t, seeing Bartleby wholly unemployed, would request him
to run round to his (the legal gentleman's) office and fetch some
papers for him. Thereupon, Bartleby would tranquilly decline, and yet
remain idle as before. Then the lawyer would give a great stare, and
turn to me. And what could I say? At last I was made aware that all
through the circle of my professional acquaintance, a whisper of wonder
was running round, having reference to the strange creature I kept at my
office. This worried me very much. And as the idea came upon me of his
possibly turning out a long-lived man, and keep occupying my chambers,
and denying my authority; and perplexing my visitors; and scandalizing
my professional reputation; and casting a general gloom over the
premises; keeping soul and body together to the last upon his savings
(for doubtless he spent but half a dime a day), and in the end perhaps
outlive me, and claim possession of my office by right of his perpetual
occupancy: as all these dark anticipations crowded upon me more and
more, and my friends continually intruded their relentless remarks upon
the apparition in my room; a great change was wrought in me. I resolved
to gather all my faculties together, and forever rid me of this
intolerable incubus.

Ere revolving any complicated project, however, adapted to this end, I
first simply suggested to Bartleby the propriety of his permanent
departure. In a calm and serious tone, I commanded the idea to his
careful and mature consideration. But, having taken three days to
meditate upon it, he apprised me, that his original determination
remained the same; in short, that he still preferred to abide with me.

What shall I do? I now said to myself, buttoning up my coat to the last
button. What shall I do? what ought I to do? what does conscience say I
_should_ do with this man, or, rather, ghost. Rid myself of him, I must;
go, he shall. But how? You will not thrust him, the poor, pale, passive
mortal--you will not thrust such a helpless creature out of your door?
you will not dishonor yourself by such cruelty? No, I will not, I cannot
do that. Rather would I let him live and die here, and then mason up his
remains in the wall. What, then, will you do? For all your coaxing, he
will not budge. Bribes he leaves under your own paper-weight on your
table; in short, it is quite plain that he prefers to cling to you.

Then something severe, something unusual must be done. What! surely you
wil