ible till something less harsh might be done--though indeed I hardly
knew what. At all events, if nothing else could be decided upon, the
alms-house must receive him. I then begged to have an interview.

Being under no disgraceful charge, and quite serene and harmless in all
his ways, they had permitted him freely to wander about the prison, and
especially in the inclosed grass-platted yard thereof. And so I found
him there, standing all alone in the quietest of the yards, his face
towards a high wall, while all around, from the narrow slits of the jail
windows, I thought I saw peering out upon him the eyes of murderers and
thieves.

"Bartleby!"

"I know you," he said, without looking round,--"and I want nothing to
say to you."

"It was not I that brought you here, Bartleby," said I, keenly pained at
his implied suspicion. "And to you, this should not be so vile a place.
Nothing reproachful attaches to you by being here. And see, it is not
so sad a place as one might think. Look, there is the sky, and here is
the grass."

"I know where I am," he replied, but would say nothing more, and so I
left him.

As I entered the corridor again, a broad meat-like man, in an apron,
accosted me, and jerking his thumb over his shoulder said--"Is that your
friend?"

"Yes."

"Does he want to starve? If he does, let him live on the prison fare,
that's all."

"Who are you?" asked I, not knowing what to make of such an unofficially
speaking person in such a place.

"I am the grub-man. Such gentlemen as have friends here, hire me to
provide them with something good to eat."

"Is this so?" said I, turning to the turnkey.

He said it was.

"Well then," said I, slipping some silver into the grub-man's hands (for
so they called him). "I want you to give particular attention to my
friend there; let him have the best dinner you can get. And you must be
as polite to him as possible."

"Introduce me, will you?" said the grub-man, looking at me with an
expression which seem to say he was all impatience for an opportunity to
give a specimen of his breeding.

Thinking it would prove of benefit to the scrivener, I acquiesced; and
asking the grub-man his name, went up with him to Bartleby.

"Bartleby, this is Mr. Cutlets; you will find him very useful to you."

"Your sarvant, sir, your sarvant," said the grub-man, making a low
salutation behind his apron. "Hope you find it pleasant here,
sir;--spacious grounds--cool ap