er 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 for ever 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 commended 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
paperweight 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
will not have him collared by a constable, and commit his innocent
pallor to the common jail? And upon what ground could you procure such
a thing to be done?--a vagrant, is he? What! he a vagrant, a wanderer,
who refuses to budge? It is because he will _not_ be a vagrant, then,
that you seek to count him _as_ a vagrant. That is too absurd. No
visible means of support: the