Support the Monkey! Tell All your Friends and Teachers
was an amazingly good jackal, and that he rendered suit and
service to Stryver in that humble capacity.
“Ten o’clock, sir,” said the man at the tavern, whom he had
charged to wake him-“ten o’clock, sir.” “What’s the matter?” “Ten
o’clock, sir.” “What do you mean? Ten o’clock at night?” “Yes, sir.
Your honour told me to call you.”
“Oh! I remember. Very well, very well.” After a few dull efforts to
get to sleep again, which the man dexterously combated by stirring
the fire continuously for five minutes, he got up, tossed his hat on,
and walked out. He turned into the Temple, and, having revived
himself by twice pacing the pavements of King’s Bench-walk and
Paper-buildings, turned into the Stryver chambers.
The Stryver clerk, who never assisted at these conferences, had
gone home, and the Stryver principal opened the door. He had his
slippers on, and a loose bed-gown, and his throat was bare for his
greater ease. He had that rather wild, strained, seared marking
about the eyes, which may be observed in all free livers of his class,
from the portrait of Jeffries downward, and which can be traced,
under various disguises of Art, through the portraits of every
“You are a little late, Memory,” said Stryver.
“About the usual time; it may be a quarter of an hour later.” They
went into a dingy room lined with books and littered with papers,
where there was a blazing fire. A kettle steamed upon the hob, and
in the midst of the wreck of papers a table shone, with plenty of
wine upon it, and brandy, and rum, and sugar, and lemons.
“You have had your bottle, I perceive, Sydney.” “Two to-night, I
think. I have been dining with the day’s client; or seeing him dine-
it’s all one!” “That was a rare point, Sydney, that you brought to
bear upon the identification. How did you come by it? When did it
strike you?” “I thought he was rather a handsome fellow, and I
thought I should have been much the same sort of fellow, if I had
had any luck.” Mr. Stryver laughed till he shook his precocious
“You and your luck, Sydney! Get to work, get to work.” Sullenly
enough, the jackal loosened his dress, went into an adjoining room,
and came back with a large jug of cold water, a basin, and a towel
or two. Steeping the towels in the water, and partially wringing
them out, he folded them on his head in a manner hideous to
behold, sat down at the table, and said, “Now I am ready!” “Not
much boiling down to be done to-night, Memory,” said Mr.
Stryver, gaily, as he looked among his papers.
“How much?” “Only two sets of them.” “Give me the worst first.”
“There they are, Sydney. Fire away!” The lion then composed