Towards Soho, therefore, Mr. Steer
shouldered his way from the Temple ,
while the bloom of the Long Vacation's infancy was still upon it. Anybody who
had seen him projecting himself into Soho while he was yet on Saint Dunstan's
side of Temple Bar, bursting in his full-blown way along the pavement, to the
jostlement of all weaker people, might have seen how safe and strong he was.
His way taking him past Tellson's, and he
both banking at Tellson's and knowing Mr. Lorry as the intimate friend of the
Manettes, it entered Mr. Stryver's mind to enter the bank, and reveal to Mr.
Lorry the brightness of the Soho horizon. So,
he pushed open the door with the weak rattle in its throat, stumbled down the
two steps, got past the two ancient cashiers, and shouldered himself into the
musty back closet where Mr. Lorry sat at great books ruled for figures, with
perpendicular iron bars to his window as if that were ruled for figures too,
and everything under the clouds were a sum.
`Halloa!' said Mr. Stryver. `How do you do?
I hope you are well!'
It was Stryver's grand peculiarity that he
always seemed too big for any place, or space. He was so much too big for
Tellson's, that old clerks in distant corners looked up with looks of
remonstrance, as though he squeezed them against the wall. The House itself,
magnificently reading the paper quite in the far-off perspective, lowered
displeased, as if the Stryver head had been butted into its responsible
waistcoat.
The discreet Mr. Lorry said, in a sample
tone of the voice he would recommend under the circumstances, `How do you do,
Mr. Stryver? How do you do, sir?' and shook hands. There was a peculiarity in
his manner of shaking hands, always to be seen in any clerk at Tellson's who
shook hands with a customer when the House pervaded the air. He shook in a
self-abnegating way, as one who shook for Tellson and Co.
`Can I do anything for you, Mr. Stryver?'
asked Mr. Lorry, in his business character.
`Why, no, thank you; this is a private
visit to yourself, Mr. Lorry; I have come for a private word.'
`Oh indeed!' said Mr. Lorry, bending down
his ear, while his eye strayed to the House afar off.
`I am going,' said Mr. Stryver, leaning his
arms confidentially on the desk: whereupon, although it was a large double one,
there appeared to be not half desk enough for him: `I am going to make an offer
of myself in marriage to your agreeable little friend, Miss Manette, Mr.
Lorry.'
Oh dear me!' cried Mr. Lorry, rubbing his
chin, and looking at his visitor dubiously.
`Oh dear me, sir?' repeated Stryver,
drawing back.
`Oh dear you, sir? What may your meaning
be, Mr. Lorry?'
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