A Tale of Two Cities by Dave Mckay, Charles Dickens (easy readers .txt) 📖

"Well!" said Stryver, hitting the desk with his angry hand, opening his eyes wider, and breathing deeply, "if I understand you, Mr. Lorry, I'll be hanged!"

Mr. Lorry made a little movement to his wig as a way to buy time, and chewed the feather end of his pen.

"To hell with it, sir!" said Stryver, looking strongly at him. "Am I not good enough?"

"Oh yes, truly! Yes. Oh yes, you are good enough!" said Mr. Lorry. "If you say good enough, you are good enough."

"Am I not rich?” asked Stryver.

"Oh, if it comes to being rich, you are rich," said Mr. Lorry.

"And getting richer?"

"If it comes to that," said Mr. Lorry, happy to say so many good things about Mr. Stryver, "everyone knows you're that."

"Then what on earth is your meaning, Mr. Lorry?” cried Stryver, looking sad.

"Well, I... Were you going there now?” asked Mr. Lorry.

"Straight!" said Stryver, banging his fist on the desk.

"Then I think I would not if I were you."

"Why?” said Stryver. "Now, I'll put you in a corner," shaking a finger at him like he was a policeman. "You're a man of business, so you must have a reason. Tell me why. Why wouldn't you go?"

"Because," said Mr. Lorry, "I wouldn't go on such a trip without good reason to believe I would get what I wanted."

Stryver shouted a few angry words to show his surprise. Mr. Lorry looked quickly toward House, then back at the angry Stryver.

"Here you are, a man of business, a man of years, knowing much about life, and working in a bank," said Stryver; "and after giving three good reasons for me being able to win my case, now you tell me that there is no reason to win? And you have said this with your head on.” Mr. Stryver said this as if it would be okay for Mr. Lorry to say the same thing with his head off.

"When I talk about winning or losing, I am talking about how the young woman thinks; and when I speak of reasons to make her agree, I am thinking of reasons that go with her way of thinking. The young woman, my good sir," said Mr. Lorry, softly touching the Stryver arm, "the young woman. She must come first."

"Then you mean to tell me, Mr. Lorry," said Stryver, with his elbows pointing out, "that you honestly believe the young woman we are talking about is stupid?"

"That is not true. I mean to tell you, Mr. Stryver," said Mr. Lorry, turning red, "that I will not hear one wrong word against that young woman from any lips; and that if I knew any man -- and I hope I do not -- whose taste was so rough and whose spirit was so strong that he could not hold himself back from saying something bad about her at this desk, not even Tellson's could stop me from giving him a piece of my mind."

The need to be quiet at the same time that he was angry had been dangerous for Mr. Stryver's arteries when he had heard what Mr. Lorry thought. But now it was Mr. Lorry's turn, and, for all of his quiet ways, his arteries were in no better shape than were Mr. Stryver's.

"That is what I think about it, sir," said Mr. Lorry. "So I hope you understand me."

Mr. Stryver had picked up a measuring stick and chewed on it for a time before hitting it lightly on his teeth as he was thinking. In the end, he said:

"This is something new to me, Mr. Lorry. You clearly said that I should not go up to Soho and give myself -- myself, Stryver of the King's Bench?"

"Do you want me to help you, Mr. Stryver?"

"Yes, I do."

"Very good. I have done that, and you have thrown it back at me."

"And all I can say of it is," laughed Stryver with an angry laugh, "that this -- ha, ha! -- is worse than anything, past, present, or future."

"Understand me," went on Mr. Lorry. "As a man of business, I have no right to say anything about this. As a man of business, I know nothing of it. But as an old friend, who has carried Miss Manette in his arms, who is a close friend of Miss Manette and of her father too, and who has great love for them both, I have spoken. Remember that I was not telling you what I think, but what she would think. Do you think I don't know what I'm talking about?"

"I'm not saying that," said Stryver. "I cannot change the way other people think. I can only think clearly for myself. But there are some people who I thought were smart, and now you are telling me that they are foolish. What you are saying surprises me, but I agree, that you know them better than me."

"What I have said was in my own words, Mr. Stryver. And understand me, sir," said Mr. Lorry quickly turning red again, "I will not -- not even in Tellson's -- let any man breathing put his words into my mouth."

"Okay! I'm sorry!" said Stryver. "Please forgive me."

"I forgive you. Thank you. Now, Mr. Stryver, what I was about to say: It could be embarrassing for you to find that you are wrong about what will happen. It could be embarrassing for Doctor Manette to have the job of telling you that. It could be very hard for Miss Manette to have the job of telling you No. But you know how close I am with the family. If you like, without saying that I am acting for you, I could ask a few questions to find out for sure what her thinking would be on this. If you still want to ask her, you could do it; but if I find out that it will not work, and if you believe me, it could save all of you a lot of pain. What do you think?"

"How long would you keep me waiting?"

"Oh, it would only be a few hours. I could go down to Soho tonight and come to your place after I finish."

"Then I agree," said Stryver. "I won't go yet. I'm not so enthusiastic that I can't wait that long. So I agree, and I will be looking for you tonight. Good morning."

Then Mr. Stryver turned and exploded out of the bank, making such a wind on the way, that it took all of the strength of the two old men working behind the counter to stay on their feet as they bowed to him on his way out. Those two old men bowed so often that people must have believed that they never stopped bowing, even when the office was empty.

The lawyer was smart enough to know that the banker would not have gone so far as to say what he had said if he was not sure of it. He was not prepared for the sour medicine that he had to swallow, but he swallowed it all the same. "And now," said Mr. Stryver, shaking his lawyer's finger at the world in general, when the medicine was down, "my way out of this is to put you all in the wrong."

It was part of the art that this Old Bailey lawyer used in his job. "You'll not put me in the wrong, young woman," said Mr. Stryver; "I'll be the one to do that to you."

And so, when Mr. Lorry came by that night, as late as ten o'clock, Mr. Stryver, with books and papers everywhere, seemed to have forgotten all about the subject they had been talking about that morning. He even showed surprise when he saw Mr. Lorry at the door, and seemed to be very busy with many other things.

"Well!" said the friendly visitor, after a full half-hour of trying to bring the talk around to what he was there for. "I have been to Soho."

"To Soho?” repeated Mr. Stryver, coldly. "Oh, to be sure! What am I thinking of!"

"And I am very sure," said Mr. Lorry, "that I was right in what I said to you. My feeling has been proved, and so I repeat what I have already said before."

"I promise you," returned Mr. Stryver, in the friendliest way, "that I am sorry for you and sorry for her poor father. I know this must always be a sore subject for the family, and I will say no more about it."

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

"I shouldn't think you would," answered Stryver, shaking his head softly, as if it would smooth everything over. "It's not important. Don't worry about it."

"But it is important," Mr. Lorry argued.

"No, it isn't, I tell you. I believed that there was some smartness where there was none. I thought there was some desire to get ahead when it was not there. You have protected me without anyone being hurt. Young women have done foolish things like this before, and they have ended up poor and alone because of it. I am sad for her that it is dropped, because there was to be nothing in it for me. For myself, I am glad that it is dropped for the same reason. But it has not hurt me. I have not said anything to her, and, between ourselves, I am not sure, after thinking about it, that I should ever have even thought to help her. Mr. Lorry, you cannot control the pride and foolishness of stupid young women; don't even try, or you will always be failing. Now, please, say no more about it. I tell you, I feel sad for others, but for myself, I have no problem with it. I owe you much for having helped me. You know the young woman better than I do, and you were right, it never would have worked."

Mr. Lorry was so surprised, that he looked quite stupidly at Mr. Stryver, who was shouldering him toward the door, at the same time that he talked like he was being very generous, kind, and friendly toward someone who had done wrong. "Make the best of it, my good friend," said Stryver. "Say no more about it. Thank you again for helping me. Good night!"

Mr. Lorry was out into the night before he knew where he was. Mr. Stryver was lying on his couch, smiling at the roof.

13. A Man of No Class

If there was ever a time when Sydney Carton looked good, it was not during times when he visited with Doctor Manette. During the past year he had visited many times, and he had always been the same sour, lazy, quiet person, with no interest in others. He could speak well if he had wanted to, but the cloud of selfish interest that travelled with him wherever he went was almost never cut through by the light to whatever was hiding inside of him.

And yet he did care for something, if nothing more than the stones that made up the streets and footpaths around the house in Soho. Many nights, when the wine stopped making him happy, he would walk around without clear direction on the streets of Soho. Many mornings, when the sun was close to coming up, he was out there all alone. And he was often still there when the first light of the sun was competing with the shapes and colours of the tallest buildings in the city. It may be that those quiet times helped him to remember better things, things he would forget and never find if he was not in that special part of the city. Of late, his bed in Temple Court was seeing less and less of him. Often after only a few minutes on the bed, he would get up and go like a ghost off to Soho.

One day in August, when Mr. Stryver (after telling his wild dog that he "had thought better of that marrying plan") had taken his high class ways to another town, and when the picture and smell of flowers in the city streets had in them the ability to help the worst of people (making the sick feel well again, and the old feel young again), Sydney's feet were still walking on those stones in Soho. From being one who could never stay with a thing long enough to finish it, his feet seemed to take on a new mind, a mind that took him to the Doctor's door.

He was taken up the steps to where Lucie was working alone on some papers. It was always difficult for her to relax around him, and so she was embarrassed to have him there sitting in a chair near her table. But when she looked up at his face as they were each saying hello, she could see a change in it.

"I'm afraid you are not well, Mr. Carton!"

"No, I'm not. But the way I live, Miss Manette, is not a healthy way. What more can you look for in one who has wasted his life as I have?"

"Is it not... Forgive me, for asking this without thinking.