing them against the wall. The "House" himself, proudly reading a newspaper some distance away from Stryver, looked over the top of it as he would if Stryver had used his head to hit the man strongly in the stomach.

Humble Mr. Lorry modestly used the voice that he would have wished Stryver to use as he said, "How do you do, Mr. Stryver? How do you do, sir?” and shook his hand. There is a special way that all of the workers at Tellson's shake hands with the people who come there, making it clear that it is not them that is shaking the hand, but it is Tellson and Company that is doing it.

"Can I do anything for you, Mr. Stryver?” asked Mr. Lorry in his business-like voice.

"Why, no thank you; this is a friendly visit, Mr. Lorry. I have come to talk about something quite apart from business."

"Oh, is that true!" said Mr. Lorry, leaning closer to hear, but with one eye on the "House" off in the distance.

"I'm going...” said Mr. Stryver, leaning his arms confidently on the desk. It was a big double desk, but when Mr. Stryver did this, it seemed the desk was not half big enough for him. "I'm going to ask your lovely friend, Miss Manette, to marry me, Mr. Lorry."

"Oh my!" cried Mr. Lorry, rubbing his chin and looking at his visitor without knowing what to say.

"Oh my, sir?” repeated Stryver, pulling back. "Oh my, sir? What does that mean, Mr. Lorry?"

"My meaning," answered the man of business, "is, as you must know, friendly and kind, and it does say much about your good name. In short, my meaning is everything you could want. But... really, you know, Mr. Stryver...” Mr. Lorry stopped and shook his head at him in the strangest way, as if he was being forced to secretly add, "You know, there really is